Deep within the ancient Angkor Wat forest, where the golden sunlight slowly crawls through the treetops, a tiny voice suddenly broke the peaceful morning. It was Baby Lily — her cry was sharp, trembling, and full of panic. She stood in the middle of the forest floor, shaking her body in frustration, searching desperately for Mama Libby.
Her tiny hands curled into fists.
Her eyes were full of fear.
She wasn’t just lonely — she was hungry.
Lily tried to call her mother in every direction. She even ran, as if the air would carry her message to Mama Libby. But no one answered. The forest was quiet — too quiet for a baby this small. She sat down, wrapped her arms around her belly, and cried even louder… the kind of cry that comes from the heart when you feel completely alone.
I stood there and watched her voice echo through the trees. It wasn’t just crying — it was pleading.
The other monkeys didn’t seem to understand her. Some looked at her, some ignored her. But Baby Lily continued her tantrum — stomping her feet, shaking her body, and refusing anything but milk. A banana was offered, but she pushed it away with frustration. She was not looking for food. She was looking for comfort.
Mama Libby was still nowhere in sight.
Minutes felt like hours. Lily’s energy was fading, her cries slowing down. She pressed her cheek against a tree and closed her eyes. For a moment, she seemed silent… like she had given up. My heart sank — I wondered if this was how abandonment felt to a child, whether human or monkey.
Then… footsteps.
Leaves moving.
A familiar scent.
Mama Libby finally appeared.
Baby Lily opened her eyes — and at that instant, all her pain rushed out in one final cry. She ran to her mother, arms stretching as far as they could go. Mama Libby held her close and hugged her tightly with her long arms. There was no anger — only love. The tantrum stopped. The shaking stopped. Only deep, quiet breathing remained as Lily drank her milk peacefully.
Watching them together reminded me of how powerful a mother’s presence is. Even without words… she heals. She protects. She is home.
In that moment, under the ancient stones of Angkor Wat, I realized — a baby’s cry is never just noise. It is a language of love… and a plea for safety.
