LITTLE BROKEN SHARDS FROM THE GLASS SLIPPERS
My not so Happy Cinderella Story
When mother died, my father was left with a broken heart. Unable, or unwilling to take care of me, and put me up for adoption. At the adoption agency they told me my “New family” would be loving and wonderful, but little did I know...
Background
This is a graphic work of fiction, written by Emma Eva Harvey. If you, or someone you know is going through a similar experience, there will be links to places and organizations that can help you at the end of this story.
Any similarities to actual persons and/or events is purely coincidental. The main character — and narrator — Amanda, is a sixteen year-old girl, raised in the foster care system and a current statistic as a pregnant teen.
Not So Happy “Cinderella” Story
Growing up in a house with no positive reinforcement, where the only sign of “affection” is constant abuse, is a hoot — You should try it sometimes. It will give you a window into the life of the “perfect” little girl, living with the “perfect” family.
I was seven years-old when mother died. My father, a day laborer working at an oil rig in Northern Alberta, was left with a broken heart. Unable, or unwilling to take care of me, he put me up for adoption. At the adoption agency they told me my “new family” would be loving and wonderful, but little did I know…
I don’t remember the first day at their house — my new home — but I do remember the first time I got in trouble. I had accidentally dropped and broken a soup bowl while putting them away. I remember how it seemed like everything was happening in slow motion.
I remember the bowl slipping off my hands and gently falling to the floor. How it bounced on the vinyl tiles covering the kitchen floor before shattering into like a million pieces. I remember opening my mouth to mutter the words “I’m sorry”, but I don’t remember any sounds coming out.
I turned my head to face my “mother”, with a terrified look on my face, as she took two quick steps to close the distance between us. I knew what was coming, but I was frozen. I desperately wanted to scream for her to stop, but I could not speak.
I could see her arm gently raising up, her palms outstretched and wide. I saw her arm cock back, freeze and gently, almost imperceptibly reverse direction towards me. I closed my eyes hoping to make it disappear, like the princess did in the stories my real Mom used to read to me at bedtime…but it was no use.
I imagined there were a million sparks shooting out of the side of my face at the point she made contact. The impact of her hands felt like molten rock had suddenly covered my whole face. I opened my eyes in shock and again tried to scream, this time in sheer pain, but again no words came out.
I could hear, over the ringing of my left ear, her angry, slurred words, “…you stupid little cunt. I knew it was a fucking mistake to take you into our home. Shut the fuck up and clean this shit up!…”
Nine years went by like this, my younger “siblings”, as my parents biological offspring, were treated like royalty. But they were such evil brats. They delighted in punching me, kicking me…treating me like a soiled cloth to be passed around, then discarded. To them, I did not have a name. I was simply donkey…or ugly…or bitch…or whore.
By age 16, after being beaten down and abused for so long I was very timid and scared. I still went to school, although I’m not sure how much I managed to learn. I guess I did OK because I kept on moving up from one grade to the next.
Things got a little brighter in tenth grade. That year I met a very sweet girl. She was my first, and so far, only true friend. She did not want to use me or abuse me like the other people in my life. All she wanted to do was help me in every way possible. To make sure I was Ok, and to know I had somebody that genuinely cared about me.
One morning I came to school a little later than usual. As soon as I saw her, I ran straight to her, hugged her and started crying. That morning, just as I had gotten dressed for school and came into the kitchen for breakfast, my mother started on me.
She started yelling and throwing handfuls of cereal at me, calling me a dirty slut for simply wearing leggings. My friend comforted me and told me I needed to say something. She said I should talk to the school counselor, or the principal, or even the teacher, but that I HAD to tell somebody at the school…but I did not listen to her.
I soon got a boyfriend. My “parents” didn’t know about him. He was very sweet and cared really deeply about me. But we were just stupid teenagers, we didn’t have a clue about life or anything. Long story short, I ended up getting pregnant and he left me.
I didn’t even tell my “parents”, I just left. I ran away as far as I could and lived with the one other friend I could trust. My “parents” eventually found out where I was. They threatened to press charges against my friend and her family for “kidnapping” if I did not return. Being still a minor, I had no choice but to go back to them.
I was already five months pregnant by the time I went back “home”. “Mother” was very angry. Once the authorities found out I was pregnant, my foster parents would stop receiving the social assistance check they got every month. Afraid of losing their cash cow, they tried to force me to have an abortion.
When that didn’t work, they tried to hurt me and the baby. But I didn’t let them. Finally, they figured out that as a young mother, still under age, I would qualify for social assistance. As they were still my legal guardians, they would be the ones to keep the money instead of me.
Now I am their living hostage. She doesn’t let me out of her sight. I have to do all the chores around the house, they say, and in return they will let me keep my baby. I don’t want to abandon my baby like I was, so I stay…for my baby’s sake.
Here I am now. Getting abused every so often while my baby is being raised by the wrong people. Because of the Covid-19 pandemic, I can’t leave or travel far. My hometown is still under a lockdown order and travel is restricted. I can’t even see my baby anymore...my “mother” stole her from me…
…fuck my not so happy Cinderella story.
Help and Resources
If you, or someone you know is going through a similar experience, these are the links to places and organizations that can help you:
- Get help for child abuse, neglect and sexual exploitation
- Child Abuse Hotline: 1–800–387–5437 (KIDS) to get help if you, or children you know, are being neglected, abused or sexually exploited.
- Child Abuse — Law Central (Alberta)
- Child Abuse Hotline (Alberta)
- Reporting child abuse and neglect (Ontario)
