Jesse’s Law: North Carolina Mother Christy Melvin Backs Landmark Custody Reform Bill Named After Her Son, Jesse Adams, Killed in 2012 Murder-Suicide by Father C.J. Adams; House Bill 896 Advances to State Senate with Bipartisan Support Amid Renewed Push for Domestic Violence Training for Family Court Officials

In the stillness of a summer night in Grifton, North Carolina, a tragedy unfolded that would forever alter the life of Christy Melvin. It was July 13, 2012—a date etched with permanent sorrow. That night, Christy received a phone call from her estranged husband, C.J. Adams. He was angry, hostile, and seething with the bitterness of a recent separation. Over the phone, he unleashed a torrent of rage. Then, in a moment of unimaginable cruelty, he forced their son, Jesse, to say the unthinkable: “I’m going to die tonight.” Moments later, Christy heard the sound of a gunshot through the phone line—the last sound her child would ever make. Then, silence. C.J. Adams had taken Jesse’s life and then his own.

Nearly 13 years have passed since that night, and yet for Christy Melvin, the pain has not dulled. “That night is a night I’ll never forget,” she says, her voice still carrying the weight of an open wound. “It altered the way I live. It altered my way of thinking. It altered everything. I had to learn to live again.” But Melvin is not only living—she is fighting. Her grief has become a catalyst for legislative change. Jesse, her son, is now the namesake of a new bill working its way through the North Carolina General Assembly: Jesse’s Law.

Jesse’s Law—formally introduced as House Bill 896—is more than a symbolic tribute to a lost child. It is a direct response to systemic failures in how the family court system addresses domestic violence, custody battles, and the warning signs that too often precede deadly outcomes. Backed by bipartisan support, the bill has already passed through the North Carolina House and is now under consideration in the state Senate. Its purpose: to require and standardize trauma-informed training for judges, guardian ad litems, and other officials who make life-altering decisions in family courts.

The logic behind Jesse’s Law is simple, yet profoundly overdue: if those making custody decisions lack a comprehensive understanding of domestic abuse dynamics, the risk of fatal consequences rises dramatically. “We’re working on 13 years since my son was murdered,” Melvin says. “All of the people that are dealing with the domestic violence and family court and abuse—they need to be adequately trained to understand what these families go through. Because if you don’t, how can you make a 100-percent decision that you think is correct for that child?”

To understand the stakes of this legislation, one must revisit the circumstances surrounding Jesse’s death. In the weeks prior, Christy had taken steps to end her marriage. She had filed for divorce and—like many women trying to navigate the complexities of separation from an abusive partner—was maneuvering through a painful legal process. They had agreed to joint custody, and although they never made it to a courtroom, the danger was already there, simmering beneath the surface.

It all came to a head on that July night. C.J. Adams, consumed by rage and seeking revenge, weaponized his own child. What he did was not spontaneous. It was calculated. It was punitive. And it was premeditated in a way that underscores the importance of recognizing coercive control and threats as warning signs—not merely red flags, but imminent alarms. “He said, ‘I’m going to hurt you like you hurt me,’” Melvin recalls. That chilling statement, combined with the fact that Jesse was made to speak his own impending death into the phone, underscores the need for trained legal professionals who can recognize psychological abuse and its deadly potential.

Jesse’s Law proposes the formation of a study committee tasked with designing a training regimen that covers the intersection of domestic violence, child abuse, and family law. At its core, it’s about equipping judges, court personnel, and guardians with the context, empathy, and awareness required to make decisions that protect children—not just legally, but physically. This committee will be responsible for outlining best practices for family courts, identifying gaps in current training programs, and providing a roadmap for how court systems can better protect children in contested custody cases.

That such a law has taken more than a decade to formulate is not lost on Melvin, nor on the many advocates who have watched similar tragedies play out across the country. Jesse’s death was not an isolated incident. Each year, dozens of children are murdered by a parent during or after custody disputes, often following patterns of manipulation, intimidation, and threats that were visible—but not acted upon. Jesse’s Law aims to break this cycle by shifting the standard of care from reactive to proactive.

The bill’s passage through the North Carolina House in May marked a significant milestone—not only because it demonstrated bipartisan support, but because it signaled a broader recognition that reform is not just possible, but necessary. In a political climate often gridlocked by division, Jesse’s Law stands as a rare instance of consensus: that protecting children from preventable violence transcends party lines.

Melvin, in her advocacy, has become more than a grieving mother. She is now a voice for reform, a witness to what happens when the system fails, and a steward of her son’s memory. “As a community, as a state, we have to fight harder to protect our kids,” she insists. “I don’t think anyone wants to listen to their child, be terrified, and then never see them again.” Her testimony is not merely emotional; it is instructional. It is a plea not for sympathy, but for action.

The implications of Jesse’s Law stretch far beyond Pitt County or the state of North Carolina. If successful, it could serve as a model for other states, influencing national conversations about how the legal system treats domestic abuse in the context of family court. By framing custody decisions within the broader realities of abuse and trauma, the law could alter the outcomes for thousands of children across the country—children who, like Jesse, are caught in the crosshairs of parental conflict.

And that is the heart of Christy Melvin’s mission: to ensure that Jesse did not die in vain. His name, once whispered in pain, is now spoken in purpose. The bill that bears his name is not just legislative language—it is a promise. A promise that no other child will be ignored, unheard, or unprotected in the very courts that claim to serve their best interests.

As Jesse’s Law heads to the North Carolina Senate, its momentum is building. Advocates, legal experts, and survivors of domestic violence are watching closely, hopeful that this legislation can begin to reshape a system long criticized for its blind spots. If passed, it will become not just a legal framework, but a legacy. And in that legacy, Jesse lives on—not as a victim, but as a catalyst for change.