Beneath the Rainfall, Baby Leo Waited for Love That Never Came
Dark clouds swallowed the sky above the jungle canopy as the storm rolled in. Thick winds rustled the trees, and soon, soft raindrops began falling like whispers on the leaves. Deep in the forest, the monkey troop moved calmly, adapting to the weather. But beneath a large, leafy fig tree, a silent tragedy unfolded — one small baby monkey named Leo sat motionless, drenched and trembling.
Leo, just a few months old, perched alone on a slippery branch. His fur was soaked, and his tiny frame shook from the cold. The sound of falling rain surrounded him, but even louder was the silence between him and his mother, Libby. She sat only a few steps away but felt miles apart.
Libby’s eyes wandered, never meeting Leo’s. She was preoccupied with grooming her wet fur, pretending not to notice the little one reaching out for her. Since Leo’s birth, the connection between mother and child had been fragile. Libby, once attentive to her older offspring, had grown distant and indifferent. Something in her had changed — perhaps the pressure of life in the troop, or an inner struggle unseen by others.
Leo didn’t understand why her arms were always closed to him. He longed for her milk, her warmth, even a gentle pat — but all he met was rejection. The rain began to pour harder, and still, Libby kept her distance, her body close but her heart locked away.
Determined, Leo climbed down and crawled to her side. He slipped once but caught himself, driven by a deep need for closeness. Reaching her feet, he wrapped his tiny arms around her leg, looking up with eyes full of hope. In response, Libby stood up and stepped away, shaking him off like nothing more than wet leaves.
Leo’s small cry was lost beneath the noise of the storm. Confused, hurt, and drenched, he dropped back to the ground, his face twisted in sorrow. Other mothers in the troop glanced over — some with sympathy, others with blank expressions. One cradled her own baby, who was quietly suckling, sheltered in her embrace. The contrast was painfully clear.
But Leo, brave and stubborn, tried again. Time after time, he reached out. His little hands stretched toward Libby, his eyes pleading for even a second of love. Yet Libby remained distant, her face turned away, as if the rain could wash away the bond she no longer wanted.
As the storm began to fade and dusk painted the sky in dark blues, Leo gave up. He curled beneath a drooping banana leaf, his body small and soaked. He suckled his thumb, eyes still watching the mother who would not hold him.
In that quiet moment, under millions of fading raindrops, the jungle whispered a soft sorrow — a baby’s endless love, and a mother who could no longer give hers.
