Free Amelia's story by D. G Torrens Page A

in the school who did not go home to a family at the end of each school d ay. A ll the parents would be gathered outside the school gates , arms wide open to greet their angels, and I was greeted by a member of staff checking their watch as they were coming to the end of the ir shift.

Despite having friends at the home, something was always missing , and I still felt like my life was a lonely and futile existence. I loved my school, but hated the fact that it was a constant reminder of what I did not have and made me long for it even more. I felt so different from all the other girls at my school, and all the other girls treated me like I was different, not in a bad way , just different. My life had been steeped in dram a ever since I could remember— a normal , quiet life was all I wanted.

One particular day on my arrival from school I saw an ambulance outside the ma in entrance of Breeton House. I watched as the medics hurriedly lifted a stretcher into the back, quickly closing the doors, but not before a female member of staff climbed in the back. All the other kids were talking about Cindy; s he was probably the most mixed up child in the whole place (and there were many) . S he had taken a razor blade to her wrists and had obviously been very serious about killing herself.
     
    The staff found her in the bathroom on th e floor with blood everywhere. Cin dy was only thirteen years old. I felt a chill run through me after hearing t he sad details of Cindy’s past. S he was unhappy and hated being alive, and she spoke often of death. Her history involved sexual abuse by her stepfather, and beat ings by her mother. To her, at thirteen years of age, life was not worth living. We heard later that evening that Cindy was stable and on suicide watch for the next forty-eight hours. Fol lowing that incident, Cindy never returned to Breeton House . Instead, she was sent to a psy c h iatric hospital for evaluation.

The following day there was a new female arrival at Breeton House. Angela was eleven years old. She was very pretty with beautiful , raven hair and deep, blues eyes. S he would not look directly at anyone or bare ly lift her head up to speak. I discovered several day s later she was pregnant.
     
    “ Pregnant,” I said . “H ow can this be possible?” I asked.
     
    The m ember of staff watching over Angela advised the rest of the children to give her lots of space as she was in a delicate way. This in itself was enough to raise the curiosity of all thirty children residing at Breeton House. Her father had systematically abused her for years , and I remember the chilling sho ck I felt about her pregnancy. I did not think children could get pregnant.
     
    Almost as soon as Angela arrived , she was gone again , just like that. This sort of thing happened a lot, but I just could not stop thinki ng about Angela for a long time. T he haunted look in her eyes; she was like a frightened child, too scared to move. All I kept thinking about was how could that happen. It horrified me and scared me. Sadly , stories like this were all too commonplace in children’s homes.

There was soon to be a case review , which was held every si x months for each child in care. M y c ase review was next on the list, and I prayed so hard most nights for approval to be sent home . I could not be ar to think what Jake was going through. These meetings were held to dete rmine your future going forward. T hey never asked me how I was doing and how I was getting on, or if I was being treated well at Breeton House. They just weren’t interested in what I had to say.
     
    At the case review meeting , there would be my headmaster from Mount Pleasant Girl’s School, my 2N form teacher, my Social Worker, Gary the head of Breeton House , and a member of staff. I dreaded these case reviews , as this was where everybody got to talk about you and you r life, except you. Did it not occur to these people that having a little input from the child they