The sky over the jungle turned dark and heavy, thick clouds rolling across the treetops as the first soft raindrops began to fall. In the heart of the forest, life continued as usual for the wild monkey troop — except for one heartbreaking scene beneath the shelter of a large fig tree. Little Leo, a baby monkey no older than a few months, clung to a low branch, soaked from the rain and softly whimpering. His tiny body shivered under the weight of water and rejection.
His mother, Libby, sat nearby, but she showed no signs of warmth or concern. She was grooming herself, occasionally glancing around, but never once did she reach out to pull Leo into her arms. The rain fell harder, like a curtain of silver threads between them, but the emotional distance was even greater.
Leo didn’t understand why Libby refused to feed or hug him. Since his birth, their bond had always been uneasy. Libby, once a nurturing mother to her older babies, had changed. Whether it was stress from troop dynamics, personal trauma, or something unseen in the wild world, Libby had grown cold toward Leo. She pushed him away when he sought milk, turned her back when he reached out, and walked off when he cried for comfort.
That day, under the downpour, Leo was more desperate than ever. He climbed down from the branch and made his way toward her, slipping slightly on the wet bark. He reached her side, wrapping his little arms around her waist, trying to nuzzle close to her chest for a bit of milk, or at least a gentle touch. Libby abruptly stood and stepped aside, shaking him off as though he were just raindrops clinging to her fur.
Leo stumbled, confused and heartbroken, his cries muffled by the rain. Other monkeys in the troop took quick notice. Some mothers looked over with pity; others remained indifferent, used to the harsh rules of nature. One young female even sat nearby with her own infant curled safely in her lap, feeding quietly, a painful contrast to Leo’s lonely struggle.
Still, the baby didn’t give up. Again and again, Leo crawled toward Libby. He crouched low, holding out his little arms, eyes wide and pleading. But Libby simply sat still, unmoved by his gestures, as the rain soaked them both. Her eyes were distant, as though her mind had drifted far from her own crying child.
As night approached and the rain finally softened, Leo curled up beneath a broad leaf on the ground, trembling and tired. He sucked on his fingers for comfort, his eyes still watching Libby from afar. No matter how harsh her treatment, a part of him still hoped for love, for a single hug, or one warm feeding to ease his pain.
Under a million raindrops, nature showed its most tender sadness — a baby longing for love, and a mother who would not give it.
