Help Me Keep My Children Safe and Together – Restitution Emergency

My name is Margarita and I’m a 23-year-old single mother of four beautiful children. I never thought I would find myself here, asking strangers for help, but I am facing something impossible alone. The court has ordered me to pay $8,000 in restitution within 58 days, or I will be sentenced to 2 years in state jail. If that happens, my children will lose the only parent, protector, and provider they have ever truly known.

I’m sharing my story because I’m fighting not just for myself, but for the four little hearts who depend on me for everything.

My Story

From 2016 to 2021, I lived in a physically and emotionally abusive relationship with the father of my two oldest children. I stayed because I had nowhere else to go—no mother to run to, no father to protect me, no family to lean on. Every day felt like walking on broken glass, holding my children close and praying for strength.

In May 2021, after being severely injured with a hammer, I realized that if I didn’t leave, my children might lose me forever. My best friend—the only constant person in my life at the time—came over early that morning. Together, we stuffed our clothes and my children’s belongings into plastic bags, our hands shaking, my body aching, and my heart breaking. When she hugged me goodbye before heading to work, I remember feeling terrified but determined. I was finally leaving.

Days later, he found me.

He threatened to hurt everyone in the home unless I came outside. I walked out, heart racing, and he held me at gunpoint. I tried to calm him, tried to talk him down, desperate to protect everyone inside. Neighbors heard the screaming and called the police. When the officer arrived, my abuser fired 16 rounds at him. By a miracle, nobody was hit. He was arrested, charged, and sentenced to 30 years.

But trauma doesn’t end just because the danger is gone.

My children and I were displaced yet again, unable to return to where we were staying for everyone’s safety. Out of nowhere, my biological father—whom I hadn’t seen or heard from since I was two years old—reached out. He had heard about what happened and offered to take us in. For the first time in my life, I felt like maybe I had a chance at a family.

He helped with rides to and from work/childcare drop off. Eventually he placed a set of keys in my hand to a 2007 Chevy Silverado and told me:

“It’s not perfect, but it’ll get you from point A to point B. Use it to work, take the girls out. It’s yours, mija.”

I can’t explain the relief I felt. After everything, it felt like maybe life was finally turning around.

But..

Problems between my father and his girlfriend exploded, and suddenly I was in the middle of their arguments. There were days we’d come home after my shift and find the door locked—my babies and I stranded outside. The stress became unbearable. In late September I decided that for our peace and safety, it was time to go.

My father apologized, saying, “If you ever need anything, reach out.” I believed him. It broke my heart because I would have done anything to protect him if roles were reversed. It made me face the painful truth that my parents—both my mother and father—always chose someone else over me.

Not long after, the truck broke down in the middle of the highway. When the power steering gave out on I-35, I knew I couldn’t keep it anymore. I sold it for $2,000 and used the money to move to Amarillo with my two girls for a fresh start.

What I didn’t know was that my father had originally gotten the truck for his girlfriend, and shortly after I left, they reported it stolen—even though he put the keys in my hand and told me it was mine.

Almost five years later, I found out I had a felony warrant for “theft of property.” My heart dropped. I knew I had to face it, so I turned myself in February 2025.

My father kept promising he would provide a notarized letter stating he gave me the truck. He sent messages saying he was getting it done. He even said he was outside my apartment to drop it off—I waited outside for 45 minutes… and he never came.

The messages, the screenshots, the proof I had—it still wasn’t enough for the state.

At first I was offered 3 years deferred adjudication with $6,000 restitution paid monthly. I agreed. I was relieved. I could manage that.

But then they suddenly withdrew it. The new—and only—offer was:

$8,000 restitution paid in full within 60 days, or 2 years in state jail.

When I cried in court explaining I’m a single mother of four, working every day to survive, just barely moved into a new apartment, and have no one to help me, the only response was:

“Do you need more time to speak with your attorney?”

No compassion.

No understanding.

No consideration that this is my first offense ever.

No acknowledgment of the trauma or betrayal that led to this.

If I go to jail, my children will lose everything—their stability, their home, their mother, their world. They don’t have anyone else. There is no grandmother, no father, no family member waiting to catch them if I fall.

It has always been just us, surviving every storm together.

I’m not asking for help for me.

I’m asking for help so my children don’t lose their only parent over something I never intended, something I never meant to happen, something caused by people who were supposed to love me.

Anything helps—every dollar, every share, every prayer.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading our story.

God bless you. ❤️