My Choice
Dara had never wished for superpowers before, not even as a child. She never dreamed of flying or shooting laser beams from her eyes, she was never interested in magic or fairy tales, Santa Claus and genies. She was a too-logical child and only believed in what she could see and understand. But in this moment all her logic had flown out of the window as she prayed for magical powers. She prayed for the power to make those two little red lines disappear.
“Ohh my God Dara, what are you going to do?” Demi, Dara’s sister, stopped her nervous pacing for a moment to look at her elder sibling.
You? What are you going to do? That was funny to Dara, she even almost laughed. She never knew such a singular word existed in her sister’s vocabulary. She was so used to “Dara, what are we going to eat?” or “Dara, when are we going out?” or “Dara, when are we getting a new phone?” Her “we” often replaced her “you” and “I”. But today she remembered pronouns well. This was a “you” problem, a Dara problem alone.
Dara shrugged, “I don’t know.”
Her hands trembled as she stared at the pregnancy test in her grasp. What was she going to do now?
She remembered every time she had ever heard someone say that a baby is a blessing and shook her head at the thought. Not this baby, this is the worst thing that could happen to her. Maybe if it had been conceived in love, maybe she could see the good in this mistake. But there was love in its creation, there wasn’t even consent. Her heart hardened even more as she remembered. No, this baby was no blessing, not to her.
“Will you keep it?” the sister blurted out, her voice laced with concern. The question lingered, a heavyweight in the room.
Amid the panic, the bathroom seemed to shrink, Dara closed her eyes and envisioned a life with this child in her belly.
8 Months Later
Dara grabbed the metal rails at the sides of her bed so tightly she had lost feeling in her hands. The sterile scent of the hospital room filled her nose and beads of perspiration rolled down her forehead. The rhythmic beeping of the fetal monitor and the distant murmurs of medical professionals formed an unsettling symphony in the background. She was focused on getting this baby out of her.
As the labor pains intensified, Dami stood by her side, offering words of encouragement. A compassionate nurse, her eyes reflecting both empathy and experience, guided Dara through the strenuous process. The doctor, a composed man in blue scrubs, moved with practiced efficiency, “She’s crowning, one more push and she’ll be out so let’s make it a big one.”
Dara nodded her head in determination as she pushed through the excruciating pain. And within the controlled chaos of the delivery room, the final push got the monstrosity out of her. The cries of a newborn pierced the air, it made her think of a battle cry. The medical staff took her away for a moment then a nurse came to her cradling the tiny, squirming bundle and approached Dara with a warm smile.
“Here’s your beautiful baby,” she said, offering the child to Dara.
However, to the surprise of everyone in the room, Dara averted her gaze, her eyes fixed on some unseen point in the room. A heavy silence filled the space, contrasting sharply with the newborn’s cries. The nurse, still holding the baby, exchanged a concerned glance with the doctor and then with Demi.
“Dara, would you like to hold your baby?” Demi inquired gently.
Dara remained unresponsive, her silence hanging in the room like a shroud. Demi watched her sister, her expression a mixture of worry and confusion. She reached out to touch Dara’s shoulder, trying to bring her attention back to the present moment. But her sister didn’t budge.
The doctor, maintaining a composed demeanor, approached Dara. “Dara, it’s essential for both you and the baby to establish that initial bond. Holding your child can be a beautiful and comforting experience.”
Despite the doctor’s words, Dara’s detachment persisted. The nurse, with a sigh, carefully placed the baby in the small bassinet beside the bed. The atmosphere in the room seemed to shift from celebration to an unspoken tension.
As medical professionals continued their routine checks on the newborn, Dara’s distant gaze remained fixed on an invisible spot.
3 Weeks Later
In the soft glow of early morning, a chorus of chirping birds was overshadowed by the persistent cries of a baby echoing through the stillness. Dara, tangled in disheveled sheets, lay in bed tossing and turning, her eyes reflecting the weariness of sleepless nights. The room seemed to shrink with each wail, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily on her.
Eventually, Dara sat up, a fleeting determination in her eyes. She was on the brink of rising, but then, she reconsidered and slumped back into her nest of pillows. Frustration etched across her face, she covered her ears with a pillow, attempting to drown out the relentless cries. In this desperate act, she slowly started to fall back into an uneasy slumber. Her dreams, however, didn’t offer much refuge as the baby’s cries seemed to permeate even the realm of sleep.
Abruptly, Dara was jarred awake by insistent knocks on her door, a rhythmic echo that mirrored the pounding in her head. Grudgingly, she peeled herself from the bed and sluggishly made her way to the door. The baby’s cries persisted, a relentless reminder of her inability to escape the relentless demands of motherhood.
Opening the door, Dara was met with the stern gaze of her neighbor, Mrs Bose had a demeanor that hinted at both concern and frustration. “Do you not hear that baby crying? It’s been hours, and you’ve done nothing about it!” the older woman scolded.
Dara, still groggy and disoriented, felt a pang of guilt. She attempted to explain, her voice strained with weariness, “I… I haven’t been able to sleep in days. It’s just… it’s been so hard.”
Mrs Bose’s expression softened slightly, but she wasn’t ready to let Dara off the hook. “If you wanted to sleep, maybe you should have thought about that before bringing a baby into the world. Responsibilities come with choices, my dear.”
The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and as the woman turned to leave, Dara closed the door behind her with a heavy heart. At that moment, a cold resentment toward the source of her sleepless torment began to fill her heart. She had yet to bond with the baby and really didn’t care to.
As she went back to lie in bed she wondered when her maternal instinct would kick in, maybe then she would be a better mother but for now, she really didn’t care about that baby.
5 Years Later
The dining room was bathed in the dim glow of a desk lamp, casting shadows that danced across the scattered papers and an open laptop. Dara, perched on the edge of her dining table, cradled her phone against her ear, her voice laced with uneasiness as she reassured her boss, “I’m almost done with the report ma’am, and I’ll send it over shortly,” Dara affirmed, her fingers dancing over the keyboard, typing with a sense of urgency.
“Good, you know how important this is Dara. If we don’t get this report done by tomorrow morning we could lose our sponsorship.” The voice on the other end, Dara’s boss said tensely.
Dara’s response was resolute, “I know ma’am, I’m treating it as a priority.”
“Good.” That was all her boss said before ending the call.
In the corner of the room, 5-year-old Peculiar played with her toys, her innocent laughter providing a stark contrast to the tension that gripped Dara. As she braided her doll’s hair, Peculiar called out to her mother, a radiant smile on her face. “Mom, look how pretty I made her hair!”
Dara, engrossed in her work, snapped at her daughter without sparing her a glance, “Not now, Peculiar.”
Undeterred, Peculiar continued to play, she was used to her mum’s sour attitude. She knew from the tone of her mother’s voice that she didn’t want to be disturbed so she stayed silent. However, as the minutes ticked by, hunger gnawed at her, and she called out to her mother timidly, “Mom, I’m hungry.”
Dara, still immersed in her work, initially ignored the plea. Yet, as Peculiar’s cries grew more insistent, Dara sighed in frustration, stopping her typing and reluctantly leaving her makeshift workspace.
The little girl got up too and excitedly followed her mother to the kitchen. As Peculiar got close to the dining table she dropped her doll. In her attempt to retrieve it, her small head collided with her mother’s laptop, sending it crashing to the floor.
Peculiar began to cry immediately, holding her head in pain. Yet, Dara rushed past her crying toddler, her eyes fixated on the laptop. She picked up from the floor tapping violently on random keys as the screen remained blank.
The anger that had been simmering within Dara for five years now erupted in a volcanic surge. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dara turned to Peculiar, her voice a crescendo of frustration and exhaustion. “I’ve had enough! I can’t deal with you anymore! Still just too much!” The words, heavy with the weight of stress and pent-up emotion, hung in the air.
Peculiar, now sobbing, looked up at her mother with tear-filled eyes. She stretched out her hands to her mother to be held but Dara took a step back, shaking her head profusely. “I don’t want you, I never did.” She said.
1 Month Later
The office was a somber expanse of monotone walls and worn-out furniture, and Dara was seated across from a disinterested clerk. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the paperwork strewn across the desk. It was in this dull ambiance that Dara decided to inquire a little more about the place.
“So, tell me about the facilities here,” she asked.
The clerk, a man with a demeanor as lackluster as the office itself, glanced up with an apathetic gaze. “Good enough,” he replied, his tone devoid of any enthusiasm. Dara pressed further, her questions a lifeline in the uncertain decision she was about to make.
“How many people work with the children?” she asked, hoping for some reassurance.
The clerk’s response was curt, “We have a staff of five. That’s all we can afford.”
“And the other kids? Will my daughter fit in here?”
The clerk’s monotone reply did little to assuage her concerns. “Peculiar will feel right at home here.”
With a resolute nod, Dara acknowledged the clerk’s words, her mind made up, there was no going back. She rose from the dreary chair, extending her hand for a final shake. The man, feigning a sincerity that did not reflect in his eyes, uttered, “We will take good care of your daughter.” His bored expression remained unchanged, rendering the niceties hollow.
Despite the facade of reassurance, Dara was unswayed. She walked out of the office, a decision etched in her determined gaze. As she approached the waiting area, she saw Peculiar perched on one of the worn-out chairs, her small legs swinging back and forth. At the sight of her mother, Peculiar jumped down and ran towards her, a smile lighting up her face.
Dara’s heart ached, but her resolve remained unbroken. She gently held her daughter’s shoulder and nudged her toward the clerk. The man extended his hand, and Peculiar, as though sensing the gravity of the moment, took it hesitantly.
As Dara walked away, she could hear Peculiar’s cries echoing through the sterile walls. The heart-wrenching sound tugged at Dara’s non-existent maternal instincts, but she had already steeled herself against any emotional tumult.
She never turned back, each step away from the waiting room and her crying daughter a step deeper into a decision that weighed heavily on her soul. The door closed behind her, muffling the cries, leaving Dara with a heavy heart.
20 Years Later
The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the breakfast table where Dara, her husband, and their two young sons were sharing a meal. Their everyday routine was abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door, a sound that carried an unusual weight. A sense of foreboding crept over Dara so she rose from the table, a protective instinct compelling her to face whatever threat lingered beyond the entrance alone, shielding her family.
She approached the door with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. As it swung open, she was met with the gaze of a young woman. “Mrs. Dara?” the young woman inquired.
Dara’s nod was hesitant, her pulse quickening. The ominous feeling that had accompanied the knock now intensified. The stranger took a steadying breath, and a resolute expression settled on her face. “It’s me… Peculiar.”
The name hung in the air, a revelation that resonated deeply within Dara. Her heart lurched, and she felt a sudden chill as if time had folded upon itself. Peculiar, now grown and standing before her. She was the one who brought danger to her own front door.
Dara struggled to find words, her throat tightening as her mouth opened up so no words could escape.
“Dara, who’s at the door?” Her husband asked from within their cozy apartment.
Panic gripped Dara, and she turned to Peculiar with pleading eyes, silently begging for understanding. “Please… they don’t know.”
Peculiar laughed, a bitter and mirthless laugh that echoed in the doorway. “Your new family doesn’t know about your abandoned child.” The revelation hung in the air, a heavy truth that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facade of Dara’s current life.
Dara nodded slowly, her eyes filled with regret.
“Okay then, they are about to find out,” Peculiar declared, her determination unwavering.
Present Day
Dara’s eyes fluttered open, and a shiver ran down her spine as the haunting images of a potential future played vividly in her mind. Turning her gaze to her sister, who was now sitting on the sink slab, Dara felt a renewed sense of clarity. The resolve within her solidified, and she knew, with a certainty that came from deep within, that she didn’t want that future. She knew what she had to do.
All images are sourced from pexels
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