My Parents Demanded I Give My Eyes To My Blind Sister. I Just Found Out The Whole Surgery Was A Lie To Scam Me. What Should I Do Now?

The Fraudulent Campaign

Three days after that session, I was scrolling through social media during my lunch break when I saw a shared post from one of my mom’s friends. It was a GoFundMe campaign for Haley’s medical expenses. The description made my stomach drop.

It talked about Haley’s struggle with blindness, mentioned a potential treatment that could restore her vision, and heavily implied that family circumstances had made it impossible to pursue the surgery. The wording was careful, never directly saying I’d backed out, but anyone reading it would assume some family member had failed to help.

The campaign had raised almost $3,000 in less than a week. Comments from friends and distant relatives filled the page, offering prayers and small donations, saying how terrible it was that Haley couldn’t get the help she needed.

I sat in my car staring at my phone screen, feeling sick. They were crowdfunding based on the same lies they’d told me, getting money from people who had no idea the surgery was fake. I took screenshots of everything and texted them to Mariana and Estelle, asking what I should do.

Mariana called me back within an hour. She said this was actual fraud, not just family manipulation. They were soliciting donations based on false medical information, which violated GoFundMe’s terms and possibly state fraud laws. She said I had documentation from Dr. Kavanaugh proving the surgery wasn’t real, which meant I could report the campaign and likely get it taken down. But she also warned me it would cause a massive explosion in my family. My parents would know I was actively working against them, not just maintaining distance.

Estelle said something similar when I brought it to therapy that week. She asked if I was prepared for the consequences of exposing them publicly, even if what they were doing was wrong. I thought about all those people donating their money based on lies, about my parents profiting from the same scheme they’d tried to use on me. I told them both I wanted to report it.

Mariana helped me file the fraud report with GoFundMe’s support team. I submitted Dr. Kavanaugh’s written statement, the timeline of events, and screenshots of my parents’ messages trying to pressure me into the fake surgery. The legal aid clinic added a letter explaining the situation from their perspective. Then I waited for 6 days. Nothing happened, and I started wondering if GoFundMe would even care.

Then the campaign disappeared from the site. Just gone, with a message saying it had been removed for violating community guidelines. Mariana told me later that my parents had been required to refund all donations, that GoFundMe had flagged their account to prevent future campaigns.

My dad’s response came through in a flood of messages from his email, since I still had him blocked on my phone. He said I’d destroyed the family’s reputation, that everyone would think they were scammers now, that I’d humiliated them in front of the whole community. He said I was vindictive and cruel, that I’d gone out of my way to hurt them when they were just trying to help Haley. The messages got angrier and less coherent as they went on. My mom sent shorter messages saying she couldn’t believe I’d do this, that reporting them to GoFundMe was taking things too far, that I was tearing the family apart over pride.

The Letter

The following Tuesday, our receptionist called my desk phone saying someone was in the lobby asking for me. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I went downstairs confused. My mom stood near the entrance looking smaller than I remembered, her face tired and sad. She didn’t try to approach me when I came through the security door. She just walked over, handed me a thick envelope, and left without saying a word.

I stood there holding it, watching her walk to her car in the parking lot. The envelope had my name written on the front in her looping handwriting. I took it back upstairs and put it in my bag without opening it; I couldn’t deal with whatever was inside during my workday.

That night, I sat on my couch and pulled out the envelope. Six pages of notebook paper covered front and back with my mom’s handwriting. It was the closest thing to honesty I’d gotten from either parent. She admitted my dad had gone too far with the surgery plan, said he was desperate to help Haley and convinced himself the ends justified the means. She wrote that she went along with it because keeping peace with him is how she survives their marriage, that disagreeing with him openly makes life unbearable.

She said she knew I was angry but begged me to understand they did everything out of love for Haley. The letter talked about how hard it’s been watching Haley struggle, how helpless they felt, how the fake surgery seemed like a way to motivate me to help without understanding how wrong it was. She ended by saying she missed me and hoped I’d come back to the family someday—that she understood if I needed time but wanted me to know she loved me.

I read it twice, then put it back in the envelope and cried for 20 minutes—not because it changed anything, but because it was so close to what I needed and still so far away.

I brought the letter to my next therapy session. Estelle read it carefully, then looked at me and said it was more honest than previous communication but still basically an excuse rather than an apology. My mom explained their behavior but never took actual responsibility or acknowledged the harm they’d caused me. She said she went along with my dad’s plan because it was easier than standing up to him, which meant she chose her own comfort over my well-being. The letter asked me to understand their motivation but didn’t offer to change anything or make amends.

Estelle helped me see that understanding why someone hurt you doesn’t mean you have to accept a continued relationship with them. You can have compassion for their circumstances while still protecting yourself from their behavior. My mom was trapped in her own dysfunction, but that didn’t obligate me to stay trapped with her.