said we earned too much money. Too much money! Can you believe that? We didn’t have one extra cent in our pockets.” George shook his head. “I asked you before if there was anything you wouldn’t do for your child. Well, there’s nothing I wouldn’t of done for Angelina. She would die if she didn’t get treatment. The doctor didn’t come out and say that, but it was clear in his voice.”
“Did Angelina die?” Dani asked softly.
“I don’t know,” George answered, his voice flat.
They were all puzzled, and for a moment Dani was at a loss for words. Finally, she once again asked the question she had begun with. “What happened to Angelina?”
“You have to understand. We were desperate. No hospital would treat her. I went to the library and read up on her illness. I read how bad it was when the cancer went to the brain. I read that the Mayo Clinic was the best, that their doctors were saving kids like mine. But they would want money too. So we drove, all of us, we drove to Minnesota. And we took all her medical records and all her tests and we blacked out all the names—Angelina’s, the doctor, the hospital, even the laboratory—so no one could bring her back to us. We put it all in a pouch and tied it around her waist. And we put a letter in the pouch, not with our names or anything, not even Angelina’s name, and we said in the letter that we were leaving our daughter with them, that they needed to fix her, make her better. We knew that if she didn’t have parents, it wouldn’t matter that she didn’t have insurance. If she was all alone, they’d have to help her. Medicaid would pay for her because she’d have no income. We thought, they’ll put her in a foster home, and then maybe if she got better, someone would adopt her. And we left her there, in the hospital, and told her we loved her, would always love her, but she had to wait there until someone came to help her. We told her no matter what, don’t tell anyone your name. And then we walked away. We never saw her again.”
Dani’s head spun. How could a parent leave a child, only four years old, alone in a hospital? How agonizing it had to have been for George and Sallie, faced with a Hobson’s choice of watching their child certainly die without treatment or abandoning their beloved daughter.
Could the story be true? Or was this a last-ditch effort to avoid a lethal injection? Watching the anguish on George’s face made Dani believe his nightmare was real. But after seventeen years in prison, it was the first time he’d offered this explanation for his daughter’s disappearance. “Why haven’t you told anyone this before?” she asked. “You were on trial for murdering Angelina. You knew you were facing the death penalty. How could you not tell your lawyer? Or explain to the jury what you told us today?”
“Tell them what? That we left our daughter—sick and alone—and just walked away? My Sallie sure had a hard time accepting why we had to do that. I didn’t expect any folks not in our shoes to understand. Especially if our baby had died there. And if she was getting treatment and doing okay? Well, then I was afraid if I told them where she was, they’d stop treating her. I couldn’t take a chance on that. No matter what it meant for me. When I thought it was safe, when my telling couldn’t harm her, I tried telling my lawyer. If she lived, she’d have been 18 then. They couldn’t return her to us if she still needed treatment. My lawyer, he sure didn’t believe me, but I guess I can’t blame him.”
“Couldn’t you have pushed him, gotten him to pay attention?” Dani said.
George shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
Dani realized he was right. By then, Wilson’s mind had been closed to the possibility of his client’s innocence.
“After the jury came back and they sent me here, I’d fall asleep every night thinking that my Angelina didn’t die, that she was taken in by a nice family that
“Did Angelina die?” Dani asked softly.
“I don’t know,” George answered, his voice flat.
They were all puzzled, and for a moment Dani was at a loss for words. Finally, she once again asked the question she had begun with. “What happened to Angelina?”
“You have to understand. We were desperate. No hospital would treat her. I went to the library and read up on her illness. I read how bad it was when the cancer went to the brain. I read that the Mayo Clinic was the best, that their doctors were saving kids like mine. But they would want money too. So we drove, all of us, we drove to Minnesota. And we took all her medical records and all her tests and we blacked out all the names—Angelina’s, the doctor, the hospital, even the laboratory—so no one could bring her back to us. We put it all in a pouch and tied it around her waist. And we put a letter in the pouch, not with our names or anything, not even Angelina’s name, and we said in the letter that we were leaving our daughter with them, that they needed to fix her, make her better. We knew that if she didn’t have parents, it wouldn’t matter that she didn’t have insurance. If she was all alone, they’d have to help her. Medicaid would pay for her because she’d have no income. We thought, they’ll put her in a foster home, and then maybe if she got better, someone would adopt her. And we left her there, in the hospital, and told her we loved her, would always love her, but she had to wait there until someone came to help her. We told her no matter what, don’t tell anyone your name. And then we walked away. We never saw her again.”
Dani’s head spun. How could a parent leave a child, only four years old, alone in a hospital? How agonizing it had to have been for George and Sallie, faced with a Hobson’s choice of watching their child certainly die without treatment or abandoning their beloved daughter.
Could the story be true? Or was this a last-ditch effort to avoid a lethal injection? Watching the anguish on George’s face made Dani believe his nightmare was real. But after seventeen years in prison, it was the first time he’d offered this explanation for his daughter’s disappearance. “Why haven’t you told anyone this before?” she asked. “You were on trial for murdering Angelina. You knew you were facing the death penalty. How could you not tell your lawyer? Or explain to the jury what you told us today?”
“Tell them what? That we left our daughter—sick and alone—and just walked away? My Sallie sure had a hard time accepting why we had to do that. I didn’t expect any folks not in our shoes to understand. Especially if our baby had died there. And if she was getting treatment and doing okay? Well, then I was afraid if I told them where she was, they’d stop treating her. I couldn’t take a chance on that. No matter what it meant for me. When I thought it was safe, when my telling couldn’t harm her, I tried telling my lawyer. If she lived, she’d have been 18 then. They couldn’t return her to us if she still needed treatment. My lawyer, he sure didn’t believe me, but I guess I can’t blame him.”
“Couldn’t you have pushed him, gotten him to pay attention?” Dani said.
George shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
Dani realized he was right. By then, Wilson’s mind had been closed to the possibility of his client’s innocence.
“After the jury came back and they sent me here, I’d fall asleep every night thinking that my Angelina didn’t die, that she was taken in by a nice family that
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