I Came Home From A Hospital Shift To Find My Fiancée And Baby Gone. The Police Called It A “Civil Matter” And Refused To Help. How Do I Find My Daughter?
Reaching the Breaking Point
My shift at the hospital started at 6:00 the next morning. I’d barely slept, replaying every moment of the visit in my head. Lily’s crying face, her reaching for anyone except me, the monitor’s notes.
I moved through my rounds on autopilot, checking vitals and updating charts. A nurse asked me a question about a patient’s medication and I stared at her blankly for several seconds before my brain caught up.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
I wasn’t okay. I was falling apart.
Around 10, I nearly made a massive error. I was preparing medications for a patient, measuring out dosages, when my supervisor caught me. “Jason, that’s not the right medication.”
I looked down at the syringe in my hand. She was right. I’d grabbed the wrong vial, too focused on Lily to pay attention to what I was doing. If I’d given that injection, the patient could have had a serious reaction. My hands started shaking.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
She pulled me aside, away from the other nurses. “Come with me.”
We went to the break room and she closed the door. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
I told her everything. The custody battle, the supervised visits, Lily not recognizing me. She listened without interrupting. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment. “You need to take some personal leave.”
“I can’t afford it. Legal bills are crushing me.”
“Jason, you almost hurt a patient today. I know you’re going through hell, but you can’t work like this.”
“I’ll be more careful. I promise I’ll focus better.”
She shook her head. “I’m not asking. Take a week. Get your head straight. Come back when you can actually be present.”
“But the bills…”
“We’ll figure something out. Your health and your patients’ safety come first.”
I spent my lunch break sitting in my car in the parking lot, crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. Everything was falling apart. My daughter didn’t know me, my job was at risk, my savings were gone, and I still had months of fighting ahead of me.
The Financial Blow
Two weeks after the first hearing, Becca’s lawyer filed another motion. Jeffrey called me at work to tell me they’re requesting child support.
My stomach dropped. “I barely have any custody time.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the father; you have financial obligations. They’re arguing you abandoned those obligations when Becca left.”
“I didn’t abandon anything! She disappeared. I tried to find them. I sent money.”
“I know. We’ll counter with documentation of everything you did to locate them and provide support. But Jason, you need to prepare yourself. The judge will probably order temporary support payments while the custody case proceeds.”
“How much?”
He paused. “Based on your income and the current custody arrangement, probably around $800 a month.”
“$800? I was already stretched thin. That would break me completely. This is insane. I don’t even get to see her except 4 hours a week.”
Jeffrey’s voice was calm but firm. “It’s a common tactic. They’re trying to drain your resources, make you give up the fight. Don’t let them win.”
We spent the next week gathering bank statements, text messages, phone records, anything showing I’d tried to find Lily and support her. Jeffrey filed our response arguing that Becca had deliberately prevented me from providing support by disappearing without contact information.
The judge reviewed both motions at a brief hearing. She listened to both lawyers, looked at the evidence, and made her decision. “Mr. Anderson, I understand your position. However, you do have financial obligations to your child regardless of the custody arrangement. I’m ordering temporary child support of $750 per month, effective immediately.”
$750 every month. On top of Jeffrey’s fees. On top of rent and bills and everything else.
Becca smiled as we left the courthouse. Keith had his arm around her waist. They looked like they’d won the lottery.
