The second home I knew was not exactly the best, but to me it was luxury. I was content where I was, in that small little cell with iron bars and metal toilet; not that I knew what a toilet was. Now I am ashamed of my embarrassing actions, because let's face it, babbling like an idiot, not being able to walk and not knowing what a toilet was at aged ten was a little problematic. 

But Janet was kind to me and soothed me when I cried out, which was often and far into the night. 

How cruel fortune is. I was not allowed to stay with Janet in the nice, if cold, police cell. Oh no. I was carried into another car and driven a great distance away from everything that had saved me. 

My next hone would be my real home for the next year. 

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