In the early light of the jungle morning, the troop stirred gently among the trees. Birds called overhead, and dew clung to the leaves like tiny gems. But one monkey, a young father named Riku, was already wide-eyed and frantic. His newborn daughter, Annie, was gone.
Just moments earlier, she had been nestled against his chest, dozing peacefully. But in a distracted blink—a rustle, a shift, a quick moment—she had slipped away.
“Annie?” Riku chirped sharply, scanning the branches. His chest tightened. No tiny coos, no clumsy crawling, no sign of her scent on the breeze. Panic gripped him.
He bolted from branch to branch, calling her name in short, frantic bursts. His fur bristled as dread crept in. The jungle was too big, too wild. She was too small.
Down below, vines twisted like snakes. Birds scattered as he leapt through the trees, heart racing, eyes darting. He paused, ears twitching. Nothing but the wind.
Then—a faint squeak.
He turned sharply.
There, tucked beneath a patch of broad green leaves, Annie sat curled up and blinking sleepily. She had wandered during a nap, barely a few feet away, but hidden just enough to vanish from sight.
Riku swooped down, scooping her up in trembling arms. Relief washed over him like rain. He clutched her to his chest, breathing in her soft scent, his heart finally slowing.
Annie looked up at him with innocent eyes, unaware of the chaos she’d caused. She reached for his face with her tiny fingers, and Riku pressed his forehead to hers.
Back in the safety of the troop, he held her tighter than ever. From that moment on, he vowed: not a second out of sight.
