Part 2: A Promise of Safety, A Setup for Failure a story from 2007
“In the UK, non-consensual adoption continues to affect hundreds of families each year — often targeting the vulnerable, the isolated, and the unsupported.”
I went home from court with my heart in pieces, but my arms full of hope.
My second son — my beautiful little boy — was waiting for me.
I had him because my longing for a child in my arms outweighed everything else in my life.
He was my world.
Both of my boys were — but this time, I thought maybe I had another chance.
They told me there were no concerns with my parenting.
They told me I was “ok.”
It was my mother who wasn’t.
They knew she was dangerous.
They knew the damage she had caused.
But somehow, it was still me who bore the weight of the blame.
I was still deep in trauma, barely understanding what I had gone through, what I was still living through.
The tangled, abusive relationship with my mother. The loss of my first son. The confusion, the fear, the grief.
It was complicated — but my love for my second son was simple.
It was pure.
It was everything.
And yet, I was still naive.
Still trapped in my mother’s manipulation.
Still believing that if I kept my head down, if I tried hard enough, things would be different.
But they had already set their plans in motion.
One weekend, social services sent a private investigator to watch me.
Extreme? Yes.
But when they’re determined to take your children, they will grab at anything.
At the time, I had started returning to my hometown with my boy on weekends — Friday 4PM to Monday 9AM.
It felt like survival.
Because while the other young mums at the unit had family, friends, somewhere to belong…
I had nothing.
An almost empty building.
Silence.
Loneliness louder than any scream.
But hope was punished.
A few days later, there was a knock at my door.
Social services.
The police.
Standing there with cold faces and colder orders.
They were there to take my son.
I had to place him in the car.
I had to watch the door close.
I had to walk away.
I went back to my little flat, hollow and shaking, and knocked on a neighbor’s door asking for help — for anything.
All I got was contempt.
“It’s your fault,” she said.
“Serves you right.”
All I ever wanted was hope.
All I ever needed was warmth and a kind voice.
But I was met with judgement, cruelty, and more hurt — over and over again.
Time passed.
Meetings. Contact sessions. Court papers.
The system dragged me back under, and once again I was expected to survive a battle I didn’t even know how to fight.
This time, I refused to sign anything.
I said no.
Even though I still didn’t know my rights.
Even though I didn’t truly understand the process.
I only knew one thing:
I couldn’t lose another child.
But I did.
The system was bigger.
Stronger.
It broke my heart again — and this time, it left a dark shadow that followed me everywhere.
No matter where I went, no matter how much time passed, I learned that once they set their sights on you, the fear never leaves.
It becomes part of you.
A constant background noise of terror and grief.
And once again, I was left with empty arms and a heart full of questions the system would never answer.
thegirlspeaks.uk 