The morning began quietly, the kind of quiet that settles deep into the bones of a small countryside home. Sunlight filtered through the wooden slats, painting soft lines across the floor. Baby monkey Diven clung to his mother’s chest, still half-asleep, his tiny fingers wrapped tightly in her fur. His breathing was slow and warm. Everything felt safe.
Too safe.
CUTIS stood outside the house, watching through the open doorway. His face was serious, his eyes full of conflict. He had not slept all night. For days, he had noticed something troubling—Diven was growing too attached to the house, too dependent on humans, too far from the instincts he would need to survive. His mother loved him fiercely, but her fear of the outside world had grown since the accident that injured her leg weeks ago.
CUTIS knew something had to be done.
But he also knew it would hurt.
He waited until the mother monkey finally relaxed into sleep, exhaustion overtaking her anxious heart. Slowly, carefully, CUTIS stepped inside. Every movement was measured. Every breath was quiet. Diven stirred slightly as CUTIS gently lifted him, but did not cry. He only blinked, confused, trusting.
“I’m sorry, little one,” CUTIS whispered. “This is the only way.”
He wrapped Diven in a soft cloth and slipped out of the house, disappearing down the narrow path toward the forest.
Minutes later, the house felt… wrong.
The mother monkey woke suddenly. Her arms were empty.
For half a second, her mind refused to understand. Then panic exploded through her body. She jumped up, screaming—a sharp, broken cry that echoed through the trees. She searched the sleeping mat, the corners of the room, under the table. Nothing.
Her baby was gone.
She ran outside, eyes wild, chest heaving. Her cries grew louder, more desperate. She climbed onto the roof, scanned the ground, the trees, the path. Her injured leg slowed her, but fear pushed her forward. She dragged herself, ignoring the pain, calling again and again.
Other monkeys gathered, alarmed by her screams. They watched as she searched frantically, her voice cracking with terror.
Inside her chest, a single thought pounded like a drum: My baby. My baby. My baby.
Meanwhile, CUTIS moved quickly but gently through the forest. He did not run. He did not hide. He followed a path he had planned carefully—a place where wild monkeys often gathered, where mothers taught their young to climb, listen, and survive.
Diven began to cry softly now, sensing the distance from his mother. CUTIS stopped immediately, kneeling down, holding him close.
“Your mom is strong,” CUTIS said quietly. “She will find you. I promise.”
He placed Diven on a low branch near the clearing and stepped back, hiding himself behind thick leaves. This was the most dangerous moment—not for the baby’s body, but for his heart.
Back at the house, the mother monkey’s panic turned into something deeper: despair.
She returned again and again to the empty mat, sniffing, touching, crying. Her body shook. Her eyes searched CUTIS’s belongings, the doorway, the sky. Then suddenly—she smelled something familiar.
Her baby.
Without hesitation, she followed the scent into the forest. Every step hurt, but she didn’t stop. Branches scratched her face. Thorns cut her hands. She ignored them all.
Her cries changed—no longer panic, but calling. A mother’s call. A sound only her baby would know.
In the clearing, Diven heard it.
His tiny head snapped up. His cries became louder, stronger. He answered her call with everything his small body had.
The moment stretched like a breath held too long.
Then she appeared.
The mother monkey burst into the clearing, eyes blazing, scanning wildly. When she saw Diven sitting on the branch, alive, crying, reaching out—she froze.
For a split second, she thought she was dreaming.
Then she rushed forward, pulling him into her arms so tightly he squeaked. She rocked him, cried over him, touched every part of his body as if counting him again and again.
Behind the leaves, CUTIS felt tears sting his eyes.
But the hardest part was still to come.
The mother monkey suddenly noticed something else—the sounds, the smells, the other monkeys watching. She stiffened. Fear returned. She clutched Diven and turned, ready to flee back to the house.
CUTIS stepped out slowly.
He did not approach. He did not speak loudly. He sat down on the ground and lowered his head, showing no threat.
The mother monkey screamed at him—anger, betrayal, pain poured into that sound. She remembered the empty house. The terror. The search.
CUTIS stayed still.
“I know,” he said softly. “You hate me right now.”
He placed food on the ground—fruit, nuts, leaves—and slid it forward, then backed away. He showed her the trees, the other monkeys, the open space.
“This is where he belongs,” CUTIS whispered. “With you. With them.”
The mother monkey hesitated. Her body trembled with rage and fear. She looked down at Diven, who clung to her, then looked at the trees. Slowly, painfully, she began to understand.
This place was not danger.
It was life.
She climbed into the trees, holding Diven close. Other monkeys gathered around her, touching him, sniffing him, welcoming him. Diven stopped crying. His eyes widened with curiosity. He reached for a branch.
From that moment on, everything changed.
The mother monkey did not return to the house that night.
But she did not disappear either.
Every morning, she came to the edge of the forest, watching CUTIS from afar. Her eyes were no longer full of panic—but caution, memory, and something close to forgiveness.
CUTIS never followed her. Never forced contact.
He had done the most painful thing a caretaker could do: he had broken a heart to save a future.
And as the sun set behind the trees, CUTIS whispered to the quiet forest, “A mother’s tears are heavy… but a free life is worth them.”
Somewhere in the leaves, a baby monkey laughed. 🌿🐒💔
