Dear Mel,

Last time I met your husband he had very little to say to me. My love for him had died and his unborn child in my womb too had lost the sense of parenthood. But then I knew he had come for another reason. He had come to speak of the little ways he could take away my last source of happiness. You would ask how I know this even without him mentioning it. Well there were those days he wished to see me for reasons of love and affection, those days he looked a different person. But that day he looked to have an impatient purpose in his heart.

I had decided right then that I will give him away. I will part with my son in most simple of ways. After all who was I as a woman and a mother to keep him. He who would grow up to resent me of my heinous crime of having loved someone. Of having trusted someone.

And it was then that I decided how trivial my life was when compared to the society and its tentacles. 

And he, the man I loved for fifteen years smiled. 

But I wanted to hear his side once. I never wished to give up the baby so soon. I thought perhaps there would be something for me in his explanation. An odd memory of the past he may rake. Some detail of our relationship which might slip in the conversation.

And well it happened exactly as I had pictured it.

“I did love you. I still love you. But then those days of loneliness I have at home without you and a child, that kill me from inside. If you would give me the baby, I would keep a part of you alive in my life,” he had begun to speak slowly.

I wanted to say why not take me along with you. Why not give up that lifeless love and accept me wholeheartedly. But I knew better than to do that. I had lived a life and known what I could demand and what I could not. I remembered the first time I met him under the same roof where you both live today. He was young back then. And he had the strength to take me in his arms without any fears.

Those fears are still not there on his face. He knows I will not refuse his request.

The breeze was blowing outside. And the wind was threatening to sweep my world inside.

“Will it make you happy to know that there is no one but you whom I would have wanted to be the mother of my child?” he continued to speak, his impatience overflowing with every passing minute now.

I wanted to slap him for saying so. Because it meant that my say in my motherhood had no meaning left now. I wanted to be a mother for my child. If I needed a father I would have chosen someone by now already. His words made me feel like it was for him I was carrying a child. I wanted to say all this to him. But I knew better. And so I only smiled.

He smiled back. The two smiles reflected in the mirror on the side. Ever since I had come to know about the child, I had started to watch myself grow. I knew this was my last journey of happiness.

You would say why I ever thought like that? Because I was preparing myself for the worst of times. My child born into a world where his identity will be questioned, my decision to bring him here a myth and of course his unnamed father a curse. And in here, inside my womb he is mine alone. There is no body to tell him who is father is and the soft bed he sleeps on describing his mother in detail.I felt alone and yet surrounded with him. I wished him to feel me only in these moments, I wondered whether he would ever forgive me when brought outside.

“Will you please forgive me?” Your husband’s impatience now changed into something else. His face radiated a sense of loss so deep I wish words could explain.

I felt sad for him. For the first time I thought he did not even have the luxury of these nine months. His world was shattered the moment the child was conceived. He was here out of guilt and not out of need. But my child was not my guilt, he was my need.

What a mix of emotions for the two of us. So different and yet so much connected by my unborn child.

His eyes followed to my womb. They reeked of love. Suddenly in that flash of a change I saw him, I saw my child pleading me to not let go. I wonder how or why that happened. But then it felt just right. He spoke to me from inside, he begged me to not give up.

Tears of joy streamed from my eyes. I felt the need of my child inside. It was like he and I both had no guilt of his existence. He who wished to come out with me needed me more than what I needed him.

“Will you give him up for me?” But my thoughts brought back by guilt. By the same man who had once brought me to my knees begging for his acceptance.

My need was always there. Once of a man and even today surprisingly of a man. 

I felt weak. My son kicked me from inside. I felt lost in those moments of despair. Is this my weakness or my emotions which makes me want to hold on to that child? Am I the source of love for him or the centre of dependency?

I looked up, tears down my cheek stuck like questions in my mind. 

“I need my son, please,” he spoke, pleading to me for forgiveness and perhaps more.

And just in that moment I gave him away.


And that was the only piece of memory Mel had of the woman who had provided her the opportunity of being a mother. She had read this letter almost everyday for the last twenty five years.

“What are you reading?” His voice startled her a bit.

His eyes had dimmed a bit, hair more grey than others at his age and the same frown shading his forehead.

She turned back to the letter and felt a strange pain seer in her heart.

My need was always there. Once of a man and even today surprisingly of a man. 

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I am taking part in the Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th-14th December 2013 and this post has been written for Day 1 which has the prompt as memories.

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