In February, My Father-in-law Gave My 7-year-old Daughter A “Melatonin Gummy” At His House. He Said It Would Help Her Rest Better. My Friend, A Toxicologisl, Was At Our Place When I Got Homé. He Saw Her Condition. His Face Went White. He Checked The Gummies. Different Colours. Called Me Immediately – “Get Her To The Hospital Now.” What The Tox Screen Revealed At Sick Kids Hospital…
The snow was coming down hard that February evening in Toronto, the kind that blurred streetlights into pale halos and made every red brake light ahead feel like a warning rather than a signal.
I was exhausted in a way that went deeper than sore feet or an aching back, the kind of tired that settles into your bones after too many hours in the ER, too many decisions made too fast, too many moments where someone else’s emergency becomes your responsibility.
My shift was supposed to end at four, but a pileup on the 401 had stretched it two hours longer, and by the time I pulled out of the hospital parking lot, all I wanted was to get home to Sophie and see her smile.
Jennifer was away in Vancouver, stuck at a corporate retreat she couldn’t get out of, and that alone made the house feel wrong even before I reached it.
We had relied on family, like we always did in situations like this, and my father-in-law Richard had volunteered immediately, his voice cheerful, almost eager, when he said he would take care of everything.
He had spent his entire career as a pharmacist, retired two years earlier with a spotless reputation and a habit of reminding people he still knew more than most practicing professionals.
“He’s raised kids before,” Jennifer had said when I hesitated. “He raised me.”
I had nodded and agreed, because arguing felt petty, and because nothing about Richard had ever crossed a clear line.
Still, there had been a feeling lately, something I couldn’t explain without sounding paranoid, a quiet alarm in the back of my mind that went off every time Sophie came home from his place quieter than usual, slower, less like herself.
I told myself I was overthinking it.
I pulled into our driveway and noticed Richard’s old Buick still parked along the curb, snow collecting along its windshield like a blanket.
The house lights were on, glowing warmly through the falling snow, and for a moment I relaxed, telling myself that whatever stress I carried from work would fade the second Sophie wrapped her arms around me.
It didn’t happen.
When I stepped inside, the silence hit me first, heavy and unnatural.
No running footsteps.
No excited voice shouting my name.
Only the low murmur of a television coming from the living room.
“I’m home,” I called out, shrugging off my coat and hanging it by the door.
Richard’s voice answered calmly, unhurried, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
“In here, Marcus. Sophie’s just resting.”
Resting.
At six-thirty in the evening.
My chest tightened as I walked into the living room, my eyes immediately locking onto the couch.
Sophie was curled on her side, her small body slack against the cushions, eyes half open but unfocused, staring past the television rather than at it.
She looked like someone who had been woken in the middle of a deep sleep, except she hadn’t been asleep at all.
“Sophie,” I said softly, kneeling beside her. “Hey, baby.”
Her head turned toward me slowly, too slowly, her movements uncoordinated, her expression distant.
“Hi, Daddy,” she murmured, the words slightly blurred together. “I’m sleepy.”
My heart began to pound.
This wasn’t normal tiredness.
This was something else.
I stood and turned to Richard, keeping my voice steady with effort.
“What happened? What’s wrong with her?”
He smiled, the same reassuring smile I had seen a hundred times before, the one that usually put people at ease.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said lightly. “We had a busy day. Park, snowman, games. She wore herself out. I gave her one of those melatonin gummies to help her settle.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
“You gave her melatonin,” I said, forcing myself not to raise my voice. “Without asking me.”
Richard waved it off.
“It’s not medication. It’s a supplement. Completely natural. I recommended them all the time when I was working.”
He pulled a bottle from his jacket pocket and held it up, as if the label alone should reassure me.
Children’s melatonin. Grape flavor. Five milligrams per gummy.
Five milligrams.
On the higher end for a child her age, and absolutely not something to give without parental consent.
I crouched back down beside Sophie, cupping her face gently, trying to get her eyes to focus on mine.
Her pupils looked too large for the bright room, her pulse slower than I liked when I checked it, not alarming yet, but wrong enough to make my stomach twist.
“How long ago did you give it to her?” I asked.
“About an hour,” Richard replied, settling comfortably into his chair. “Right after dinner.”
An hour.
If this was just melatonin, her reaction didn’t make sense.
I ran through possibilities automatically, my training kicking in despite the fear creeping up my spine.
“Did you give her anything else today?” I asked. “Any other supplements?”
Richard thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“A vitamin C gummy at lunch, and her multivitamin this morning. Just keeping her healthy.”
Three different supplements.
None of them approved by us.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I remembered David, a colleague who had recently transferred from toxicology, someone whose instincts I trusted.
I texted him quickly, explaining the situation, and when he called back minutes later, his tone shifted as soon as I described Sophie’s symptoms.
“Marcus,” he said carefully, “go get the bottle and read me the label. Every word.”
I did, my hands trembling slightly as I read, noticing for the first time that Richard’s expression had changed, his confidence replaced with something harder to read.
“Now look at the gummies themselves,” David continued. “Do they all look the same?”
I poured a few into my palm.
Most were purple.
A few were darker, almost brownish.
Different enough that my stomach dropped as soon as I noticed.
“David,” I said quietly. “They’re not all the same color.”
There was movement on the other end of the line, the sound of urgency.
“Marcus, listen to me,” he said. “You need to bring Sophie to the hospital right now. Bring the bottle.”
“Why,” I asked, my voice barely steady. “What do you think is happening?”
“I don’t want to scare you,” he replied, “but we’ve had several cases recently. Parents thought they were giving melatonin. The supplements had been altered.”
Altered.
“Altered with what?” I asked.
He hesitated just long enough for my blood to run cold.
“In two cases, it wasn’t melatonin at all.”
I looked at Sophie, at the way her chest rose and fell too slowly, and realized something was terribly wrong.
PART 2
By the time we reached the hospital, the snow had turned into a blur of white streaks across the windshield, my hands locked tight around the steering wheel as if letting go would somehow make this worse.
Sophie barely stirred when I carried her inside, her head lolling against my shoulder in a way that made every step feel heavier than the last.
David met us at the entrance, his face drawn tight as he guided us straight past the waiting area, straight into a room where voices lowered and movements became precise.
The bottle of gummies disappeared into a clear bag, labeled and sealed, and blood was drawn with practiced efficiency while I stood uselessly against the wall, watching numbers flicker on monitors.
Richard arrived shortly after, breathless, confused, still insisting this was all an overreaction, that he had done nothing wrong.
No one answered him.
When the toxicology screen came back, David didn’t read it aloud at first.
He looked at me instead, and in that moment, I knew whatever it said was going to change everything.
“This wasn’t a dosing issue,” he said quietly. “And it wasn’t an accident.”
I felt my knees weaken as he explained what they had found, how the substance didn’t belong in anything marketed for children, how it explained the severity of Sophie’s condition far too well.
Across the room, I saw Richard watching us, his expression unreadable, and for the first time since I’d known him, I felt something close to fear.
Because someone had put those gummies in that bottle.
And someone had given one to my daughter.
C0ntinue below 
The snow was coming down hard that February evening in Toronto. The kind of wet, heavy flakes that stick to everything and make driving treacherous. I was running late getting home from the hospital. My shift as an ER nurse, having gone 2 hours overtime, thanks to a multi-car pileup on the 401. All I could think about was getting home to my daughter Sophie and making sure she’d eaten something more substantial than the Goldfish crackers my father-in-law probably fed her for dinner.
My wife Jennifer was away on a work trip to Vancouver, some corporate retreat that couldn’t be rescheduled. We’d been married for 9 years, together for 12, and this was only the second time she’d been away for more than a night since Sophie was born. Our daughter had just turned seven in January. A bright, energetic kid who loved hockey, drawing, and asking approximately 3 million questions per day.
When Jennifer’s flight had been confirmed for Sunday through Wednesday, we’d done what we always did in these situations. We called on family. My father-in-law, Richard Peton, had retired from his pharmacy career 2 years earlier and was always eager to help out. More than happy to stay with my favorite granddaughter, he’d said on the phone, that hearty laugh of his booming through the speaker.
Well have a grand time, won’t we, Sophie? Sophie had been thrilled. Grandpa Richard, as she called him, always brought fun board games, hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and stories about the olden days that made her giggle. He was the kind of grandfather every kid deserved. Patient, kind, endlessly entertaining.
Except lately, something had been bothering me about Richard’s visits. Nothing I could put my finger on, just a nagging feeling in my gut that I’d been dismissing as paranoia. Jennifer certainly thought I was overreacting. He’s my dad, Marcus,” she’d said the week before, exasperated. “He practically raised me by himself after mom died.
He knows what he’s doing with kids.” I dropped it then, feeling foolish. After all, what was I concerned about? That Richard loved Sophie too much, that he wanted to spend time with his only grandchild. It seemed ridiculous when I tried to articulate it. But there was this thing I’d noticed over the past few months. Sophie would come home from a day with Grandpa Richard acting as different, quieter, almost sluggish.
At first, I’d chocked it up to the natural crash after an exciting day. The way kids get worn out from too much stimulation, but it kept happening, and the pattern was becoming impossible to ignore. I pulled into our driveway in the beach’s neighborhood, noting that Richard’s old Buick was still parked on the street where he left it that morning.
The house lights were on, warm and inviting against the gray winter evening. I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and hurried through the snow to the front door. The moment I stepped inside, I knew something was off. The house was too quiet. Usually, when I got home, I’d be greeted by Sophie’s excited shouts of, “Daddy’s home!” and the thunder of her feet running to meet me.
Instead, there was just the low murmur of the television from the living room. Hello, I called out shaking snow from my coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. I’m home in here, Marcus. Richard’s voice came from the living room, calm and unhurried. Sophie’s just having a little rest on the couch. A rest? At 6:30 in the evening.
That wasn’t like Sophie at all. She was the kind of kid who fought bedtime tooth and nail every night, insisting she wasn’t tired, even as her eyes drooped shut. I walked into the living room and felt my stomach drop. Sophie was curled up on the couch, her small body slack, her eyes half closed as she stared blankly at the TV screen where some cartoon played.
She wasn’t watching it. Not really. She looked almost sedated. Sophie, baby. I crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside the couch. You okay, sweetheart? She turned her head slowly toward me, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Hi, Daddy? She mumbled, her words slightly slurred. I’m sleepy. My heart started pounding.
This wasn’t normal tiredness. This was something else entirely. Richard, what happened? I demanded, looking up at my father-in-law. What’s wrong with her? Richard smiled. That same grandfatherly smile I’d known for over a decade. But now it sent a chill down my spine. Nothing’s wrong, Marcus. She’s just tired. We had a very active day.
Went to the park, built a snowman, played some games. I gave her one of those vitamin gummies to help her settle down for the evening. The ones with melatonin. Perfectly safe. Melatonin for a seven-year-old without asking me first. You gave her melatonin. I tried to keep my voice level, not wanting to alarm Sophie, but anger was rising in my chest.
Richard, you can’t just give her medication without checking with us first. Oh, it’s not medication, Marcus. It’s just a supplement. Completely natural. helps kids wind down. He waved his hand dismissively. I used to recommend them all the time when I worked at the pharmacy. Parents love them. How much did you give her? Just one gummy.
The recommended dose for children. He pulled a bottle from his jacket pocket, holding it up as if to prove his point. See, children’s melatonin, grape flavored. Nothing harmful about it. I took the bottle from him, my hands shaking slightly as I read the label. 5 mg per gummy. That was actually on the higher end for a child Sophie’s age and definitely not something that should be given without parental consent.
But what bothered me more was Sophie’s current state. I’d seen kids on melatonin before in the ER, usually ones whose parents gave it to help with sleep issues. They got drowsy. Yes, but not like this. Not this level of lethargy. Sophie, I said gently, cupping her face in my hands. Can you look at me, baby? Can you focus on daddy’s face? Her eyes drifted toward me but couldn’t seem to lock on.
Her pupils looked dilated, too large for the well-lit room. My nursing instincts kicked into high gear, and I felt for her pulse. It was slower than it should be. Not dangerously slow, but definitely not normal. “How long ago did you give this to her?” I asked Richard, forcing myself to stay calm. “Oh, about an hour ago, I’d say. Maybe a bit more.
” Right after we had dinner, he settled back into the armchair, completely at ease. She’ll be fine, Marcus. She just needs a good night’s sleep. Kids these days are so overstimulated with all their screens and activities. Sometimes they need a little help calming down. A little help without permission to someone else’s child.
That’s when I remembered something. My friend David from the hospital, the one who’d recently transferred to our department from toxicology. He’d mentioned something at lunch last week about medication overdoses in children. How parents didn’t always realize that over-the-counter supplements could be dangerous in the wrong doses or combinations.
I pulled out my phone and sent David a quick text. Hey, you still at the hospital? Need advice on pediatric melatonin situation? His response came within seconds. Just finishing up. What’s going on? Can I call you? Give me five minutes. I turn back to Sophie. My medical training running through differential diagnosis. Excessive drowsiness, slurred speech, poor coordination, dilated pupils.
If this was just melatonin at the recommended dose, her reaction was unusually strong, which meant either she was particularly sensitive to it or there was something else going on. Richard, did you give her anything else today? Any other vitamins or supplements? he thought for a moment, stroking his chin.
Well, I gave her one of those immune boosting vitamin C gummies at lunch and a multivitamin this morning with breakfast. Just keeping her healthy, you know, winter season, lots of bugs going around. Three different supplements in one day. All without asking. The anger that had been simmering in my chest started to boil over, but I shoved it down.
There would be time to address this later. Right now, I needed to make sure Sophie was okay. My phone buzzed. David calling. Excuse me, I said to Richard, standing up and walking into the kitchen. I answered on the second ring. David, thanks for calling back. No problem. What’s up with the melatonin situation? I quickly explained what had happened.
Richard giving Sophie melatonin without permission, her current state, the other supplements he’d given her throughout the day. There was a pause on the other end of the line. Marcus, I need you to go get that melatonin bottle right now and read me the exact label, everything on it.
Something in his tone made my blood run cold. Hold on. I walked back into the living room, picked up the bottle from where I’d set it on the coffee table, and read David the label word for word. As I did, I noticed Richard’s expression had changed slightly. The easy confidence was still there, but there was something else now, a weariness. “Okay,” David said slowly.
Now, this might seem like an odd question, but look at the gummies themselves. Do they all look the same color? I opened the bottle and poured a few gummies into my palm. They were various shades of purple, which seemed normal for grape flavored. Wait, no. Some of them weren’t quite right. Most were a bright purple, but two or three were a darker, almost brownish purple.
Different enough that you might not notice if you weren’t looking closely, but definitely not consistent with the others. David. Some of them are a different color. I heard him moving on the other end. The sound of a door closing. Marcus, listen to me very carefully. I need you to bring Sophie to the hospital right now.
Bring that bottle with you. All of it. What? Why? What do you think is going on? I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but we’ve had three cases in the past 2 months of kids coming in with symptoms similar to what you’re describing. In all three cases, the parents thought they were giving melatonin, but the supplements had been contaminated isn’t quite the right word. Adulterated.
Someone had replaced some of the gummies with something else. My heart stopped. Replace them with what? In two cases, it was dyenhydramine, basically benadryil. Much higher doses than what’s safe for kids that age. The third case was worse. It was crushed Xanax that someone had remolded into gummy form and put back in the bottle.
I looked at Sophie, still lying motionless on the couch, and felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. You think someone tampered with these? I think you need to bring her in immediately so we can run some tests and make sure she’s okay. If it is just melatonin, great. We’ll monitor her for a few hours and send you home.
But if it’s something else, we need to know now. I’m bringing her in. We’ll be there in 15 minutes. I hung up and turned to find Richard standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his face pale. What did your friend say?” he asked. And for the first time, I heard uncertainty in his voice.
He said, “I need to bring Sophie to the hospital.” “Now, Marcus, that seems a bit extreme. She’s just sleepy. Where did you get these gummies, Richard?” I cut him off, holding up the bottle. “Did you buy them new or did you already have them?” He hesitated, and in that hesitation, I saw everything I needed to know. I I’ve had them for a while.
I keep them in my medicine cabinet at home for when Sophie stays over. She sometimes has trouble sleeping in the guest room. So I You’ve been giving these to her before? How many times? Another hesitation. Just a few times when she seemed overwhelmed at bedtime, Marcus. I swear I was only trying to help. How many times, Richard? Four, maybe five times over the past few months.
The past few months, the same time period I’d noticed. Sophie acting strange after spending time with her grandfather. The sluggishness, the unusual tiredness. It wasn’t just normal exhaustion from a fun day. He’d been drugging my daughter. I felt like I was going to be sick, but I forced myself to focus. “Sophie needed me.
“We’re going to the hospital,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “You’re going to follow us there in your car, and you’re going to explain to the doctors exactly what you gave her and when.” “Do you understand me?” Richard’s face crumpled. Marcus, please. I never meant any harm. I would never hurt Sophie. She’s my granddaughter.
Then you’ll come to the hospital and tell them everything. I didn’t wait for his response. I went back to the living room, carefully scooped Sophie up from the couch and grabbed her coat. She murmured something incoherent, but didn’t resist as I bundled her up and carried her to the car. The snow had gotten heavier and I had to brush off my windshield before I could even see to drive.
Richard stood on the front porch watching us, looking small and old and frightened. “Good,” I thought savagely. “He should be frightened.” The drive to Sick Kids Hospital felt like it took hours instead of 15 minutes. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror at Sophie in her car seat, her head lolling to the side, her breathing steady but shallow.
I’d sent Jennifer three texts and tried calling twice, but she wasn’t answering. The corporate retreat was probably in full swing with some mandatory team building dinner. David met us at the emergency entrance, already in scrubs, his face grim. He’d brought a wheelchair for Sophie, and we got her inside quickly, bypassing the usual triage line thanks to David’s presence.
Exam room three, David directed. And within minutes, we had Sophie on a bed surrounded by nurses and a pediatric emergency physician named Dr. Sarah Chen, who David had clearly briefed before we arrived. Mr. Patterson, Dr. Chen said as she began her examination, “I understand your daughter may have ingested an unknown substance.
Can you tell me exactly what you observed?” I ran through everything. The excessive drowsiness, the slurred speech, the dilated pupils, the timeline of when Richard had given her the gummy. Doctor Chen listened intently, examining Sophie’s eyes, checking her reflexes, monitoring her vital signs. We’re going to run a full talk screen, she said.
I’m also ordering blood work to check her liver function and other markers. David mentioned the possibility of bzzoazipines or antihistamines in addition to or instead of melatonin. Richard had arrived by then, hovering anxiously in the doorway of the exam room. Dr. Chen turned to him with a professional but firm expression.
Sir, I understand you administered the substance in question. I need you to tell me everything you gave her today. What time and in what quantities? This is crucial for her treatment. Richard stepped forward, ringing his hands. I gave her a children’s multivitamin at breakfast around 8:00 in the morning. A vitamin C gummy at lunch, maybe 12:30, and the melatonin gummy at 5:30, just before Marcus got home.
That’s everything, I swear. And where did you obtain the melatonin? I I bought it about 6 months ago from a pharmacy. I don’t remember which one. I’ve had it in my medicine cabinet at home since then. Dr. Chen nodded, making notes. We’ll need that bottle for analysis. David, can you make sure that gets to the lab? Already on it, David confirmed.
The next two hours were some of the longest of my life. Jennifer finally called back, panicked after seeing my messages, and I had to explain everything while trying to stay calm. She immediately booked the first flight back to Toronto for the morning. Nothing was available tonight, and I could hear the guilt and terror in her voice.
“I never should have left,” she kept saying. “I should have been there. This isn’t your fault, Jen. Neither of us could have predicted this. How could he do this? How could my own father? Her voice broke and I heard her crying on the other end of the line. I don’t know, but right now I need to focus on Sophie. I’ll call you as soon as we know more.
The talk screen results came back around 9:00 p.m. Dr. Chen called me into a small consultation room, her expression grave. Mr. Patterson, your daughter’s blood work shows elevated levels of dyen hydramine. That’s the active ingredient in benadryil. The levels suggest she ingested approximately 50 mg, which is well above the safe dose for a child her age and weight. 50 mg.
David had been right. Someone had tampered with those gummies. There’s also melatonin present, but at levels consistent with a normal dose. The dyen hydramine is what’s causing her excessive sedation. Is she going to be okay? My voice came out horsearo. Yes. The good news is that dyenhydromeine, while dangerous in overdose, is treatable with supportive care.
We’re going to keep her overnight for observation, make sure her vitals stay stable, and she doesn’t develop any complications, but I expect she’ll make a full recovery. The relief was so overwhelming, I had to sit down. Thank you. Thank you so much. Dr. Chen’s expression softened slightly. I do need to tell you that we’re required to report this to the Children’s Aid Society.
Any case where a child has been given medication inappropriately, especially if it results in an ER visit, falls under our mandatory reporting guidelines. I nodded. I’d expected as much. I understand. There’s also the question of how those gummies became contaminated. The police will likely want to investigate. Richard, my father-in-law, he’s the one who had possession of the bottle.
He says he bought it 6 months ago and has been keeping it in his home. Has your daughter had access to his medications before? She’s stayed overnight at his place a few times. And he said, “I swallowed hard.” He said he’s given her these melatonin gummies four or five times over the past few months to help her sleep. Dr. Chen’s eyebrows rose.
Without parental permission, without even telling us, she made another note. That’s information the police will need. I’m going to have hospital security contact them now. Two uniformed Toronto police officers arrived about 45 minutes later. I gave them my statement while Richard gave his in a separate room.
I could hear his voice through the wall, agitated and defensive, insisting he’d never meant any harm, that he was only trying to help his granddaughter get good rest. The officers took the gummy bottle as evidence. They explained that they’d need to test all the gummies to determine which ones had been adulterated and with what.
They’d also need to search Richard’s home to see if there were any other contaminated supplements or if there was evidence of him deliberately tampering with medications. Is that what you think happened? I asked the female officer, a Sergeant Martinez, that he deliberately put something else in the bottle. We can’t make assumptions at this point, sir.
It’s possible the contamination occurred at the manufacturing or packaging level. There have been cases of supplements being recalled due to contamination, but given that your father-in-law is a retired pharmacist with access to various medications, we do need to investigate all possibilities. It was almost midnight when they finally let me go back to Sophie’s room.
She was awake now, groggy and confused, but coherent. The moment she saw me, she started crying. Daddy, I feel weird. What’s wrong with me? I gathered her into my arms, holding her as tightly as I dared with all the monitors still attached. You’re going to be okay, baby. You just took some medicine that didn’t agree with you. The doctors are taking good care of you.
Where’s Grandpa Richard? Is he still here? I hesitated. How did I explain this to a 7-year-old? Grandpa Richard had to go talk to some police officers. He gave you some medicine he shouldn’t have, and it made you sick. Will I get to see him again? The innocence in her question broke my heart. I don’t know, sweetheart.
We’ll have to see what happens. She curled against my chest, small and fragile. I don’t want to take any more of Grandpa’s vitamins. They make me feel yucky. You won’t have to. I promise. Jennifer made it back to Toronto by 7:00 the next morning, coming straight from the airport to the hospital. She looked exhausted, her eyes red from crying, still in the clothes she’d worn to yesterday’s corporate dinner.
When she saw Sophie sitting up in bed eating breakfast and looking much more like herself, Jennifer burst into tears all over again. “My baby,” she sobbed, hugging Sophie carefully. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so so sorry.” “It’s okay, Mommy,” Sophie said, patting her mother’s back with a maturity beyond her years.
“Daddy says, “I’m going to be fine.” Jennifer looked at me over Sophie’s head, her expression a mixture of relief, guilt, and rage. We needed to talk, but not here. Not in front of Sophie. Dr. Chen discharged Sophie around 10:00 a.m. with instructions for follow-up care and monitoring. As we were gathering her things, Sergeant Martinez appeared in the doorway. Mr.
and Mrs. Patterson, do you have a moment? We stepped into the hallway while a nurse stayed with Sophie. We executed a search warrant on Richard Peton’s residence this morning, Martinez began. We found several bottles of supplements and over-the-counter medications in his medicine cabinet. Upon testing, we discovered that four different bottles had been tampered with.
The melatonin your daughter ingested, a bottle of children’s multivitamins, a bottle of calcium supplements, and a bottle of elderberry gummies. Jennifer’s hand found mine, gripping it so tightly it hurt. The multivitamins contained crushed laurazzipam, that’s a benzoazipene similar to Xanax. The calcium supplements contained dyenhydramine, same as the melatonin.
The elderberry gummies contained both. “Oh my god,” Jennifer whispered. “He was he was systematically drugging her.” “We also found evidence on his computer search history and forum posts, suggesting Mr. Peton had been researching methods to make children more compliant and sleepy.” Some of the searches included phrases like natural ways to calm hyperactive grandchildren and safe sedatives for kids who won’t sleep.
I felt sick. This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t a well-meaning grandfather who made a mistake. This was deliberate. Why? Jennifer asked, her voice breaking. Why would he do this? Martinez pulled out a tablet showing us screenshots of forum posts. They were from various parenting and grandparent message boards posted under the username rich P1947.
I read one out loud. My granddaughter is a wonderful child but has so much energy it’s hard to keep up with her at my age. Her parents both work demanding jobs and I worry they don’t spend enough quality time with her. When she stays with me, I like to create a calm, peaceful environment, but she’s always go.
Does anyone have suggestions for natural supplements that might help her wind down? Another post. I’m a retired pharmacist and I know most sleep aids are perfectly safe in appropriate doses. Why is there such stigma around helping children get the rest they need? My daughter and son-in-law are paranoid about giving their child any kind of medication, but I see how exhausted they are.
If I could help my granddaughter sleep better, everyone would benefit. and another more recent. Has anyone else dealt with adult children who won’t listen to their parents’ advice about child care? I’ve raised a successful daughter and I know what I’m doing, but my son-in-law seems to think he knows better just because he’s a nurse. It’s frustrating when you’re trying to help.
Jennifer was shaking. He thought he was helping. He actually thought drugging our daughter was helping. We’re charging Mr. Peton with child endangerment, criminal negligence, and several counts related to medication tampering. Martinez said given his age and lack of criminal record, he’ll likely be released on bail, but there will be conditions.
No contact with minors, surrender of passport, that sort of thing. I don’t want him anywhere near Sophie, I said flatly. Ever again. That’s for the courts to decide ultimately, but I don’t think you’ll have to worry about unsupervised contact. Cass will be involved and they take this kind of thing very seriously. Over the following weeks, the full scope of what Richard had done became clear.
The police investigation revealed that he’d been tampering with the supplements for nearly 8 months, basically since Sophie turned six and started spending more time at his house. His logic, as explained in a rambling statement to his lawyer, was genuinely twisted. He’d convinced himself that Sophie was too energetic, that Jennifer and I were too permissive as parents, that modern children were being raised without proper discipline and structure.
In his mind, the supplements were a way to create a calmer, more manageable child who would benefit from the peaceful environment he provided. He truly believed he was doing us all a favor. The psychological evaluation ordered by the court identified several concerning factors. Richard had become increasingly isolated since his retirement, fixating on his role as a grandfather as his primary source of identity and purpose.
He’d also developed an inflated sense of his own expertise, believing his pharmaceutical background made him more qualified than us to make decisions about Sophie’s health. There were elements of control issues, anxiety about aging and irrelevance, and a fundamental lack of respect for parental boundaries.
But the psychiatrist stopped short of calling him mentally ill in a way that would absolve responsibility. Richard had known what he was doing was wrong. The secrecy, the lying, the deliberate concealment proved that he’d made a choice to prioritize his own beliefs over our authority as parents and more importantly over Sophie’s safety. The legal process was grueling.
Richard plead guilty to reduced charges as part of a plea deal, criminal negligence causing bodily harm and child endangerment. He received a suspended sentence with 3 years of probation, mandatory therapy, and a permanent restriction on unsupervised contact with minors. He also lost his pharmacy license, though he’d already been retired, so it was largely symbolic.
Jennifer struggled with it all in ways I hadn’t anticipated. She blamed herself for not seeing the signs, for trusting her father implicitly, for leaving Sophie in his care. She started therapy to work through the betrayal and guilt. Her relationship with her father was irrevocably shattered.
She refused all his attempts at contact, returned his letters unopened, and blocked his phone number. “I keep thinking about all the times he must have done it,” she told me one night, months after everything had happened. “All the times Sophie would come home from his place acting tired and out of it, and I just I just thought she’d had a busy day.
What kind of mother doesn’t notice her child is being drugged?” The kind who had no reason to suspect it, I said firmly. Jen, neither of us could have imagined this. Your father was a pharmacist, a respected professional. We trusted him. That’s not a failing on our part. That’s a betrayal on his. But I’m her mother.
I should have known. And I’m her father. And I didn’t know either until it was almost too late. We can’t carry this guilt forever. Richard made his choices. We’re making ours now to protect Sophie and make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Sophie, thankfully seemed to recover well from the physical effects.
The developmental pediatrician we consulted found no lasting damage, though we’d need to continue monitoring her sleep patterns and emotional well-being. The psychological impact was harder to measure. She had nightmares for a while, and she became anxious about taking any kind of medication. even children’s Tylenol when she had a fever required a lot of gentle coaxing and reassurance.
We were honest with her in age appropriate ways about what had happened. We explained that Grandpa Richard had made very bad choices, that he’d given her medicine that wasn’t safe, and that he wouldn’t be able to spend time with her anymore because of it. She cried confused and hurt, asking why her grandpa would do something to hurt her.
I don’t think he wanted to hurt you, sweetheart, Jennifer told her, tears streaming down her own face. I think he was confused and made terrible decisions. But that doesn’t make it okay. Adults are supposed to protect children, not do things that make them sick. “Will I ever see him again?” Sophie asked. Jennifer and I exchanged glances.
“We don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Maybe when you’re much older, if you want to, and if it’s safe, but not for a very long time.” As I write this now, two years later, Sophie is 9 years old and thriving. She’s on a competitive hockey team. Her artwork covers our refrigerator, and she’s reading at a sixth grade level. She still asks questions constantly, still has boundless energy, still lights up every room she enters.
She’s everything a kid should be. She doesn’t talk about her grandfather much anymore. Occasionally, she’ll mention a memory building that snowman playing board games, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and there’s a wistfulness in her voice that breaks my heart. She lost something that day, something she can’t fully articulate.
The innocence of assuming all adults have your best interests at heart. The security of unconditional family love. But she’s learned resilience, too. She’s learned that when something doesn’t feel right, it’s okay to speak up. She’s learned that love doesn’t mean blind trust. She’s learned that even good people can make catastrophic mistakes and that consequences are real.
Jennifer and I learned our own lessons. We learned that expertise doesn’t equal wisdom. We learned that family connections don’t override the need for boundaries and oversight. We learned to trust our instincts even when they seem to contradict everything we thought we knew about someone. Most importantly, we learned that protecting our child means being vigilant, not paranoid, but aware.
It means asking questions. verifying information and never assuming that someone’s good intentions automatically translate to good judgment. For any parents reading this, I want to share what I wish I’d known before all this happened. These are hard truths. Learn the hardest way possible. First, never let anyone, family, friends, babysitters, anyone give your child medication or supplements without explicit permission.
Not vitamins, not melatonin, not herbal remedies, nothing. If someone thinks your child needs something, they should discuss it with you first. Period. This isn’t about being controlling or paranoid. It’s about the fact that you are the only person with complete information about your child’s medical history, current medications, allergies, and doctor’s recommendations.
Second, trust your gut. If your child seems different after spending time with someone, if there’s a pattern you can’t quite explain, investigate. Don’t dismiss your concerns because someone is family or has credentials or means well. My nursing background gave me the tools to recognize something was wrong. But I ignored my instincts for too long because I didn’t want to seem distrustful or ungrateful.
Third, medication safety is crucial. Keep all medications and supplements locked away, even over-the-counter ones. Track what you have and check expiration dates. If you notice anything unusual, pills that look different, bottles that seem emptier than they should be, anything, investigate immediately.
In our case, the different colored gummies should have been an immediate red flag. Fourth, establish clear boundaries with caregivers and enforce them consistently. Make it explicit that medications are off limits without permission. Don’t assume people know or will follow your rules just because they should.
We’d had general conversations with Richard about not giving Sophie junk food or letting her stay up too late, but we’d never specifically said don’t give her any medication or supplements. That was a mistake. Fifth, be aware of the signs of medication effects in children. Excessive drowsiness, slurred speech, poor coordination, personality changes, unusual calmness, these can all indicate that something is wrong.
Kids get tired, yes, but there’s a difference between normal exhaustion and sedation. Learn to recognize it. Sixth, don’t be afraid to seem difficult or overprotective. When David suggested bringing Sophie to the hospital, I could have brushed it off, not wanted to make a big deal, been embarrassed about potentially overreacting. Thank God I didn’t.
There’s no such thing as being too careful when it comes to your child’s safety. finally understand that this kind of thing can happen to anyone. We were educated, aware parents. I’m a health care professional. Jennifer’s father was a retired pharmacist with decades of experience. On paper, Sophie couldn’t have been safer.
But credentials and good intentions don’t guarantee good judgment, and family relationships can blind us to warning signs we’d spot instantly in strangers. the courts, the therapy, the investigations, all of that is behind us now. Richard lives in a retirement community in Missaga. I’ve heard through Jennifer’s aunt that he’s in therapy and claims to understand the severity of what he did.
Though whether that’s genuine insight or just remorse at getting caught, I don’t know. I don’t particularly care to be honest. My concern is Sophie, not his rehabilitation. Jennifer still struggles with it sometimes. Mother’s Day is hard. Father’s Day. Doubly so. She’s grieving the loss of her father even though he’s still alive.
Grieving the relationship they had, the grandfather Sophie should have had the trust that can never be rebuilt. Her therapist says it’s a process. That grief isn’t linear. That some losses don’t have neat resolutions. As for me, I carry my own guilt and anger. Guilt that I didn’t act sooner, didn’t trust my instincts, didn’t protect Sophie well enough.
anger at Richard for his arrogance and his violations, at a system that gave him so many opportunities to hurt my daughter before we caught him, at myself for being so blind. But mostly, I feel grateful. Grateful that David called me back that night. Grateful that I noticed the different colored gummies. Grateful that we got Sophie to the hospital before anything worse happened.
Grateful that she’s healthy and happy and still my energetic question asking hockey playing little girl. She’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay. But we’ll never take safety for granted again. And we’ll never stop being vigilant about who has access to our daughter and what they’re doing when we’re not watching. Trust but verify.
Love, but protect. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst
