The first time I saw baby Lily, she was no bigger than my two hands put together, her fur still fluffy from infancy, her eyes too large for such a tiny face. She clung to her mother, Libby, with a quiet desperation that stopped me in my tracks. It was early morning in the Angkor Wat forest—mist drifting close to the ground, birds calling from the treetops, and a soft golden light stretching across the ancient stones.
Libby looked exhausted.
Not the kind of tired that comes from one sleepless night… but the kind that builds after weeks and months of fighting to keep a fragile life safe.
Her ribs were visible. Her tail dragged lower than usual. And yet, her arms stayed strong enough to wrap around the only thing that mattered to her—baby Lily.
I had followed the troupe for weeks, learning their personalities, their hierarchies, their stories. But something about Lily and Libby pulled at me in a way I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the fragility of their bond. Maybe it was the way Lily tried to nuzzle into her mother’s chest as if searching for reassurance that she wasn’t alone.
Or maybe it was because, deep inside, I knew their struggle wasn’t over.
That morning, the rest of the troop moved quickly, jumping across stone walls and ancient balustrades in search of food. But Libby walked slowly. Too slowly. Her steps were unsteady as she tried to keep up. Every few seconds she paused, letting Lily adjust her grip or crawl into a tighter hold.
There were moments when Lily reached for a leaf or twig, trying to play like other babies, but hunger made her weak. Instead of chewing, she dropped the leaf and rested her head against Libby’s collarbone. The forest was alive around them, yet they moved inside it like ghosts—quiet, unnoticed, carrying their small, heartbreaking story through the ruins.
I watched as Libby attempted to forage for food under a low bush. Each movement was careful, as though she feared dropping Lily. She found a small fruit, half-ripe and barely enough for one. She sniffed it. Her stomach growled. Her eyes shifted to Lily.
And she gave it to her baby.
Lily tried to eat it, but her tiny hands trembled. Libby helped, breaking it into small pieces. She watched every bite disappear with hope, even though she herself had nothing.
A mother’s sacrifice—played out in the middle of an ancient world that had witnessed thousands of stories before theirs.
Later, as the sun rose high and shadows grew shorter, the other monkeys began grooming each other or wrestling in the grass. Lily wanted to join. She reached a tiny hand forward, eager to explore the world the way baby monkeys should. But she hesitated. She looked back at her mother, as if asking permission.
Libby didn’t stop her. She simply watched with tired eyes.
Lily hopped once, twice, then stumbled. It was the stumble that broke my heart… a slow collapse onto the dusty ground. Not from injury, but from weakness.
Libby rushed to her immediately. She pulled Lily close again, cradling her small body with shaking arms. Lily pressed into her mother’s chest, closing her eyes the way children do when they’re too tired to fight the world anymore.
Other monkeys rarely approached them. Libby was low-ranking, often ignored, sometimes bullied. She had no partner to help her. No allies. Just her baby. Just the two of them against everything else—hunger, hierarchy, and the hard law of nature.
As the day faded into warm afternoon light, Libby sat on a moss-covered rock with Lily curled into her lap. They looked peaceful, but the exhaustion on Libby’s face was unmistakable. She stroked Lily’s back with slow, rhythmic motions, the kind that mothers use to reassure their children even when they themselves are afraid.
In that moment, I realized why their story felt so heavy.
It wasn’t just about survival.
It was about resilience—soft, quiet, almost invisible resilience that mothers like Libby carry inside their bones.
Lily opened her eyes one more time, lifting her head just enough to look at her mother. Libby leaned forward and touched her forehead gently against Lily’s. A silent promise passed between them.
No matter how poor their life was…
No matter how difficult tomorrow might be…
They had each other.
And sometimes, that’s enough to keep going.
