Thirty days after Sơn rescued the tiny monkey and adopted the baby as his own, life had found a new rhythm—gentle, hopeful, and filled with small joys. The monkey, whom he named Kaki, had grown stronger and more curious with each passing day. Where once Kaki had trembled in fear and whimpered from the trauma of being abandoned, he now clung playfully to Sơn’s shoulder, chirping softly and exploring the world with cautious delight.
Their bond had become something beautiful—something that words could not fully explain. Sơn had always had a quiet heart for animals. Living alone near the edge of the forest, he often took in strays and injured wildlife. But Kaki was different. Kaki had been just a few days old when Sơn found him, lying cold and alone near a trail used by hunters. His tiny fingers were clenched tight, and his eyes barely open. Something in that fragile little form had struck Sơn deeply, and from that moment, he knew he couldn’t leave Kaki behind.
The first few weeks were challenging. Kaki had to be fed by hand, kept warm at all hours, and gently reassured that he was safe. Sơn built a cozy enclosure inside his home, complete with blankets, soft toys, and even a makeshift branch for climbing. Slowly, Kaki began to trust. He learned to recognize Sơn’s voice, his scent, and the sound of his footsteps. He would reach out with his little arms every time Sơn approached, a silent plea to be held, to be comforted.
By the thirtieth day, Kaki had become part of Sơn’s life—more than a rescued animal, more than a pet. He was family.
But not everything in the forest was as peaceful as Sơn’s home.
Unknown to Sơn, illegal traps set by poachers were still being laid throughout parts of the forest. Despite wildlife protection laws, poaching remained a cruel reality. These traps, often hidden under foliage, were designed to catch animals indiscriminately—monkeys, birds, even small mammals. Most locals knew to avoid the deeper parts of the forest, but Kaki didn’t.
One sunny morning, Sơn took Kaki out into the garden behind his house. The little monkey had grown bolder and more adventurous, often hopping from Sơn’s shoulder to the branches of nearby trees. Sơn always kept a close eye on him, but that day, Kaki’s energy was unusually high. With a few quick leaps, he slipped away through the trees, chirping excitedly.
Sơn called after him, chuckling at first. Kaki had done this before—never gone far, always coming back within a few minutes. But this time felt different. Minutes turned to nearly an hour, and the forest grew quieter. A chill ran through Sơn’s chest.
He grabbed his flashlight and headed into the trees, calling Kaki’s name.
The sound, when it came, shattered the silence. A sharp, high-pitched cry—one Sơn had never heard from Kaki before. It was a cry of pain.
Sprinting through the underbrush, Sơn followed the sound until he found him. Kaki was caught in a wire snare, his tiny leg tightly bound, the cruel metal biting into his skin. He was thrashing in panic, his eyes wild with fear. The trap had been hidden under a pile of dried leaves, invisible even to careful eyes.
Sơn dropped to his knees, his hands shaking. “It’s okay, Kaki, I’m here,” he whispered over and over, trying to calm the terrified baby. With careful hands, he loosened the twisted wire, doing his best not to hurt him more. Kaki whimpered and clung to Sơn’s arm as the snare finally came loose.
Back at the house, Sơn treated the wound with warm water and antiseptic. Kaki’s leg was swollen and bleeding, but thankfully, no bones were broken. For the next few days, he barely moved, curled up in Sơn’s arms, trembling and weak. The sparkle in his eyes dimmed again, just as it had when he’d first been rescued.
Sơn never left his side.
In the days that followed, Kaki slowly began to heal. He would look up at Sơn with sad, tired eyes, but also with trust. He knew he was safe again. And Sơn knew he had to do more.
He reported the trap to local authorities and began advocating for better patrols in the forest near his home. What happened to Kaki was not just a personal tragedy—it was a symptom of a larger problem. Poaching had to be stopped. Traps had to be removed. The forest had to be made safe again—for Kaki, and for all creatures like him.
Kaki’s story became one of survival not once, but twice. And through it all, his bond with Sơn only grew stronger—built on rescue, healing, and a shared fight for a kinder world.