As the sun dipped below the horizon and the soft glow of daylight gave way to the shadows of night, little Monkey Lyly grew restless. He sat on the front step, swinging his small legs, his big brown eyes constantly glancing down the path where his mother usually appeared. Every evening, without fail, she would return before dark, her gentle voice calling out to him. But tonight, the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, and the silence only deepened Lyly’s worry.
His tiny hands clutched a worn blanket as he paced back and forth. The crickets sang, and the wind rustled through the trees, but none of it comforted him. Lyly’s heart pounded as his mind filled with questions. Where could she be? Did something happen?
Unable to sit still, he climbed to the highest branch of the tree in their yard, scanning the distance for any sign of her familiar figure. The world looked so big and intimidating under the darkening sky, and suddenly Lyly felt very small. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to cry. Instead, he whispered to himself, “She’ll come. She always comes.”
Finally, just as the stars began to twinkle above, Lyly heard the faint sound of footsteps. His ears perked up, and his anxious little body shot upright. There she was—his mother—carrying a small basket of fruit. She looked tired but smiled warmly the moment she saw him waiting.
“Lyly, my sweet boy,” she said gently, “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to go farther than usual to find food.”
Lyly leapt into her arms, his worry melting into relief. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” he whispered, clinging tightly to her.
His mother kissed his forehead and hugged him close. “No matter how late, I’ll always come home to you.”
That night, Lyly snuggled against her side, his fears soothed by her presence. Though the darkness outside lingered, his little heart was once again full of light.
