Hello, my name is Sandradee, and I never imagined I would be here asking strangers for help.

I am raising funds to keep the lawyer I already have.

I have already put over $10,000 toward legal fees over the past three years.

Now, to move forward with the Appeals Court, my lawyer requires an additional $5,000 retainer — due by December 4th, 2025.

If I cannot pay this in time, I lose the ability to appeal.

And the current ruling becomes permanent.

This appeal is to protect my 9-year-old son.

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Who My Son Is

My son is not just a name on a court file.

He is bright, funny, curious, gentle, and incredibly resilient.

He loves animals, building things, and asking a million questions about how the world works. He laughs with his whole body, dances when he’s happy, and hugs you like he means it.

He is high-functioning autistic — not broken, not difficult — just beautifully unique.

His favorite thing in the world is spending time with his two baby brothers, both under two years old. He plays with them gently, teaches them new things, and protects them like a little guardian. Being their big brother is his favorite role in life.

The hardest part is how little time he gets to spend at home.

He asks me why he can’t stay.

He begs me not to send him back.

No 9-year-old should ever feel like they have to change who they are to feel loved or safe.

He deserves stability.

He deserves safety.

He deserves to grow up in a home where he can breathe without fear and just be a child, not a survivor.

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I have been fighting this system for 3 years.

Last year, at the time of the first trial, I had to represent myself because I did not have the funds to afford a lawyer.

I walked into that courtroom alone — terrified, but determined.

And the system failed us then, too.

My ex had an attorney. I did not.

His attorney succeeded in getting all of my evidence thrown out —

• photos,

• medical documentation,

• police reports,

• CPS reports where neglect was substantiated against the father,

• and official criminal court records.

Everything.

The Commissioner then ruled that, in her words, I was not “significantly abused enough.”

Imagine hearing that — after surviving nearly eight years of domestic violence.

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The abuse was documented — 19 separate injuries.

What makes that statement even more devastating is that during the criminal investigation, there were 19 separate, documented injuries logged in the police report — photos, medical assessments, and written documentation — tied to the incident he was charged for.

And the abuse didn’t begin suddenly.

It began when he first strangled me when I was pregnant with our son.

I do not want to be shamed or blamed for staying as long as I did.

The truth is simple:

> I stayed because I was trying to protect my son.

I was terrified that if I left too soon — when my son was too young to speak or defend himself — the system would fail us.

And that is exactly what ended up happening.

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Arizona law says otherwise.

Under A.R.S. § 25-403.03 – Domestic Violence and Child Abuse, even one act of domestic violence is legally sufficient and must be considered in custody decisions.

The law does not require repeated abuse.

The law does not require abuse to reach some imaginary level of “severity.”

Yet in my case, instead of applying the law, I was told I wasn’t “significantly abused enough.”

I believe both the Commissioner and the current judge ignored A.R.S. § 25-403.03 as written — and instead applied opinion.

And my son paid the price.

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And it didn’t stop there.

There were moments I will never forget.

I once picked up my son and saw red marks on his neck, shaped like fingers.

He did not tell me — he told his grandmother (his grams). Through tears, he told her that he was grabbed by the neck after he tried to speak up and tell his father that his stepbrother had pulled his pants down and touched him inappropriately.

I reported everything.

A detective was assigned to the case.

Before the first trial, that same detective took the stand, under oath, and testified to what my son disclosed. The detective demonstrated how my son reenacted it — placing his own hands around his neck.

The detective then stated he closed the case because my son is autistic and the stepbrother was younger and smaller than him.

Even with a detective testifying to my son’s disclosure,

the Commissioner still dismissed everything.

My son has also come back into my care more times than I can count with COVID, influenza, double ear infections, and other untreated medical issues.

Every time, I took him to doctors or hospitals.

Every incident was documented by medical professionals.

There have also been multiple times he has returned to me with bruises and fingerprint marks on his body.

Every time, I documented it.

Every time, I filed police reports.

Every time, I contacted CPS.

And every police report and every CPS report was closed, dismissed, or ignored.

And after all of this — every report, every medical record, every disclosure, every piece of documentation —

the current judge saw all of this evidence and still took my son from me.

My son spoke up.

I begged for help.

The system looked away.

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The only thing stopping the appeal is money.

Not lack of evidence.

Not lack of documentation.

Not lack of truth.

Just money.

I have followed every rule, filed every document, and done everything the legal system has asked of me.

I have reached the point where I cannot continue without help.

This $5,000 retainer keeps my lawyer on the case and allows us to file the appeals — yes, plural.

My lawyer isn’t only appealing the current judgment — we are appealing the previous ruling as well.

Both rulings were made without the evidence ever being seen or considered, and both must be overturned to protect my son.

This appeal is not just paperwork.

It is our chance for the truth — and the evidence — to finally be heard in court.

Whether you donate $5 or simply share, you are helping my son get another chance at safety, stability, and peace.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for seeing us.

Thank you for giving us a fighting chance.

— Sandradee

A mother who refuses to give up.