In the heart of the jungle, where the thick green canopy shades the ground below and the calls of wildlife fill the air, a heartbreaking scene quietly unfolds. Among the leaves and branches lies a newborn baby monkey, barely hours old. Its fur is still damp from birth, and its tiny limbs tremble with weakness. But the most painful part is not the cold ground or the hunger—it’s the absence of the one who should be there to protect it: its mother, Rozy.
Rozy, a young and restless female, had just given birth under the shelter of a broad fig tree. At first, she looked at her baby with a short moment of curiosity, sniffing gently as it squirmed in the leaves. But something in her did not connect. Instead of pulling the baby close to her chest, warming it with her body and offering it milk, she stood up and walked away—leaving her newborn behind.
The baby cried softly, unsure of this strange, noisy world. Its eyes were barely open, and it instinctively reached out, hoping to find the warmth of its mother’s fur. But Rozy didn’t return. She climbed up the tree to join the rest of the troop, grooming with the others, eating leaves, and showing no sign of maternal instinct. It was as if the baby had never been born.
As the hours passed, the cries of the newborn grew louder and more desperate. Other monkeys glanced over, curious or confused, but none intervened. In the wild, each mother cares only for her own. And when that bond fails, the jungle shows no mercy.
The poor baby tried to move, crawling just inches at a time, its head bobbing weakly as it looked for its mother. The sun moved higher in the sky, and the ground grew warmer, but the baby’s cries only echoed unanswered through the forest. Its belly was empty, and its fragile body began to weaken.
By late afternoon, Rozy returned briefly to the spot, pausing as if to check on the baby. The little one responded immediately, letting out a louder cry and trying to crawl toward her. But Rozy simply turned her back and left again, showing no intention of nursing or caring for her child.
This heartbreaking moment marked the beginning of an uncertain journey for the baby. Too young to survive on its own, its chances were slim. But its spirit had not yet faded. It still cried, still moved, still hoped for the warmth it had never truly received.
As the sun set and the jungle fell into shadows, the baby curled into a ball of silence, trembling but alive. Whether it would make it through the night remained unknown.
This is the reality for some in the wild—where not every baby is welcomed, and not every mother is ready. And for this poor baby monkey, born into a world of rejection, every breath is a cry for love that may never come.
