At My DIL’s Adoption Party, Her Friend Declared: “That Baby Shouldn’t Be Here”
I said.
*”Do you? Because once I start making calls, once I bring in the district attorney’s office, there’s no putting this genie back in the bottle. Your son’s adoption will be invalidated. The child will be removed from their home pending investigation. This becomes a legal nightmare for everyone involved.”
Nelly made a small sound of distress. Meyer turned to her with surprising gentleness.
“Miss Nelly, I need to ask you directly: what outcome do you want here? Do you want your daughter back?”
Nelly’s face crumpled.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I want her. But I’m still broke, still unemployed, still living in that awful apartment. How can I provide for her? Maybe—maybe she’s better off with them, if they love her and can give her everything I can’t.”
“That’s not the question,”
Meyer said firmly.
“The question is whether you were given a fair choice. Whether you made this decision freely or under duress. If it’s the latter, the law says that adoption is invalid, regardless of the potential parents’ ability to provide.”
“But what happens to Lily while this is being investigated?”
Nelly asked desperately.
“Where does she go?”
“Temporary foster care, most likely, until we determine the legal status of the adoption and assess your situation.”
The thought of little Sophie—Lily—being placed with strangers made my heart ache. But the alternative was allowing an illegal adoption to stand, validating everything Melissa had done.
Meyer stood.
“Wait here. I need to make some calls.”
After she left, Nelly and I sat in uncomfortable silence. Finally, she spoke.
“You didn’t have to do this. You could have just stayed quiet. Let your son be happy.”
“At what cost? Your daughter was taken from you through manipulation and possibly drugs. That’s not happiness built on anything solid.”
“But now everyone suffers,”
She sighed.
“Your son, his wife, you, me, Lily. Everyone loses.”
“We lose in different ways,”
I said quietly.
“But at least we lose while standing on the truth.”
Before Nelly could respond, the office door burst open. But it wasn’t Detective Meyer; it was Melissa.
She stood in the doorway in a tailored suit, her expression cold and controlled, with Andrew right behind her, looking confused and betrayed.
“Meline, what have you done?”
Detective Meyer appeared behind them.
“Mrs. Melissa Fields, I’m going to need to ask you to wait outside. This is an active investigation.”
“Investigation into what exactly?”
Melissa’s voice was ice.
“Into my legal adoption of my daughter? Based on what evidence? The word of this woman?”
She pointed at Nelly with barely concealed contempt.
“A woman who willingly signed away her parental rights, took money for her child, and is now experiencing buyer’s remorse?”
“Melissa—”
I started.
“No, you don’t get to speak.”
She turned on me with fury I’d never seen before.
“You betrayed us. You went behind our backs, listened to lies from Cassandra, who is clearly unstable and jealous, and now you’re trying to destroy our family. For what? Some misguided sense of justice?”
Andrew stepped forward, his face pale.
“Mom, please. Tell me this is a misunderstanding. Tell me you didn’t actually bring charges against my wife.”
“I didn’t bring charges. I brought truth. There’s a difference.”
“Truth?”
Melissa laughed harshly.
“You want truth? Fine. Yes, I found Nelly through an online forum. Yes, I paid her directly instead of going through an agency. Do you know why? Because agencies have waiting lists that are years long. Because they charge $40,000 and still don’t guarantee a placement. Because my husband and I have been trying to have a child for 7 years and I was not going to let bureaucracy and red tape stand between us and becoming parents.”
“You drugged her,”
Nelly said quietly.
“You gave me pills to keep me compliant.”
“I gave you anxiety medication, with your consent, to help you through a stressful process. You could have refused them at any time.”
“You threatened me. Said you’d have me arrested if I changed my mind.”
“I explained the legal reality. Once you signed those papers, you’d committed to the adoption. Trying to back out after taking payment would constitute fraud on your part. I was protecting my family from being scammed.”
Meyer held up her hand.
“Mrs. Melissa Fields, I’m going to stop you right there. Anything else you say should probably be said with an attorney present.”
“I am an attorney, Detective, and I know my rights. This entire investigation is based on hearsay and the unreliable testimony of a woman who willingly gave up her child for money. You have no physical evidence of coercion, no proof of illegal activity, nothing that would stand up in court.”
She was right, I realized with sinking dread. Without those pills to test, without witnesses to the threats, it was just Nelly’s word against Melissa’s.
And Melissa was a respected attorney, while Nelly was a struggling young woman with a clear financial motive. Meyer seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“Nevertheless, these allegations are serious enough to warrant investigation. I’m going to need you to surrender all documentation related to the adoption, including the original signed papers and any communication records with Miss Nelly.”
“Of course. I have nothing to hide. My attorney will deliver everything to you by end of business today.”
Melissa turned to me, her voice dropping.
“But you, Meline—you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. You’ve chosen this stranger over your own family. I want you to think very carefully about that choice, because it’s going to cost you everything.”
“Is that a threat?”
Meyer asked sharply.
“It’s a statement of fact. Melissa looked at Andrew. Tell her.”
My son met my eyes, and what I saw there broke my heart: disappointment, betrayal, anger.
“Mom, if you pursue this, if you really believe Melissa did something criminal, then you’re calling my judgment into question. You’re saying I married someone capable of stealing a child. Do you really believe that about me? About us?”
“Andrew, I believe your wife was desperate and made terrible choices. That doesn’t make you complicit.”
“It makes me complicit if I stay with her, doesn’t it? If I defend her?”
His voice cracked.
“You’re asking me to choose between my wife and mother. How is that fair?”
“I’m not asking you to choose. I’m asking you to see the truth.”
“The truth?”
He laughed bitterly.
“The truth is that we have a daughter we love. A daughter who’s healthy and happy and wanted. And you’re trying to take her away based on the word of someone who sold her child for $5,000. That’s your truth, Mom, not mine.”
Melissa put her hand on his arm.
“Come on. We need to call our attorney. Let Detective Meyer do her investigation. When she finds nothing actionable, we can discuss next steps.”
They left together, Melissa throwing me one last cold look over her shoulder. The look promised consequences, retribution.
After they were gone, Meyer sighed heavily.
“Mrs. Fields, I have to be honest with you. Without physical evidence, this is going to be very difficult to prosecute. Your daughter-in-law is right—it’s essentially one person’s word against another’s.”
“What about the fake adoption agency? The forged documents?”
“Creating paperwork for a private adoption isn’t automatically illegal if the underlying adoption was consensual. And proving those documents are forged requires forensic analysis that could take weeks or months. Even then, she could claim she was scammed by someone who set up the fake agency.”
Nelly stood abruptly.
“This was a mistake. I should never have come here. She’s going to destroy me now. She’ll make sure I can’t get work, can’t get housing, can’t—”
“Miss Nelly, please sit down.”
Meyer’s voice was firm but kind.
“I believe you. But believing you and being able to prove it legally are two different things. I need you to think very carefully. Is there anything else? Any witnesses to your meetings? Any text messages or emails? Any evidence at all that she coerced you or provided those pills?”
Nelly shook her head miserably.
“She was too smart for that. Everything was in person, in cash. No paper trail. The only texts we exchanged were about meeting locations. Nothing about the money or the adoption itself.”
My phone buzzed—a text from Andrew.
“You need to leave town for a while. Melissa’s talking about filing a restraining order. Says you’re harassing us and mentally unstable. Please, Mom, just go stay with Aunt Clara in Richmond until this blows over.”
I showed the message to Meyer. She grimaced.
“They’re already building a defense. Painting you as an unreliable narrator, possibly suffering from grief-related delusions after your husband’s death. It’s a smart strategy.”
“It’s also completely false.”
“False doesn’t matter if it’s believable. You’re a 63-year-old widow who’s suddenly making serious accusations against a well-respected attorney. They can make that play very well in court, if this goes that far.”
I felt the walls closing in. Melissa had outmaneuvered me at every turn, anticipated every move, prepared counters I hadn’t even considered.
She’d turned my own son against me and was now threatening to have me legally declared unstable.
“What do I do?”
I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. Meyer considered for a long moment.
“You do what you’ve been doing. You find evidence. Real, tangible, undeniable evidence. The pills would be ideal. If we could test them and prove they were something stronger than over-the-counter anxiety medication, that would support Miss Nelly’s claim of being drugged. Communication records showing threats or coercion would help. Witnesses who saw the exchanges would be valuable.”
“Where am I supposed to find any of that?”
“I don’t know. But I can tell you this: your daughter-in-law is very confident right now. Confident people make mistakes. They get sloppy. And if there’s evidence out there, confidence will lead you to it.”
Nelly spoke up suddenly.
“The notary. The woman who stamped the papers. If we could find her, prove she was paid to falsify notarization, that would be evidence of fraud, wouldn’t it?”
Meyer’s eyes sharpened.
“Yes, it would. Can you describe her?”
“Older woman, maybe 55 or 60. Short gray hair, glasses. She had an accent, maybe Eastern European. She didn’t say much. Just asked if I was signing voluntarily, stamped the papers, and left.”
“That’s something I can check. Registered notaries in the area. See if anyone matches that description or has connections to your daughter-in-law.”
Meyer looked at me.
