Under the golden afternoon light, a tiny baby monkey sat alone near the edge of the old stone temple. His little hands trembled as he reached toward his mother, who stood a few steps away, grooming herself calmly. There was no warmth in her eyes, no sign of affection. The baby’s soft whimpers filled the air—his cry was small but full of longing, a desperate call for comfort that went unanswered.
He tried again, crawling closer, hoping for a gentle touch or a moment of care. But the mother moved away, uninterested, leaving him behind. The rejection seemed to pierce his tiny heart. The baby let out a louder cry, eyes wet with tears as he struggled to stand on the uneven stones. His legs wobbled under his fragile body until suddenly—he slipped.
The fall was not high, but enough to make him roll and hit the ground with a dull thud. For a few seconds, he lay still, shocked by the pain that ran through his little frame. His cries grew louder, echoing through the temple walls. Yet still, the mother did not rush to help. She merely looked down once, then turned away again, leaving the helpless baby trembling on the ground.
Despite his pain, the little monkey tried to crawl toward her once more, dragging his small body inch by inch. The world around him felt large and cold, but his tiny heart refused to give up. He cried not only from the fall but from the ache of being unloved.
That scene broke the hearts of everyone watching—because even in his pain, the baby monkey still believed his mother might someday love him back.
