I Was Accused Of Murder. Twice.




PSA: there is profanity in this article. I don't typically like to use profanity. But in this case, it's warranted.


People have urged me to not talk about this. To not write a blog about it. To not put this out there for the world to see. People have said it's too personal. Too private. The type of thing that happens to you that you should never talk about.


But isn't that sort of what I do anyway? Go against the norm. Walk my own path. Tell MY own story. This chapter of my book is probably the most important one in terms of me being forced out of who I was and into who I'm meant to be. It's the part of my story that ripped me down to my core and forced me to either step up, or tap out. This chapter shaped me in more ways than I could ever explain. It's important for me to share because it's still a scar that needs healing. Time has helped. But writing it out helps more.


It's my story to tell. And here it goes...

You all know the story by now of how I ended up being the guardian for Easton. I've talked about my dad choosing me. But there's more to that. There's an entire court battle that followed which I've sort of mentioned here and there.


I've never gone into the details about it. I've had this article written for an entire year and never felt like the timing was right to share. But it's been over two years since it's ended and everything stated on the accuser's end is verbatim from the documents themselves. So, for me, it's time to highlight this really dark period of my life.


The court documents state this:

1. Easton (middle and last name omitted for security reasons) d/o/b (birthday omitted for security reasons) was declared a ward of this court following the suspicious death of his mother (omitted for security reasons) on 3/3/16. Her corpse was hidden in a closet, buried under a pile of clothes.


2. Easton's father (omitted for security reasons) died twelve days later on March 15, 2016 also under suspicious circumstances by an administration of a lethal hospice drug.


3. Easton's guardian / step-sister, Molly is suspected of being present at the time of death of each parent and is upon information and belief a person of interest in pending homicide investigations by the Charter Township of ******* Police Department in complaint no. ********** and the ******** County Medical Examiners Office in case no. ********.


There's also 11 other accusations against me. Those are not nearly as horrific, but equally shocking.



Homicide.

Someone is saying that I murdered my father.

Murdered.

That I killed him.

Me.

His daughter.

Someone is saying that I ended my best friend's life.


This was the absolute lowest I've ever been in my life. I can say without a doubt that my entire soul was crushed. It was more than just my heart. It was my whole being.


I can still feel my heart sinking when I read those lines.

I can still remember hitting my knees, crinkling up the paper, sobbing into it, and wanting to die. Literally wanting to die.

I can still remember the cries of my 8 month old twins wanting to nurse and me not even caring to help them.

I can still remember my oldest kneeling down next to me, asking me what's wrong.

I can still remember throwing up into the toilet for who knows how long because I was so sick to my stomach from fear.

I can still remember the seconds ticking by, wondering when the police would knock on my door. Would they ever?


What? Why? How can someone be so evil?


I was silently suicidal at the time. I knew I'd never go through with it, but I thought about it. A lot. I never told anyone. Not even Tim. I cried almost all hours of the day. I stopped eating...yet was still nursing my twins. I became angry at everyone who told me "how strong I was". I wasn't strong. I was an unstable mom who shut down completely. I was a hot mess. A hot fucking mess.


Social media sure hides a lot.


I was broken in the most spiritual way a person can be.

I became a shell of the person I knew to be. My anxiety climbed to an all-time high. I used to sit up in my bed and just beg whoever (dead) was listening to not allow people to come into my home and steal my children in the middle of the night. I felt like I was seconds away, all day long, to somehow losing them. I felt like I was about to have a nervous breakdown every other minute. Which I did on some days.


I thought CPS would show up at any second and rip my babies out of my arms. Every knock at the door immediately put me in a panic that "this was it. This is when I'm going to be arrested". I was petrified of everything. Every day.


I look back on pictures of myself in that time and my face looks sick and my eyes look like my soul is dead. Murder accusations is not the weight loss program I would recommend.



I was about to go through a huge court case. I'd never been in trouble with the law before. I got pulled over once. ONCE! Yet there I was, about to be thrown into the court system.


What if someone actually believes the person saying this?


That was where my fear laid. That was where all of my anxiety was. What if someone actually believes it? Do hospice nurses chart good notes? Will their documents say what I already know to be true?


The first accusation with Easton's mother would be a piece of cake to prove since my phone records would show where my physical location was. But how do I prove I didn't overdose my own father? Could I prove that? OBVIOUSLY I didn't, but how do I show a legal team that these accusations were absolutely insane??


Innocent until proven guilty. Would she somehow be able to prove me guilty? Lawyers are ruthless when they're being paid to go against you. Would they be able to come up with something insane?


Anxiety sucks. It really sucks.

What if someone believes her?


I was so sick to my stomach about it, every day.


Truthfully, one of my biggest fears in life has always been that I'd be locked up for a crime I didn't commit. It's been a fear since I was younger. You hear those stories all of the time. "He spent 35 years in jail for a crime he never did. He was wrongly accused." So now, I felt like I was actually living one of my worst nightmares.



Now let's break down the facts from those three separate accusations.

It took me awhile to finally look at those documents again and actually break down what she was accusing. Man were there a ton of holes.


1. I don't think anyone knows a whole lot about what happened to Easton's mother. Her death may have been suspicious, but I don't know any of those details. I'm not sure anyone ever will. What happened was extremely unfortunate. But at the end of the day, her autopsy revealed that she died of an overdose. And that's all the police really have to work with.


2. My father did die on hospice...from terminal pancreatic cancer. Yes, I was the one administering his morphine at the end of his life. The hospice nurse taught me how to administer it. The physician, along with the hospice nurse, were the ones who determined the dosage he needed. I had nothing to do with that. To even suggest he was given a "lethal" dose is absolutely disgusting, hateful, and immoral. Period. You really think I would have given him more than he needed? For what purpose? I didn't want my father to die! I'd be the LAST person on this planet that would have done that. The very fucking last.


3. This one has a lot of parts:

  • Step sister - HA - I'm blood related. There is no step. But thank you for trying to make a little dig at me.

  • "Molly is suspected of being present at the time of death of each parent." I guess I've mastered time travel?? I was in Washington when Easton's mother died. I wasn't even in the same city, OR the same state, OR THE SAME TIME ZONE for that fucking matter. And again, my father died from terminal cancer. You were there the day he died. You saw his condition. You knew how sick he was. The police were there, too right after he passed. Your concerns were never voiced then.

  • There are no homicide investigations. There never were.

  • The medical examiner's office never believed Easton's mother was murdered. Neither did the police.

  • Same goes for my father. He died on hospice. The police knew that, therefore there was no open homicide investigation. He never had an autopsy since he DIED ON HOSPICE because he was terminally ill...AKA he was sick as fuck. Again, it's absolutely pathetic and shameful for anyone to even suggest it.


So why was I targeted the way I was?

I'm not one to hide behind my own mistakes or paint a picture that I was this absolutely perfect person. I'm willing to air all of my own dirty laundry because I was not this superb human being during my father's relationship with his wife. It's also important to the story to know.


So before I get into that - I think it's important to first state the head space I was in. I was 25 and my father was dying. I was losing my best friend and everything he owned would legally be his wife's after he died. She's only 7 years older than me. My father was 17 years older than her. I knew she wasn't going to play nice once he died. I knew she would claim everything as her own because that's what she would legally be allowed to do.


I knew without a doubt that she would do everything in her power to take what was hers and run. In my eyes, she was a complete gold-digger from the beginning. To me, it was like her initial plan was finally going to work out. She would be so much better off in the end. This is exactly what she always wanted.


She was married to him. Who cares if I'm his daughter?! I would be nothing in the eyes of the law. So I was conniving behind her back. I was trying to do what I could to get what I felt like was mine. I didn't care that he had a wife. I felt like I had to do whatever I could to get my share. I'd be left with absolutely no heir-looms if I just trusted her to do the right thing. I felt like I deserved *something* from my father. I felt like my kids deserved something. Wrong or right, that was where I was, emotionally and mentally.


I was nice to my father's wife around my father because I wanted to be respectful to him. But I wasn't convinced that her intentions were all pure. I didn't like who she was as a person to her core, but her outter surface was always nice. So I was always nice back. Our whole relationship was on the "surface". We never went below a layer of skin, so to speak.


During the time I spent in Michigan at the end of my father's life, she would do crazy things. She would start acting strange, have massive tantrums over weird things, and just have odd behavior all around. So I would start posting about it in one of my private mom groups made up of about 50 people. I'd post videos of her acting crazy. I'd make fun of her for how she was parenting Easton. I'd talk about how I was feeding him his meals because she would just disappear. I'd talk about how I didn't think a 2 year old needed bottles anymore. I'd talk about how I struggled to get Easton to eat anything other than soy milk. I talked about how it was crap that I was there to visit my dad and yet I was taking care of all of these kids by myself since she would just disappear.


I'd complain about how she was going to be getting all of this money after my dad died and how she would just blow it in a few months. I didn't understand how trust funds worked in the moment. I'd call her a gold digger. I'd call her phony and fake. I'd talk about how I wanted to ask my dad to set aside money for a Disney trip for all of his grandkids so they'd at least be able to benefit in some way from their grandpa. I basically went on a two month long binge of hating this woman.


The posts aren't nice.


But she knew something was up. I left my computer at their house one night and she went through my Facebook. She found all of the posts and she saved them.


It was a BIG lesson for me. Don't post your deepest thoughts on the internet. Don't make fun of people on the internet. While I was just using it as an outlet to vent and gain support from some of my closest friends, it was still not the best way to go about it. I never thought she would see any of it. My intention was just to use this group as my journal. It was like a therapy session every day for me. But the whole situation was just a big wake up call for me. I couldn't take any of it back.


That was the hardest part.

It was all written in stone.


So that was fun explaining to my dying father. It created a really awful situation for the two of us in his dying days. It was heartbreaking and one of the worst things that could have possibly happened. The worst timing ever. His friends and our family all saw the posts. I was not a very liked person in regards to those around us for what I said. Everyone thought what I said was dramatic, blown out of proportion, and that I was basically just this huge bitch. Which in everyone's defense...that last portion was true.


I did genuinely feel bad about everything I said to her and I did give a heartfelt apology. I was completely in the wrong and I knew it. It was one of those "yeah, I really messed up and I can't take it back" moments.


But it still sucked. It really sucked that my deepest thoughts about my dad's wife were out there for everyone to see. It sucked that nobody really believed me on a lot of things I witnessed. I was your definition of "daddy's little girl" that despised her step mom. I was the quintessential character you see in the movies.


But once his wife died, it was almost like we just let it all go. In those last days, he told me that he knew I was right about most things. He was worried about what would happen to Easton under her care after he passed. It was one of the biggest stressors in his life at the end. But he could never admit that while she was alive.


So the person accusing me used all of those posts in the court battle. She had all of them still saved. They became part of her "evidence" that I was not a great option for Easton.


But that wasn't fair.


How I feel about Easton's mother has nothing to do with how I feel about Easton.

Say it louder for the people in the back.


He became an orphan in 12 days. He needed a family. My father, the remaining parent who was still alive, got to make that decision. Nobody else's opinion mattered.


We subpoenaed various people. We gathered a witness list. My lawyer had to become a witness, so then I needed a new lawyer. I was about to go to trial, essentially. I was living a real life episode of Law and Order. I was basically watching a movie about my own life that only Lifetime Movie producers could think up.


Courts work slowly. It took a year for everything to finally be dropped and worked through. It felt painstakingly dragged out in the moment, yet I sort of understand now why these things have to take time. The more the time went by, the more my anxiety eased. Obviously nobody believed her. Not even for a second.


The Facebook posts weren't even talked about. Ever.


We transferred the case to Washington and we adopted Easton two months after that in 2016.




It's been three years since I was served that paperwork. I'm scarred. I'll forever remember my emotions during that time. It's a part of my story that I've come to appreciate, despite how awful it was in the moment.


As Lauren Conrad once said, "I want to forgive you. But I also want to forget you."


And I have.

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