"She's suddenly been opened to a whole range of things she'd never known before and we've just torn it all down."
Dan's P.O.V.
Those words echoed in my head, 'we've torn it all down'. I didn't realise how much of a task it was for her, how much we've changed so suddenly. I knew she was terrified of signing those papers, I had seen it in her face and behaviour and the way she had acted, shaking and covering her face with her hands.
I felt so bad, she had been in a place where she had no room to do anything and those people gave her somewhere to go.
I knew that technically speaking she was our daughter now, that was the titles we had given ourselves in the documents so we had a lot of responsibility to look after her.
Reading through her documents I had discovered a lot about her, some stuff she probably didn't know we knew.
She was infertile, a genetic disease. The abuse she suffered was mostly forgotten but surely she had questioned the scars at some point? They had made a point to mention the scarring across her back and chest, something she either remembered or didn't.
Phil had turned white, face paler than normal and that's saying something because he was like a vampire. His hands were clenched in his lap and eyes darting side to side before connecting with mine.
"I know this is a lot to take in but Jay's never had much. She's had a family, a horrible one but still a family and then she's had nothing, then everything."
"By you adopting her we've suddenly torn away her freedom, the reason she's stayed away from going back into a home. By the time the kids turn 12 their chances of being fostered are almost 0 so she left, knowing there nothing left for her."
Jay's P.O.V.
Everything was crashing down on me at once, I didn't know why I did it. Yes I trusted them but I just signed my entire life away, and my freedom with it.
In the time I had spent in foster homes I had been going to a public school, which I hated. Despite having been void of ever going to a public school and then being out of school for a year I was still among the top students, something I wasn't proud of.
I tried my best to stay inconspicuous but nothing could stop the teachers praising my work in full view of everyone,along me a target of bullying. The so called 'parents' in the home didn't bother to listen to me, to busy with the baby's and toddlers to care about a little but of teasing.
I was on my own from a very young age, looking after myself since before most people start school, my parents attention always on my brother. He had always been better than me in every way, able to work, have kids, he was smarter and taller and above all, believed in what they did.
The streets were great, finally a chance to put that looking after myself to use, and someone looked after for the first time. I had Jax, who had looked out for me since I was first there and many of the older people, acting as my parents and grandparents.
The first time I cried because of pain was on the streets, I had fallen off the roof practicing jumping and had broken my leg, something I had never experienced before. I proved myself in being strong, strong enough to never cry when I was being hit or punched but that was just to much for me.
I had been stuck in the house for a month, bed bound and totally reliant on other to bring me food. They kept telling me not to worry about it, that I had done all I could and I was worth it.
Those words had turned everything around; my worth had been something I had never questioned because I had always been told I was useless, something to be used and then thrown away. It changed me to realise, I could do things. I could help people and above all, I was worth it.
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I was crying, tears streaming down my face as I leant against the window. I was back in my hospital room, the glass cold against my back. My knees were up against my chest and my head resting between them.
My tears were dripping onto my trousers, small wet patches appearing as time went on. Mrs Harrow was there too, letting me cry as she ran her hand through my short hair.
I could hear her voice as she spoke singing a Maori song quietly. She was descended from a Maori tribe, the native people of New Zealand. I knew the basics of Maori having learnt the numbers and some basic sentences and greetings in primary school.
Pōkarekare ana
ngā wai o Waiapu,
Whiti atu koe hine
marino ana e.
E hine e
hoki mai ra.
Ka mate ahau
I te aroha e.
Tuhituhi taku reta
tuku atu taku rīngi,
Kia kite tō iwi
raru raru ana e.
Whati whati taku pene
ka pau aku pepa,
Ko taku aroha
mau tonu ana e.
E kore te aroha
e maroke i te rā,
Mākūkū tonu i
aku roimata e.
I knew the song, something that had been sung to many times as a child. Christianity hadn't stopped traditional and less traditional Maori songs making their way into our community and soon ever child knew them. We didn't sing them in front of our parents but some of the elders and teenagers sung along with us.
Songs had become a way of escaping reality, knowing that one day I would have to leave the church because I couldn't have children. Most people married into the church, it was a tradition running back centuries but because of some previous inbreeding one of the genes mutated and caused infertility in females.
It was comforting, knowing that she knew something I did, something I'd never had.
(Translation for the song)
They are agitated, the waters of Waiapu
But when you cross over girl, they will be calm.
Oh girl return to me,
I could die of love for you.
I have written my letter, I have sent my ring,
so that your people can see that I am troubled.
My pen is shattered, I have no more paper
But my love is still steadfast.
My love will never be dried by the sun,
It will be forever moistened by my tears.