It began with one woman’s fight to save her child and ended in a national movement—
Six weeks into a blissful honeymoon, life turns into a nightmare when Susan’s 9-year-old daughter is taken away and her husband is falsely accused of child sexual abuse.
A simple misunderstanding is reshaped by the powerful, out-of-control child protection machine of the 1980s into something sinister, and Susan is dragged under its churning wheels. She is given the choice to cooperate in prosecuting her innocent husband or lose her daughter.
It’s the decade of unfounded abuse accusations, hysterical claims of orgies at daycare centers, families controlled by courts, and a child protection system that has become the very thing it was created to eradicate.
No one wants to hear the facts.
No one wants to know the truth.
When the couple doesn’t cave to the pressure, Susan loses custody of her daughter, and her husband is charged with a felony that carries a 16-year prison sentence.
Wheels of Injustice is a curtains-pulled-back, true account of the child protection system of the ’80s and its victims, who risked everything to expose its egregiously unjust acts and reform it.
“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.” ― Dietrich Bonhoeffer
This memoir is a tribute to God’s faithfulness and a message of hope and inspiration to others who struggle to overcome adversity, fight injustice, or turn an upended life the right way around again.
Targeted Age Group:: all audiences
Heat/Violence Level: Heat Level 2 – PG
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I want to encourage others who may be going through a difficult experience, adversity, or an unfair situation. I'm hoping that, by telling my own story and journey with God through a difficult time in my life, others will see themselves and will turn to God for help. It's common to question God during times like this, and I believe those questions need answers, which I've tried to provide in my book.
When I see Daryl’s smirk, I really lose it. All I feel is white hot rage over what the system and my ex-husband are doing to us—taking Emily away, crushing her spirit, destroying her innocence—charging Clark with a felony—charging me with neglect—creating a never-ending churn of court hearings and making our lives a nightmare.
All I want is to be left alone to live in peace with my daughters and my new husband.
Anger flows through my veins and arteries until I am moving on fury-fueled automatic pilot, not really planning, just acting.
The next thing I know, I’m driving along a winding dirt road, wiping at the tears that continue to leak from my eyes and threaten to obscure my vision.
Once more I glance at the bag on the passenger seat that holds my future. Or rather, lack of one. Contents: everything with a warning label that I could grab before I changed my mind—one wine cooler, half a dozen pain pills, and two dozen Xanax tablets.
As the road grows narrower, pine and cedar branches brush against the car. I drive slower. Little more than a path, the surface’s rocks and ruts make for a bumpy ride.
I look for familiar landmarks—the bent tree next to a large boulder, then the steep curve to the left before widening onto a small open space barely large enough to park two cars. Jim called it Brush Hollow.
I see the large flat rock. The last time I was here, I ate a picnic lunch on that rock with Jim. That was almost a year ago. Now I’m here again, and although I brought a lunch bag, I didn’t bring a picnic.
Sobbing openly now, I grab my bag, open the car door, and slowly climb onto the rock. The rock’s surface is warmed by the sun streaming down from a cloudless blue sky. I blink tears from my eyes as I look around at the trees surrounding the small clearing and sniff the cedar in the air. It’s a good spot for dying.
I look at the pills in my hand.
Can I really do this? Dear Lord, what else can I do? I have totally and completely messed up the lives of the three people I love most in this world. Emily, Amber, Clark, I am so sorry! I know you’ll be better off after I’m gone. And I will be better off without this searing pain that’s ripping me apart and tearing holes in my soul!!
God, if you really exist, you’ll have to do something if you want me to live. I can’t try any more. I can’t face it anymore. I just can’t do it.
With that, I swallow the pills, a few at a time, with the help of the wine cooler. Then I lay down on the rock to die.
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