A Family Torn Between the Lines

This is the part no one sees.

Our daughter has been home for nearly two weeks — not because the system decided she was ready, not because a court order changed, but because she ran.
She walked away from foster care, quietly, and came back to us.

Not in crisis.
Not chaotic.
Just… needing her family.

She’s nearly 16. Old enough to understand what she wants. Still young enough to be deeply vulnerable.
In her mind, the ideal world would be one where she splits her time — part home, part care. A balance. Some control. A chance to belong in both places without having to choose.

But the system doesn’t do nuance.
There’s no room for flexible plans. No room for what might work.
Only what fits the process.

She’s still on a full care order. And back in January — right when we applied to discharge it — she chose to return to care. Not because she was unsafe at home. Not because we were failing. But because she needed a break.

And in this system, the only way a child can get a break… is to say home isn’t safe.

So we didn’t fight her.
We understood.
We kept going.

We focused on the others — two more children still in care — trying to increase contact, holding onto hope that reunification was still possible.
We passed parenting assessments. We did everything they asked.
And we waited.

But now she’s back.
Unplanned. Traumatised.
Still under their control — but in our home.

And suddenly everything is on hold. Again.

Social services won’t step in. They won’t collect her. Won’t send the police. Won’t even make a plan.
Because it “might distress her.”

Instead, they expect us to do it.
To send her back.
To force her into a car she doesn’t want to get in.
To betray her.

And if we don’t?

We’re told we’re “not putting the others first.”
As if loving one child means losing the rest.
As if protecting the daughter in front of us means we’ve abandoned the ones still out of reach.

It’s not parenting anymore.
It’s a hostage situation.

And today — the weight of that hit all over again.

We were meant to see our son tomorrow. The one on a Section 20. The one we placed into care, not because we stopped loving him, but because we needed to keep everyone safe at a time when we couldn’t cope alone.

That visit has been cancelled.

Why?
Because there’s “no one” to sit with our daughter for 90 minutes.

She’s settled. She’s safe. She’s not in crisis.
But apparently, it isn’t “safe” to leave her alone.
Not safe from what?

We suggested she come with us.
They said no.

And just like that — contact gone.
No alternative offered. No attempt to help.

We’re being cornered. Again.

Trapped in an impossible situation where every path leads to loss.
If we send her back, we lose her trust — and possibly her for good.
If we keep her home, we lose time with our son — and risk the little contact we have with our other children.

We are not choosing favourites.
We are just surviving.

So when people say, “It’s amazing she’s home again…”
We smile. We nod.
But we don’t say the rest.

Because the truth is too heavy.

She wants a plan that works.
We want to protect them all.
And the system? It wants obedience.

But we are not a checklist.
We are not a risk factor.
We are not the problem.

We are a family.
And no matter how hard we fight,
someone is always left behind.