High in the dense canopy, where the wind whispered through the leaves, a young monkey named Daniela crouched behind a thick curtain of vines. Her small frame was still, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She didn’t want anyone to see. Not her mother. Not her friends. Not the troop.
Tears slipped silently down her fur.
Daniela was afraid—but she didn’t want anyone to know.
Moments earlier, a loud crack of thunder had rolled through the jungle. A storm was coming. The skies had darkened quickly, and the air turned cold and heavy. While the other monkeys scrambled to safety, Daniela froze. Something in her chest tightened. She remembered a time—long ago, but not forgotten—when she had been separated from her mother during a storm. She had cried then too, but no one had come right away.
Now, even though she was safe, surrounded by her troop, the fear returned. Quiet. Heavy. Real.
She didn’t cry out this time. She didn’t call for help. She simply curled into herself and let the tears fall, hidden behind the vines where no one could see.
But someone did.
