The forest near Angkor Wat woke to gentle mist and scattered birdsong. But today, something felt different. The troop was quieter, more tense. As I walked a familiar trail near the ancient stones, I saw a small group gathered under a banyan treeâhuddled, still, almost reverent.
It was Libby, the proud mother monkey, and beside her was her youngest son, Leo. They were crouched protectively over someone very small. My heart caught in my throat.
It was Lily.
Lilyâsweet, spirited, bright-eyed baby Lilyâlay motionless on the damp forest floor. Her chest barely rose. Her fingers, usually gripping her motherâs fur, twitched feebly in the dirt.
Libbyâs eyes were wide with worry. She gently nuzzled Lilyâs cheek, letting out a soft call, almost like a hum. Beside her, Leoâjust a toddler himselfâreached his tiny hand out to stroke his sisterâs back. The tenderness of it brought tears to my eyes.
No one seemed to know what had happened. Just yesterday, Lily had been chasing butterflies and tumbling in leaves. But this morning, something was wrongâterribly wrong. Perhaps a fall? A fever? The forest keeps its secrets well.
Libby looked exhausted. You could tell she hadnât slept. Her usually sleek coat was matted with dew and dust. Her gaze flicked from Lily to Leo, and then up to the treetopsâperhaps searching for help, for guidance, for a sign.
Other monkeys approached, curious but cautious. Rainbow, a gentle older female, came near and chirped quietly. She touched Libbyâs shoulder as if to say, Youâre not alone.
Thatâs when I noticed something incredible.
Despite her own fear, Libby began to groom Lily softlyâlicking her fur clean, straightening her tiny limbs. She moved with such care, like she believed that if she just kept loving her hard enough, Lily would come back to life.
Leo, too, didnât leave. He nestled against Lilyâs belly, murmuring tiny sounds only she could hear. His head rested on her side, feeling for a heartbeat, maybe listening for a sigh.
And then, it happenedâbarely noticeable at first. Lilyâs tiny fingers curled slightly around a blade of grass. Her ear twitched. A blink.
She was waking up.
A collective breath seemed to be released among the monkeys. Libby let out a series of sharp, relieved chirps, grooming Lilyâs face quickly. Leo jumped up and down, clapping his hands and squealing in delight.
I cried.
I cried not just because Lily had opened her eyesâbut because of the love that saved her. Libbyâs unbreakable strength. Leoâs childlike hope. Rainbowâs quiet support. It reminded me of families everywhereâhuman and animalâwho hold on tight during lifeâs scariest moments.
Lily wasnât fully better. She still looked weak, and her movements were slow. But her mother carried her gently up into the trees, choosing a sun-drenched branch to let her rest. Leo followed close behind, wrapping his tiny arms around Libbyâs tail as if to say, Iâm here. Iâll help.
I watched until they disappeared into the green.
That morning, I didnât just witness a baby monkeyâs fight to live. I saw what it means to be a family in the wildâto stand together, to suffer together, and to hope together.
God help us all, indeed⌠but sometimes, just sometimes, love is enough.