Melody

Content Warning: This story contains themes of adoption and explores the emotional complexities of a mother giving up her child.

Caroline stared at a little box that sat on a shelf surrounded by little trinkets and stuffed animals. Her heart almost skipped a beat every time she came to this shelf, and would look at the mementos before her, a painful reminder of a time in her life. Every so often she reminisced on a decision she made thirty years ago. She would ponder what could've been, if only she was stronger. 

That little box haunted Caroline every time she looked at it. She coughed as the smell of dust overshadowed the floral potpourri, then wiped a layer of dust off the box. She hesitated, stopping herself from opening the box. Why should she torment herself? She's already tormented by the decision she made all those years ago. She shouldn't look at the contents of the box, for she knew it would leave her in agonizing pain, crying uncontrollably.

Her closest friends knew about the shelf and the box. They knew about the decision she made many years ago, when she was young and naive, and they often worried for Caroline. Some would ask her if she would ever let the shelf and box go, and Caroline would look at them like monsters trying to take yet another precious thing away from her.

Caroline couldn't let it go. She had to keep it. It was a reminder; a very bitter reminder, yet nonetheless it was something to remember Melody by. Melody - oh the name still left a sliver of sunshine in her mind. Melody, a name that was meant to always leave a song in her heart, full of hope and warmth. Melody, that was the name Caroline gave her. 

It had been thirty years since Caroline gave Melody up for adoption, but the name still sang in her heart. The adoptive parents named her Genevieve, and in some ways, that made the loss feel even sharper. Melody was her baby. Genevieve was someone else.

Should she open the box for just a peek? Caroline stared at the box, and ran her rough and aged fingers over the hand-painted design on the lid. Caroline had painted the box and adorned it with ribbons in pastel colors. She always wondered what colors Genevieve liked. She wondered many things about her. Caroline gave a long sigh of resignation, then stepped away from the shelf.

Why couldn't Caroline just move on? How could someone who went through what she did ever move on, though? To expect Caroline to ever move on was like asking someone to just forget a part of her. Caroline always held onto the hope that one day she would get a knock on her door, a phone call, a message in her email - anything - from her. She was only fifty years old, but if Genevieve wouldn't contact her by now, then she probably never would.

Caroline sniffled and wiped a salty tear that escaped. She sat on her bed, and tried to ease her mind by reading a book. But the urge came back, and Caroline glanced back at the shelf. It was Genevieve’s birthday. She would be thirty years old today. Caroline wondered what she was doing for her birthday.

She couldn't hold herself back anymore, and cautiously walked to the shelf and reached out for the box. That little box, filled with a gift from her heart to Melody, the baby that she carried. That little box, haunted by remorse, felt like it was now a relic of someone who never existed.

Carefully, Caroline opened the box to reveal - as if never opened before - baby pink tissue paper with little shiny flakes adorning it. Lifting up the tissue paper revealed a pair of soft velvety little baby shoes that Caroline had crocheted while she was pregnant with Melody. She let the tears roll down her cheeks, then sobbed, and covered the shoes back and closed the lid of the box.

She remembered that year like it was just a short time ago. It was her first summer at college. Caroline was young and clueless. She just wanted to be wanted. She longed to be loved by someone. Then an intriguing boy caught her eye. One thing led to another, and now she has nothing but a memory to haunt her.

She was only nineteen years old when she discovered she was pregnant. Frantic, knowing her family would disown her, she scrabbled for a way to somehow keep it secret for as long as possible. She wasn't living at home, so her family didn't see her often. She knew one thing only: she wouldn't end the pregnancy; she couldn't bear to do that - it would kill her to do that. The boy wouldn’t marry her or even try to help.

Caroline didn't know what to do. Then, like an angel sent to her, a woman who convinced her to move out to begin with, came out one day and talked to her about the situation when Caroline fainted while at a bus stop. The woman wasn't family, but she imposed herself to be as such to Caroline, insisting that Caroline's family wasn't supportive of her.

"You're not ready for motherhood," she said in a low and haunting voice, "I mean look at you - you're barely grown up yourself."

"But I don't know if I could do it. I mean, I want to give her the best life possible, but I also love her." Caroline whimpered. 

"You got to think about what's best for the baby," the woman advised as a motherly figure, "You don't even have a steady job, and you're barely able to make it by. Don't you want to be able to finish college and start a career? You won't be able to do that with a baby to take care of."

"I know, but that is a really big decision to make. I don't know who would get her if I gave her up for adoption. What if the people aren't good to her? What if they don’t have the values I want her to grow up with?"

"Well, you know I was never able to have children of my own. I could adopt her from you; then you'd know she's taken care of," the woman mentioned casually, "And since you're so close to us, you know - you're like my own grown-up daughter - you could see her pretty much whenever."

The offer sounded amazing. Obviously Caroline would want to be able to see Melody and watch her grow up, and be a part of her life.

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Caroline wanted to believe her, but didn't know if she should trust her. 

"Of course, kiddo, you're like family."

Caroline eventually realized trusting the woman was a big mistake. Unfortunately for her, she realized it too late.

The woman took Caroline to see the adoption agent, a personal friend. Caroline was asked questions, and she answered. She was told to sign the papers, all the while feeling the future adoptive mother’s eyes, hovering like a hawk, watching her every move. Despite the uneasiness she increasingly felt from the woman, it was as if Caroline was stuck in quicksand. She can't question the woman now. Any sudden change and she would be buried alive.

When Caroline went into labor, the woman adopting the baby whisked her away to the hospital, and in a blur, she was taken to a room where she lay in agony feeling a tornado of emotions. Each contraction was so intense that Caroline writhed in pain, arching her back, twisting and turning, sweating like a pig on a hot roast. 

"Are you in pain, darlin’?" a nurse asked.

"Yes," Caroline moaned in the middle of another contraction, nauseous from all the heightened senses.

"Do you want something for it?"

"Yes!" Caroline screamed. The problem was, she had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Before she knew it, walls were warping and closing in on her, and everyone was looking like characters out of a fantasy world. That wasn't just any medication they gave her.

The entire time, the woman who would be adopting the baby sat by her side and held her hand, acting like she was her mom.

"It's going to be okay," the woman said, trying to sound comforting but still having an edge to it, like underneath that motherly-figure demeanor was someone with a knife just waiting to cut her for the slightest aversion from her plan. Caroline wasn't as dumb as the woman thought or made her seem to be; she knew that the woman was controlling and not the outstanding lady she initially presented herself as - she seen it over the months of her pregnancy - and she knew that if she did divert from the adoption plan, and decide she wants to keep the baby, that this woman could hurt her in ways she couldn't even fathom. Caroline wasn't unaware of what was going on, she just felt like a mouse trapped in a maze, and this woman was the cat waiting at the end of it.

Suddenly, when she had dilated almost two inches, an alarm blared for the baby's heart rate. Startled, Caroline jumped. Nurses buzzed around after it continued for over a minute, and they got the baby up on their sonogram and discovered that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. An emergency C-section was ordered, and yet again Caroline was taken away to an operating room. They gave her an epidural, then proceeded to begin the surgery. Caroline was in a daze, still conscious but disoriented. A curtain went up in front of her chest. She was numb from the chest down, only feeling a dull sensation when the doctors checked. The surgery began. 

The entire time, the woman was there, watching and waiting. Any comforting words, however, were drowned out by the daze that Caroline was in.

When it was all over, she was shown her baby girl, crying and trying to suck the doctor's thumb. Eight pounds and three ounces of pure love. Her baby was then taken away to be cleaned up, as was Caroline to recover. Indeed, it was one of the scariest and exhausting ordeals she had been through - but she just brought a life into the world - she needed to rest, and gather her thoughts.

The passing time only heightened Caroline’s anxiety. Each moment brought another pang of doubt about the decision to give up her baby girl. How could she let her go? Yet, how could she possibly care for her? Sure, she could seek government assistance, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. And the thought of facing her family, or keeping the baby a secret, living apart from them—all of it felt unbearable. She couldn’t bring herself to tell them they had a granddaughter out there; one they might never meet.

Then it came. The moment that the woman showed the side of her that made Caroline feel like she really was a vulture, circling around and waiting for the kill.

"So, how do you feel?" she asked, peering across the room from a chair, her beady eyes black with a darkness like a demon.

"Like I got hit by a bus," Caroline tried to make light of it, but she felt like garbage, and she would’ve rather not talked to the woman. Her voice was shaky, her mouth dry, and she had a bad taste in her mouth.

"I brought the papers for the adoption; technically you could wait until the baby is released from the hospital, but I figured you'd want to sign now just to get it out of the way."

There it was. That's what she wanted. Feeling the pressure, Caroline said the words she didn't actually mean, because she was afraid to say anything else.

"Yeah, I guess." Her chest tightened, and Caroline felt a huge weight drop on her shoulders. She clutched the thin, faded sheet that covered her in the hospital bed, rubbing her thumbs against the fabric.

"Here, you go," the woman brought the papers over with a pen, then pointed out to the places she needed to sign, and stood over Caroline, with her hand on her hips, impatient for having to wait. She had to wait a whole eight months for this. She had to wait while holding Caroline's hair back as she threw up during morning sickness. She had to wait as she paid for Caroline's doctor visits. She had to wait as she meticulously wrote down every transaction, every mileage for every trip, to write off on her taxes.

Then, in a single stroke, Caroline gave her everything away. It was a done deal. No turning back. The dreams she had for her baby, were just a faded wish that could never come true now.

"Oh, and since you'll be in here a little while recovering, I'll hang on to your copy to keep it safe," the woman tried to make it sound like she was doing Caroline a favor. 

In the days that followed Caroline and the baby's release, it seemed like maybe the woman was going to keep her promise after all. She let Caroline hold the baby, whose name had been changed to Genevieve, and let her take pictures with her and of her. It felt so surreal, holding this beautiful little life in her arms, and knowing that this life, this baby, was hers but no longer is.

As months passed, things changed drastically.

"Can I come see Genevieve?" Caroline would ask.

"We're busy, maybe next weekend." the woman would say, but she would say that every time. 

Caroline was disheartened, and she felt like the woman was purposely keeping her from seeing Genevieve. Anytime she did see her, it was always at arm’s length. But there was no proof of any wrongdoing; what did she know about raising a baby, after all? Perhaps she really was busy and had no time for visits.

Soon she gave up trying to see Genevieve. She had to. It was for her own good, she told herself; she can't keep putting herself in these situations, driving herself mad. She had to move on for her own well-being. 

Caroline continued to float from one temp job to another, barely making it by, and eventually finished a two-year degree from college. Yet, having the degree didn't help during the job market crisis. Caroline had to move out of state, somewhere with cheaper cost of living.

The years passed, and out of the blue Caroline had received a friend request on a social media site from the woman. Genevieve was five years old then. Although she was skeptical, Caroline thought she would give it another chance.

"We aren't going to be posting her pictures online because of creeps out there," the woman wrote in one message to Caroline, justifying the lack of pictures that were there. Actually, the woman said as much when Genevieve was only a year old - she insisted that any pictures of her that Caroline got would be through a secure server that was password protected. Only a handful of people would get to see it. But that wasn't updated often, and Caroline stopped checking for updates or even asking for new pictures after a couple years of trying off and on.

It seemed like the woman had no intention of ever actually updating Caroline about Genevieve through the social media site. In fact, Caroline felt like if anything, she was just being watched by the woman. She couldn’t bear it anymore. One day she decided to delete her from the friends list and blocked her. 

Caroline knew that by her doing that, she was just giving a way for the woman to say that she tried to get in contact with Caroline, but it was Caroline who decided not to be in Genevieve’s life. That was fine. Caroline was doomed either way: if she kept trying to reach out, she was the obsessive birthmother who wouldn’t leave well enough alone; but if she didn’t keep trying to reach out, then she was the one who didn’t care or try hard enough. Caroline figured that there was no point in being in Genevieve’s life if it meant that she was treated like a stranger. What was the point for her to set herself up for more disappointments and more emotional trauma?

Years passed, and while putting some things in storage, Caroline came across an old box. It was the box with pink crocheted shoes for Melody, the baby she loved, and they looked like they did the day she finished them. She was 20 weeks pregnant. She was starting to feel Melody move around and kick more. Sometimes it felt like Melody was doing acrobats in the womb. Caroline remembered that sensation even years later; the thought of it sent shivers down her back. 

That was the day Caroline became obsessed with the shoes she never got to give her baby; the shoes that her baby would never get to wear. She took the box home and cleared off a shelf on her bookcase, and dedicated it to Melody. Not Genevieve, but Melody, because she didn't know Genevieve the way she knew Melody. Melody, however, was her dear baby that grew in her womb for nine months. Melody was the baby that heard her real mother sing songs and hum melodies at night to try to sleep. Melody was the baby that actually felt her own mother's heartbeat.