In the heart of Cambodia’s Angkor Wat forest, where temple ruins whisper ancient stories and the air is thick with mystery, I witnessed a scene that changed me forever.
It was early morning, and the jungle was waking up. I had returned to a quiet spot near the stone trail where monkeys often gathered. I never expected that day to feel like a lesson in love and resilience.
From behind a moss-covered tree, I saw her—Lory, the strong, quiet matriarch of one of the monkey families we’ve followed for years. She wasn’t alone. Clinging tightly to her chest was a newborn, still pink-faced and barely able to grip her fur. But what shocked me was the older sibling—barely weaned, not yet independent—wrapped around her back like a little backpack.
Two babies. One tired mother.
She was struggling. Every step looked like it cost her. Her arms bent awkwardly from the weight. Her legs moved slower than usual. And yet, she didn’t stop. Not even once.
Other mothers in the group watched from the trees. A few called out. None offered help. That’s not how it works in the wild. Each mother carries her own.
But Lory’s situation was different. No father in sight. No older female to assist. She was it—the sole protector, the only one these two babies had.
There were moments when she nearly stumbled. Her foot caught on a root, and she dropped to one knee. The older baby yelped, holding tighter. The newborn squirmed, sensing danger.
I held my breath.
She got up slowly, eyes scanning the trees. Then, she pulled both babies in tighter and pressed on.
Watching her reminded me of my own mother. Of the days she carried groceries in one hand and me in the other, rain soaking her shoulders. Of how tired she looked when she thought no one noticed. How she kept going anyway.
It’s easy to romanticize motherhood—but Lory made me remember the raw truth: being a mom means doing the hard thing, again and again, without asking for applause.
She didn’t know I was watching. But I whispered a silent thank you to her.
Later that afternoon, as the sun began to set over the ancient stones of Angkor, Lory finally stopped beneath a wide banyan tree. She nestled her babies in the roots, gently licking their faces clean. The way she looked at them—with quiet awe, and fierce love—said everything.
Even in exhaustion, she glowed with pride.
That day, Lory didn’t just carry her babies.
She carried a legacy.
She carried the spirit of every mother who has ever walked through pain to protect her children.
And I’ll never forget her.
