Deep in the edge of the forest, hidden beneath fallen branches and dry leaves, I found him—a poor, sick baby monkey, barely clinging to life. His frail body was curled into itself, covered in dirt and scratches. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were dull with exhaustion and pain. He looked up at me with the faintest glimmer of hope, as if begging for someone—anyone—to save him.
I couldn’t turn away.
Carefully, I lifted him into my arms, wrapping him in the only warm cloth I had. He didn’t resist. He was too weak to move, his little fingers just barely clinging to my hand. I carried him home, whispering softly the whole way, trying to comfort him through his fear and suffering.
The first few days were the hardest. He wouldn’t eat much, and he cried in his sleep, likely from pain and the trauma he’d endured. I kept him warm with heated blankets, fed him slowly with a syringe, and never left his side. His tiny body was fighting to survive, and I was determined to fight with him.
With time, love, and constant care, he began to improve. His cries grew stronger, and his eyes slowly regained their brightness. He started to cling to me more tightly, resting his head on my chest and curling into my arms like he finally felt safe. He began to eat more, and eventually, he even tried to play—grabbing at my fingers with tiny hands and chattering softly.
Though he still has a long road ahead, every little improvement feels like a miracle. He was once a forgotten soul in the forest, but now, he’s a part of my family. I clean his wounds, comfort him through the night, and remind him every day that he is not alone anymore.
Rescuing him wasn’t just an act of kindness—it was a promise. A promise that he would never have to suffer again without love, care, or warmth. And as he looks up at me now, eyes full of trust, I know that promise is being kept. ❤️