In a quiet corner of the forest, hidden beneath a tangle of branches and fallen leaves, a tiny baby monkey named Calvin lies curled up and trembling. His fur is thin and dusty, his small body so weak that even lifting his head seems too heavy.
Calvin was born not long ago, but his beginning has already been too hard. His mother, Casi, young and frightened, was not ready for the weight of caring for him. At first, she tried. She let him cling to her belly, nudged him to her chest for warmth. But when he squeaked for milk, she turned her head away, distracted or unsure what to do.
Now, the other monkeys move together through the branches, but Calvin is left behind. Each time he cries, a soft sound like a broken whistle, Casi only glances at him. When he tries to nuzzle up to her for milk, she shifts away, leaving him searching for warmth that never comes.
His tiny hands grip the fallen leaves, and his lips smack with hunger he cannot fill alone. Every now and then, he tries to crawl toward his mother, but his legs tremble and give out beneath him. Still, he tries again — and again — hoping for the comfort every baby deserves.
Nearby, a few caring humans or other troop members watch. They see his ribs showing through his soft fur, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. They know if help does not come soon, his small heartbeat might fade into the forest floor forever.
With gentle hands, they scoop him up, wrapping him in soft cloth and warming his tiny body against theirs. A drop of milk touches his lips — a chance to live. Calvin’s weak eyes flutter open, and for the first time, hope flickers in his fragile heart.
