Melo has been awake for the past ten minutes staring at the iron roof and ignoring the blaring alarm on her phone. The baby – her baby – sleeps soundly against her chest, small lips twitching with dreams, and Melo dares not shift. One sudden movement, a sneeze, adjusting an arm, one wrong move, and the peace will end in another blowout diaper disaster.

The pile of slightly stained ones still call for her hands as they sit in the corner of the room. She didn’t have time to wash her own clothes or the diapers yesterday. Her mother needed help at the Mthimkhulu’s house, where names like ‘Madam’ and Mnqobi carried power, and hers carried only expectation. 

Later, as she  sifts through the pile for another sock, she scoffs lightly at the irony: for someone whose mother is a maid, Melo sure hates cleaning. It’s better when someone is paying for it, she reasons.

**

School starts in thirty minutes and only now is she waking her younger siblings, Dumi and Anele. There is never time for anything let alone waiting for the old gas stove to warm bathing water. It will be a ‘wipe the essential bits’ type of day for her and her siblings. She walks around the cramped backroom like she has done a hundred times before: with a baby on her breast, a spoon and fingers unraveling Anele’s hair from the overnight wool encasing. She will have to braid it one of these days. Something that will last longer. Anele’s hair takes minutes away from an already busy morning. At least Melo’s own hair won’t be a problem for a while; the postpartum hair loss has taken care of that. Yet another side effect of pregnancy aside from the whole human being you have to shift around your life for.

“Pack your lunch and let’s go. We are going to be late again,” she instructs her siblings.

‘Lunch’ is last night’s leftovers from the Mthimkhulu’s dinner — chicken and rice plated for guests who barely touched it. Melo wonders if rich people don’t eat at parties because the food’s bad or because they don’t trust each other.

If it were her, she would eat until she got sick, then take a lunchbox and pay one of the waiters to secretly pack food for her on the sly. That way, she wouldn’t have to answer Dumi’s questions about whether they will be eating good tonight or if it will be pap and sugar beans again.

“Sisi,” calls Anele.

“Mhm,” she replies.

“Do you think I can go with Mama to work tomorrow? It’s Saturday,” says the little girl, swinging her arm playfully as they walk to school. Dumi’s ears perk up even though he is meters ahead and he even abandons the rock he has been kicking for two streets. She knows what her siblings want.

“Why?” she asks anyway.

“I miss her,” lies Anele.

“Unamanga, Anele.” She calls her sister out on her lie so expertly. Anele laughs, failing to hide her guilty, gap filled smile. Though she swears up and down that it is not because of the cartoons she wants to watch on their big TV.

“I don’t know. We will ask her when she gets home. Now go.” The school bell rings just as they arrive at their school gates.

She waves at her siblings the way her mother used to when she walked her to school, before life bared its shameless rear and forced her to grow up.

**

She catches her first taxi of the day. The door, stiff with age, requires some extra elbow grease to open. If she had played her cards right, she would have been chauffeured everywhere by the Mthimkulu’s driver, Bheki. But she sought comfort in the hands of Mnqobi Mthimkhulu, a father figure who salivated over her like a mature steak. Now her heart will forever pound in her chest at the thought of the short journey to dropher baby, Thubelisha, off and entrust her to his unsuspecting wife.

Melo just has to make it quick. Class begins in an hour, but she will have to come up with a lie. Before she presses the call button on the gate, it opens. She walks up the long, gravel driveway, secretly lamenting how all of this should be hers. She gave Mnqobi Mthimkhulu a baby that his wife no longer could. Sure, she had not planned on having a baby at such a young age or with a married man who used to pay for her primary school fees. But life happens. One minute you are comparing his wife to your mother, asking why she could not marry a rich man, and the next you are knocking on the door and handing over your daughter to said wife.

“Melo. How are you doing?” asks Mrs Anele Mthimkhulu. It is bad enough that she named Melo’s little sister after herself, now she is eagerly adjusting Melo’s baby’s clothes as if they were not the right way.

“I am doing well ma’am. Just on my way to class.” She looks at her daughter, the reason she has to behave, to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Oh, you must stay for breakfast. I am sure Elisha would love to spend a little more time with her mama. Besides, we will get some proper food for you and make sure your milk is full of the nutrients she needs,” says the posh lady. Melo knows that what she really means is that she is not fit to be a mother. She cannot give her baby what she needs. But if her own mother can feed five mouths with a maid’s salary, Elisha will be just fine.

“I wish I could, but I will be late if I do not leave now.”

“Okay. Bheki will take you. That you will not refuse.”

Melo just smiles at the woman and waits with baited breath as she calls him. Now she will have to face silent judgment from the only other man who knows her sin.

“Ma’am?” Bheki appears from the garage.

“Please drop off Melo at school,” she says. She doesn’t wait for any of them to say goodbye or give Melo a chance to kiss her own child before she closes the door, already taking off the towel Elisha was wrapped in. That woman will be peppering her child with kisses from the same lips that kiss her cheating husband. Mnqobi Mthimkhulu is a vile creature.

Melo cannot help the burning sensation of guilt that washes over her as she enters Anele’s car. Mnqobi used to take Melo out in the sleek beast because she once expressed that she loved the way the red leather seats felt on her skin. So he always made sure they were preheated. Even now as she sits here, she can still feel his hands sliding under the lavish violet dress he gifted her. A young thing like Melo, he reasoned, was a hit with the balding wallets who needed convincing to invest in his company. He took her to events instead of his wife and claimed to be mentoring her.

They were both using each other: she wanted a taste of the soft life, and wanted to feel like a stud again. But Melo had more to lose. Her dignity for example.

Melo catches him watching her in the rearview mirror. She knows Bheki wants to say something. Maybe admonish her for sleeping with a married man, or having a baby with him, or taking advantage of Mrs Mthimkhulu’s kindness, or worst of all, lying to her mother.

Bheki has a daughter of Melo’s age. A daughter that Mnqobi pays school fees for just like Melo. A daughter he makes sure does not even breathe the same air as his disgustingly charming boss with a loose trouser zip. No matter how Bheki may feel about his boss, Melo knows he cannot say a word about it. So they sit in the car and simmer in the heat of leather seats and dirty secrets.

She catches Bheki catching glimpses of her again.

‘He probably thinks I am an easy victim since I seem to be drawn to older men,’ she thinks.

Ordinarily, she would never think a father figure such as him could have such predatory thoughts. But Mnqobi was once a father figure too, before her breasts filled in and hips whispered of an unforgettable time. Maybe it was Mnqobi’s plan all along.

Bheki parks right in front of Kingswood College and Melo mutters a quick word of thanks before dashing out of the car. Bheki can simmer with his judgement alone. He has no idea what she has been through. Not everyone is as privileged as his daughter who can afford a moral compass that steers her towards a morally clean future.

She cannot wait to graduate and find a job. This time, her things will go as she plans. Hopefully. As long as Mnqobi provides for his child, she will have enough to take care of her siblings. She no longer wants anything to do with him or his silky words that licked her ears and lathered them with beautiful lies. No. Not his peculiar amber eyes that called her into his orbit, only to leave her a child that deserved a better life.

Yet again, Mnqobi takes up space in her mind where her future plans should be. The statistics lecturer doesn’t even have time to pick up momentum before she has to ask her friend, Sindi, to send her notes.

“Melo, the class literally just started,” Sindi says.

“Sindi, how many times have I covered for you when you were too hung over to even show up to class?” Melo is a little annoyed. Rarely does she ever lose track in classes, but Ms. Party only comes to class to qualify for the exams and crams Melo’s notes.

“I am not complaining,” Sindi says, a little guilty.

“Even if you were.” Melo shrugs and sits back to give in to the thoughts of Mnqobi stealing her time.

**

Melo beats herself up after class ends. School is the one place where she is neither mother, former mistress, nor older sister. She is simply a nineteen year old Mathematics major whose only worry is keeping her aggregate high enough to get an internship before she graduates.

“So,” Sindi drags out, “Have you thought about tonight?”

Right, tonight. She had forgotten all about the braai at Sindi’s crush’s place to which she promised to accompany her. Sizwe is a mutual friend, more of a brother to Melo, who knows all about her baby daddy situation. He supported her throughout her pregnancy, both emotionally and by making sure she kept her head during finals. He is a solid guy. Sindi is… a party animal. A very intelligent party animal who is attracted to good guys she is too intense for.

“I have to help my mom out. I already told you.” It is a half-truth. She always has to help her mother out, just not on Fridays. The Mthimkhulus usually aren’t home on the weekends.

“Please? I will take notes all week and send them to you. I will name my firstborn after you,” Sindi pleads.

Melo feels sorry for this poor non-existent firstborn. He or she has been promised far too many times in exchange for favours.

“Yoh. Sindisiwe. Fine ke.” As usual, Melo cannot say no. She will have to call her mother and arrange time to fetch her siblings.

“You. Are. A. Star.” Sindi plants an exaggerated kiss on Melo’s cheek from which she cannot escape in time.

She dials her mother’s phone.

“Ma,” she starts.

“Hi baby.”

“Do you think the Mthimkhulus would mind if Bheki could fetch Anele and Dumi today? I just wanted a small break,” she says. If only she was this honest to her mother about Mnqobi pursuing her, she would have nipped it right in the bud. He had tried it with her mother too.

“Uhm. They are going to be home all weekend. I was about to tell you that Mrs. Mthimkhulu wanted to speak with you. So, it’s fine. I will see you when you get here.” Melo cuts the call before her mother can finish talking.

She knows.

Anele Mthimkhulu knows that Melo had an affair with her husband and wants to lay her sin bare for the people she cares about to know. Her knees go weak and her hands have trouble grasping the books she was meant to return to the library.

Is her daughter safe? Her innocent little mistake. How about her mother, her job, her siblings? What will she say to the woman who has provided for her family for over a decade when she says she knows Melo slept with her husband.

“And then? Why do you look like you had a glimpse into a bleak future?” asks Sindi.

Melo might as well have. It is a horrific one with more financial burdens, betrayal, and the end of all hope.

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Of?” asks Sindi.

Melo brushes her off by bringing up Sizwe, a topic that distracts her friend like free alcohol. She will need it too, just once. She just wants to forget about the imminent doom that awaits her when she returns to the Mthimkhulus.

 **

Melo cannot remember when last she hung out with people her age outside of school. It is in moments like this that she regrets being forced to grow up quickly. Though it is a feeling she tries to banish, she regrets having her daughter this way: with a married man who will never commit to her. Melo has promised herself over and over that she will not allow the way she feels about Mnqobi to influence her love for her daughter. No matter the pain she feels when Anele gifts her things she may never be able to give Elisha.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice of comfort says.

She turns around and immediately relaxes her shoulders.

“What choice do I have, Sizwe. Just ask her out already. I am tired.”

He laughs and tells me he likes the chase.

“Can you imagine a girl like Sindi fawning over me! Ha. I want her to take the initiative. I am a firm believer in women empowerment.” He is enjoying Sindi’s love sickness too much.

“You two are made for each other. Toxic,” she says. It is a bit refreshing to see love blossom, no matter how childish they are behaving. Sizwe shrugs and hands her a beer.

“Mhm. Just don’t get my niece drunk please. Where is she anyway?” he asks.

“You want me to bring a baby to a chillas with drunkards like you?” she asks. He is already tipsy, but even in his most incoherent state, Uncle Sizwe always asks about his niece. Which is more than she can say for Elisha’s father.

The meat is sizzling over red embers and the drinks are flowing. Both of which Melo was supposed to contribute to, but she didn’t. As usual Sizwe and Sindi pitched in so she wouldn’t feel out of place when it was time to grab a piece or a cold one. She has to say that beer tastes like sorrows and agony when compared to the champagne Mnqobi introduced her to. Even the boys her age seem too immature for her, though she wonders if that is Mnqobi’s grooming talking through her. She is to blame, right? Sure he showed her shiny things and promised her the world if she makes him happy, but he didn’t force her. Not directly. She idolised him. After her father died, Mnqobi gave her mother a job and basically helped raise her. He changed when his own child died. Grief will do that to someone.

He was never home anymore. Stopped bringing Anele flowers. Sought comfort in the legs of a myriad of women. On a drunken night, Melo’s mother almost fell victim to Mnqobi’s devilish lies. Her mother’s resolve is stronger than hers. She knew that he was trying to wash away the burden he carried of being the reason his son, Nkosi, was dead.

Nkosi Mthimkhulu and Melo used to play together. They were close in age, with her being slightly older. He would make it a point to propose to her at least once a week, except he wouldn’t promise her his riches or a fancy life. He promised a peaceful life and to treat her like his father treated his mother: a princess. Melo liked the thought. Mnqobi was madly in love with his wife and she with him. She’d hoped to one day find such love.

On one of their father-son boat trips, a terrible storm caught them in the waters. Mnqobi and his son were flung into the water and when he came to, his son was already in the mortuary. Anele only asked if he was wearing a life jacket to which Mnqobi couldn’t answer, but it was clear as day. Neither of them was ever the same after that. Anele tried to reconcile before she found out he was cheating, but there is hardly ever recovering from blaming someone for your child’s death or from cheating.

“Melokuhle!” Sindi sounds defeated, “I was about to call you by your clan names.”

“Sorry. What’s up?” Melo asks.

“Nothing. I just wanted your attention back from whatever troubles were stealing you away,” Sindi says.

It is partly true. But Melo knows that Sindi also wants Sizwe’s attention since they are sitting next to each other. Also, Melo needs to make this trio one person lighter.

“I need to use the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” she announces.

“You need me?” Sindi offers, but Melo knows she is only doing it because it is mandatory. She shakes her head and leaves. She weaves through the drunken kids making bad decisions in a stranger’s home, some not even making it to a private room. Sex and cheap beer fill the air in the shared student accommodation and as Melo washes her hands, she thinks about the consequences that will follow for each of them. This, she finds, distracts her from her own shortcomings.

The Melokuhle in the bathroom mirror casts an unforgiving glare her way. She is repulsed to say the least. She has been a good girl all her life and all it took was money and sweet nothings. She peels away the many masks Melo wears until she reaches her most vulnerable one the masks are meant to protect: a child.

The Melo staring into the mirror is haunted and weighed down by the burden of her choices. She is uncomfortable, guilt ridden, and exposed. Is this who she truly is; a former mistress after a fortune she seeks to take from another person?

The many names she has given to herself harmonise in a symphony of shame. They accumulate to a deafening crescendo that spills over in tears down her face. She is grateful to the loud music playing outside. No one will hear her cry or ask her questions she cannot answer.

She stays in the bathroom with mirror Melo a little longer, blaming her and pleading to her for a solution. But as usual, she only stares back and tells her she already knows the truth.

When she returns to the party, she makes up a weak excuse; she knows her friends will hesitate to question. She calls for Bheki, but it is the silver tongue demon himself who shows up. 

**

She feels used by the handsome older man who tries to keep his eyes on the road and not her thighs. He won’t change. Was it him she wanted or a comfortable life? Fear, longing, anger—none capture the weight embedded in her chest. He drives quietly, his presence both comfort and reminder of the choices she cannot undo.

“Anele wants your child.” Her heart flutters when he breaks the silence.

“Your wife wants our baby?” She both corrects him and is astounded by his nonchalance. He clenches his jaw the way he used to during their arguments.

“Melokuhle, she is threatening to take away everything and no longer help your family,” he says.

“Mnqobi, you want me to sell my baby? Are you hearing yourself?” there is a sharp pang in her chest when she looks at him. This man she trusted with her childhood, her future and eventually, her virginity, is treating her like a stranger he had a one-night-stand with.

“Do you think I wanted this? I don’t even know what I was thinking! Your father was like a brother to me.” He sounds genuinely ashamed.

“I don’t care. You are not the victim here. You pursued me, not the other way around. I have to pretend in front of a woman, who cherishes my family, that I didn’t sleep with her husband and have a child with him!” she yells. How dare he.

He is quiet for the rest of the ride. She is the only one laying herself bare once again for him to trample over her. Years worth of turmoil pour out of Melo, right into the lap of Mnqobi who just brushes them off like breadcrumbs. He says nothing else the entire drive until they reach his house. 

**

The crunching of wheels on gravel feels like it is in her stomach. Every step she takes to the door is heavy, attempting to stop her from moving forward. It is inevitable. Reality sets in when she sees her mother upon opening the door.

“Melo.” Her mother is defeated. She knows the truth: her daughter is a homewrecker. But she hasn’t said anything about it yet. Melo figures her mother knows she will need all her strength to face her problems.

The spacious house has never felt so small and its stairs so short. In no time she is facing Mnqobi and Anele Mthimkhulu who is holding her sleeping Elisha. Her baby looks like she belongs here, in opulence, not the one-room shack she calls home.

Mnqobi is standing like a cat caught in the rain. Somehow, he seems less charismatic when standing next to the confident Anele. He doesn’t meet her eyes, stares anywhere, everywhere but at the face of the person he once pursued fervently.

“Melokuhle, I think we all know what brings us here,” Anele starts. Neither Mnqobi or Melo utter a word. After a brief pause, Anele continues. “The offer is simple, really. We get custodial guardianship of little Elisha and you and your family will be provided for. A new house, school fees, you name it.”

What was it that she overheard women say to her mother after her father’s funeral? ‘To be a mother is to sacrifice anything for your children, no matter how much it destroys you.’

Does that include sacrificing the child itself for their own good?

“Mrs Mthimkhulu, regardless of the mistakes I made, I love my daughter. I cannot give her up, especially not for money. Please don’t make me.” Melo calls to the mother in Anele.

“You are giving her a better future. Do not be selfish. You know she will get the love she deserves here.”

An incoming call gives Mnqobi the perfect escape and the two women are left to fight for Elisha.

“My husband cannot control himself. You are not the only one, you know. But you are the one who hurt the most. I feel some sort of guilt for not sheltering you from him, even though you are not innocent. You were a child.” Anele moves closer to Melo and there is genuine longing in her eyes. Fix the home that raised you, they say. “You will get to visit her sometimes,” says Anele.

“It isn’t that easy.” Melo is on the verge of tears.

“I know. Take the night to think about it. It is late.” Seems like she is spending the night here against her will. Anele hands over the baby and her hand lingers on Elisha for a bit too long before she leaves.

Now it is time to face the person she has disappointed the most.

**

“Mama.” Melo breaks down in tears as soon as she sees her mother. She has changed from Nomsa the housemaid to Nomsa the mother.

“I failed you,” her mother says. Somehow, that hurts Melo more than the insults she would have preferred.

“No. I don’t know what I was thinking, mama.” She wipes the tears that drop onto Elisha.

“I knew what kind of man he became, but I stayed here because of the security they gave us. I have watched him exchange young girls like shoes and I never suspected that he would do the same to you.” Her mother is wearing her broken heart on her sleeve.

“I wasn’t innocent either, mama. I just liked the things he gave me. I sold myself and I disappointed you.” Melo’s throat is closing up from the truth that strangles her.

“You were not innocent, but you were a child and he took advantage of that. He had years of access to you, your mind. Baby, we will work through this.” Nomsa wipes Melo’s tears.

“Anele wants her.” Melo struggles to get the words out. She knows that her mother is thinking of her own story of woe, of how she almost lost custody of all her kids. After Melo’s father died, her mother went into a state of deep depression. As loving as he was, her husband had a gambling addiction that cost them their house. Countless more debts surfaced after his death, all of which were on her shoulders. She neglected herself as well as her kids, until family members started to notice. She knew they meant well, but talk of taking her children drove Nomsa to the anger that reignited her will to live.

“I cannot tell you what to do, Melo. But I can tell you not to be ruled by money. I will support you in any decision you make.”

That is code for ‘fight for your child’. Melo clings to that, the threads of guidance, love, and hope embedded deeply in her. 

**

Melo and her family sleep in the guest room, Anele and Dumi huddled on one bed with her mother, and Melo with Elisha. The infant is oblivious to the life-altering decision Melo has to make. Melo kisses her tiny fingers and inhales her scent. She recalls the reason she named her baby ‘Thubelisha’: she represented a new chance to start over. She soothed the shame Melo felt throughout her pregnancy and gave it meaning. Now the burden of the name mocks her. It will be a new chance, ithubaeliasha, just not for Melo.

The night stretches before her, full of sleepless reflection, but somewhere within, a whisper tells her: the future is still unwritten, not set in stone. 

Eventually, sunlight creeps through the curtains. Melo’s eyes remain open, staring at the ceiling as if the future, the answer is written there, waiting for her to decide. The burden of a name is heavy, but tonight she will carry it anyway — not as guilt, but as the weight that shapes who she will become.

About the Author:

Bongiwe Maphosa is a budding author whose work blends fantasy, science fiction, and melancholic fiction into emotionally resonant explorations of the human condition. Her writing offers fresh, imaginative perspectives that linger long after the final line. Her work has appeared in the AVBOB Poetry Anthology (2019), the Writers’ Club of South Africa (2021), the Journal of African Youth in Literature, Akowdee Magazine, and Isele Magazine. Bongiwe invites readers first into her inner world, and then into reflective, speculative spaces where anything is possible. She continues to develop a distinctive voice within the African literary tradition while engaging a growing global readership.

Feature image by Maxine yang on Unsplash