Two years prior, Grace was admitted to the hospital with severe infection. I spent day and night by her side, praying to God not to take her from me. And then, out of the blue, Neil came home one evening and told me doctors delivered horrible news. They needed to place Grace on life support, but took her off of it shortly after because she was brain dead. I believed him. He was my husband, and I never doubted his words.
I recall sitting in the waiting room, with nurses and doctors speaking to me words that didn’t make any sense to me. At the time, Neil’s words felt like a prison and protection at the same time.
Two years after “burying” my daughter, I returned to the hospital where she was treated and declared brain dead. I asked to speak to the doctor, who was surprised to see me.
“Mary, I thought your husband had explained everything to you.”
“He said that Grace was brain dead. He said that she had been taken off the machines. I buried my daughter.”
Dr. Peterson took a deep breath. “Well, that’s not exactly what happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was in critical condition, yes. She had brain concerns. But she wasn’t brain dead. She had responses. Small ones, but they were there.”
“Responses?”
“Yes. Brain responses that indicated that there were possible chances of recovery. It wasn’t hopeless.”
Allegedly, Neil was too concerned for me, believing I wouldn’t handle the situation, so he made a decision to transfer Grace to a private facility and promised to tell me everything once she was fine again.
When I told him my daughter called me from her school, he said he had no idea what was happening to Grace following the transfer because Neil never contacted him again.
He then offered to give me all the records.
At that moment, the only thing I knew with certainty was that my husband lied to me.
When I finally gathered the courage to return home and confront Neil, he said he did it for mine and Grace’s sake. He claimed she was too damages, needed therapy that cost a fortune, and special schooling we couldn’t afford. So he gave her to a family who promised to give her all that we couldn’t.
“So you figured it was better that she died?” I spat.
“I didn’t kill her!” he shouted. “I found her a family. They were willing to take her.”
Back at Melissas, I spoke to Grace. I asked her where she had been and how she managed to get to her school.
She said she started remembering things but the people she stayed with kept telling her that she was confused. They kept her indoors and would barely let her out.
When she finally found a chance to leave the place, she called a cab and got to the school.
She begged me not to send her to that family ever again, as if I would ever do such a thing to my own child.
What I knew was that I could no longer stay by Neil’s side, not even a second longer. But I also wanted him to pay for the pain he forced me to go through for two years. So, I took the case to the police.
“Do you understand that this is a case involving fraud, illegal adoption, and possible medical violations?” the detective asked.
“Yes, I do,” I said. “I want him charged accordingly.”
Not long after, Neil was arrested, and I didn’t pity him.
The couple who adopted Grace didn’t know I was in the picture. They believed Neil was the only parent he had, and amid the fear of losing my child, I gave him the right to decide in my behalf. And I only did that because I trusted him, and that was my biggest mistake.
I filed for divorce and the court started restoring custody to me.
I want my story to serve as a reminder that mother’s fight is never over, not until everything gets right.
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