The forest near Angkor Wat was already awake when she stopped moving.
Bird calls continued. Leaves shifted. Life went on as it always does. But she sat alone on the stone edge of the clearing, arms wrapped around something that never stirred.
She did not cry out. She did not run. She simply held him.
Other monkeys passed nearby, slowing for a moment, then continuing on. No one interrupted her space. The forest seemed to understand that this was not a moment to rush.
She adjusted her grip again and again, as if waiting for warmth to return. Her eyes followed the light as it changed, morning turning brighter while her body remained still. Every instinct told her to groom, to nudge, to encourage—but nothing answered back.
At one point, she looked up toward the trees, not searching for help, just looking. Then she lowered her face again, pressing her cheek softly against the tiny form in her arms.
By midday, she finally stood. Not because she was ready—only because the day required it.
Some losses do not announce themselves.
They simply sit with you until the forest asks you to move.
