My 14-year-old Son Beat His Stepmother Unconscious At Her Own Wedding. My Entire Family Disowned Him Until He Showed Us What Was On His Phone. Now She Is Trying To Frame Me For A Felony To Keep Us Quiet?

The Settlement Attempt

2 days later a certified letter arrived from Lauren’s family’s lawyer. They wanted us to sign NDAs or face a defamation lawsuit for $2 million. The letter claimed we’d damaged Lauren’s reputation with false accusations. I immediately called Casey, the lawyer my friend had mentioned might help us. She laughed when I read her the letter.

“They’re scared. This is desperation.”

Casey met me at a coffee shop that afternoon with a stack of her own papers. She’d already pulled Lauren’s arrest record and the CPS reports.

“We’re not signing anything that silences these boys,”

She said. I watched her highlight sections of their proposed agreement.

“Look at this clause. They want the boys to never speak about the abuse, even in therapy.”

She crossed out entire pages with a red pen. Over the next week Casey went back and forth with their lawyers. They offered us 50,000 to drop everything. Then 100,000. Then 200. Each time Casey told them the same thing: my clients want justice, not money.

Their lawyer got nasty threatening to bury us in legal fees. Casey didn’t even blink.

“Try it. I work on contingency for abuse cases.”

She slid a counter-proposal across the table: criminal prosecution goes forward, no NDAs, no money changes hands. The lawyer’s face went red but he took the papers.

Meanwhile, the prosecutor called with news about Lauren’s case.

“She’s been offered 18 months if she pleads to misdemeanor assault.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“Misdemeanor? She molested two children.”

The prosecutor sounded tired.

“Her attorney is good. They’re claiming the evidence is circumstantial.”

He explained how Lauren’s lawyer was filing motion after motion to get evidence thrown out. They wanted my son’s photos excluded as illegally obtained. They claimed Tommy’s testimony was coached. Every delay tactic in the book.

“We’re looking at trial in 8 months minimum,”

He said. The courts backed up, eight months of waiting, of legal bills piling up, of my son having to relive this over and over.

That night around 11:00 my phone rang. Tommy’s small voice came through.

“I can’t sleep. She’s in my dreams.”

I could hear him crying. I walked him through the breathing exercises his therapist taught him—in for four, hold for four, out for four. We did it together for 10 minutes until his breathing steadied. Conrad got on the phone briefly.

“This happens every night now. He won’t sleep in his own bed.”

I called Tommy’s therapist first thing in the morning for an emergency session. She fit him in that afternoon.