Set in Angkor Wat, Cambodia
The sun was just beginning to rise over the ancient stones of Angkor Wat, casting soft golden light over the quiet forest floor. The early morning peace was gently disturbed by the sound of leaves crunching under small, uncertain steps. It was baby Loma—barely a few weeks old—clinging tightly to his mother, Rozy.
Rozy had always been known in the troop for her strength and patience. Visitors often marveled at how carefully she groomed her baby, how attentively she cradled him against her chest. But this morning, something was… different.
I stood frozen behind a tree, watching through the lens of my camera. At first, I thought she was simply shifting him, adjusting his tiny body for comfort. But then, my heart sank. She slowly bent down, gently guiding Loma’s tiny hands toward the dirt-covered roots below.
“No… she’s not letting him go—right?” I whispered to myself, breath caught in my chest.
Loma didn’t understand. His wide eyes darted between the forest floor and his mother’s solemn face. He reached back up to her. Tiny fingers curled in desperation.
But Rozy didn’t respond.
She looked away.
It was like watching a silent heartbreak unfold—one that spoke volumes in the absence of sound. No cries. No aggression. Just a heavy, silent goodbye.
I kept watching, wondering why. Was Loma sick? Was Rozy afraid? Was this her way of protecting him from something I couldn’t see?
The troop had been under stress lately. Males from a neighboring group had been challenging for territory. Rozy herself had been chased and bitten days before. Perhaps she thought Loma would be safer hidden?
But nothing prepared me for what she did next.
She stepped back.
Just a few inches—but it felt like a mile.
That movement broke me.
Loma’s arms trembled as he tried to pull himself back toward her. But Rozy hesitated—just for a second—then scooped him back into her arms.
And she wept.
I swear to you, she wept.
Tears streamed down her face—not the kind we humans have, but the kind that came with shaking breaths and long, hollow stares. Her body curled protectively around her baby as she rocked slowly.
I don’t know what happened in her mind in that moment. Maybe she realized she wasn’t ready to give up. Maybe instinct took over. Maybe… love did.
And just like that, she carried Loma back into the safety of the bushes.
But that moment—those seconds where she tried to let go—still haunt me.
So many human parents know this feeling. The guilt. The fear. The feeling of not knowing if you’re strong enough to keep going. Rozy reminded me that motherhood is universal. That even in the jungle, with no language, no shelter, and no help—there’s still heartbreak. There’s still love.
And in the middle of Cambodia’s ancient forest, I was reminded of something timeless:
No mother wants to let go. But sometimes, they feel like they have no choice.
Rozy’s decision to pick her baby back up? That was a victory not just of instinct—but of heart.