'Ruined them for a baby': Birth mother facing eviction after she says Utah adoption provider took back offer for thousands in cash

Chris Samuels // The Salt Lake Tribune

'Ruined them for a baby': Birth mother facing eviction after she says Utah adoption provider took back offer for thousands in cash

Tammy Perzia says roughly a year ago, she made a huge mistake. One that led her to Layton, Utah, and now has her and her fiance on the verge of homelessness, The Salt Lake Tribune reports

The 36-year-old was living in Pennsylvania when she became pregnant—her eleventh pregnancy—by a man she said abused her. In the following weeks, she reunited with her longtime, on-again-off-again partner, Jan Muth, 57. With little money and a complicated past, the two decided it was best to place the baby for adoption.

Muth searched online for a provider and found someone, apparently based in Virginia, that he thought could help them—a woman he referred to as Ms. Flossie. The couple spoke with her a few times before making up their minds, then called her one last time to agree.

"The next call we got," Muth said, "… was from Denise Garza, all the way here in Utah."

From there, the couple says they were lured to Utah with the prospect of carrying out the pregnancy at no cost and giving the baby a better life. They'd also been promised, Muth and Perzia said, between $8,500 and $10,000 at the end of the adoption process.

"And that was a little enticing, but that's not why we did it, but at least the kid had a new start," Muth said, "and we thought we were going to have a new start—to either stay here in Utah or go back home to the East Coast."

But the couple said Garza, who owns Love and Light adoptions, offered them a lower cash payment in October—$4,200. By this point, Perzia's son was already 2 months old and with his adoptive parents, who themselves lived on the East Coast.

Perzia and Muth took a principled stand, saying they'd stay in the Layton apartment Garza provided them throughout the pregnancy until she honored the original offer.

Garza responded by filing eviction papers earlier this month. A judge ruled Thursday that the couple could remain in the apartment for only three more days after Garza's attorney, Timothy Deans, files the proper paperwork.

"The apartment contract itself is very simple," Deans argued in court. "When we ask you to leave, you need to leave."

Utah adoption advocate Ashley Mitchell, who co-founded the group Utah Adoption Rights, said the couple is going to end this monthslong process worse off, and she contends they're not alone in being taken advantage of by Utah adoption providers, who work with people like the "scout" Muth initially spoke with to game internet search results and convince birth mothers to place their babies through out-of-state adoption agencies, like Garza's.

The Beehive State has some of the country's most lenient adoption laws, and providers can make a lot of money attracting vulnerable birth mothers and potential adoptive parents to place through their agency, Mitchell said. Garza's adoption agencies—first Heart and Soul, and more recently Love and Light—have a problematic history, beginning as early as 2008, when one of her clients' had their adoption overturned for Indian Child Welfare Act violations.

She lost her license in 2018 after a judge found 22 violations of state rules, including promising birth mothers cash to place with her agency and charging adoptive parents "for fees that were not actually incurred," like for birth mother medical expenses "for which there was no evidence." Utah code says agencies can only charge adoptive parents the "actual and reasonable costs of maternity, medical, and necessary prenatal living expenses."

The judge said some of these "repeated and chronic violations" were "potentially criminal."

But the state relicensed Garza in 2023. The move prompted outcry—and calls to change the law to provide more oversight—as Garza continues to do business with birth mothers and adoptive parents across the country with her new agency.

Perzia, Mitchell alleged, is just the latest victim.

"They're never going to get what was promised," Mitchell said. "And what was their price? Her child. What do they get out of it?"

Garza Denies Wrongdoing

Even if they receive the promised $4,200, they could lose most of that in eviction-related fees. That means, Mitchell said, they'll be left with just one boon from this whole process—a "plane ticket home."

Garza told The Salt Lake Tribune in a written response that she wasn't able to comment on specific cases. Instead, she said she could discuss the "safeguards" her agency uses to make sure mothers are "fully informed about how the entire process, and specifically the short-term support for living expenses which are permitted by Utah law, will work."

She said each expectant mother is given documents explaining informed consent, living expenses, and their apartment contract, as well as a document meant to guide these women through more complicated questions, like what happens if they have a miscarriage or end up in jail.

It also outlines the discharge process, saying "we will not be able to provide that same financial help and service to you that we were providing while you were pregnant in our housing facility" after eight weeks have passed since the baby's birth.

"The stories behind adoption are never simple. Each one is deeply personal, with layers of context that may not be immediately visible," she said. "My work requires navigating this complexity while always prioritizing the safety and privacy of the women involved."

Garza has previously denied that she violated any state rules. When reached for comment after her license was renewed, she told The Tribune, "We have demonstrated that we are entitled to be licensed again, and we plan to operate under the rules."

The state's Division of Licensing and Background Checks provider database shows no substantiated complaints against Love and Light adoptions and found no issues during the four inspections regulators have undertaken since August 2023. They have also filed no notices of agency action—a step regulators take when they find violations that require some kind of licensing intervention.

Katie England, a spokesperson for Utah's Department of Health and Human Services, which oversees the licensing division, confirmed Wednesday that they were aware of Perzia's complaints against Garza and have opened an investigation. She said the agency can't comment on open cases, but any substantiated reports would become public once the investigation is completed.

She added that it is "not against current statute for adoption agencies to offer certain benefits to birth parents," but the law "requires these agencies to keep an accounting of their expenses."

"If there is reason to believe there is fraud or any other questionable practice, the department may conduct an investigation and include any other partner agency that may need to be involved with the investigation, including the district attorney if needed," she continued.

If found noncompliant, England said, the agency's owners may not receive a future license and its current licensee may be sanctioned.

Chris Samuels // The Salt Lake Tribune

'Everybody's Trying to Bring Us Backwards'

Perzia and Muth have been living in the one-bedroom apartment in Layton since July.

Over the months, and with the promise of thousands in cash to begin anew, they bought decorations—many butterfly-themed, Perzia's favorite—and tried to make it into their home. They hoped that once the adoption placing process was finished, they could get their own lease and stay there.

They don't have that hope anymore. On Monday, the decorations and many of their belongings were bundled in trash bags and cardboard boxes, stacked in a corner of the living room.

They ate oatmeal together at their dining room table, where they placed baskets of bite-sized Kit Kats, Rolos, candy canes, and a plate of peanut butter cookies as a centerpiece. They drank out of matching coffee mugs—white and emblazoned with their initials, "T" and "J"—as they explained their circumstances.

Perzia has limited mental capabilities; her only income comes from government assistance. Muth is also disabled and receives similar checks. Because of Perzia's intellectual disability, Muth often speaks for her.

They don't have a car, and Muth has struggled to find transportation to take a driver's license test. Their food stamp card went missing, he said. Muth's mother on the East Coast is facing dire health problems. Perzia underwent a painful 24-hour labor and felt swindled into signing paperwork that rescinded her parental rights. They lost money in application fees to stay at the apartment, only to be denied. And they likely won't see the money they say they were promised.

"We're getting taken advantage of by everybody, everybody here," Muth said, as Perzia chimed in.

"We're trying to go forward," she said, "not backwards, and everybody's trying to bring us backwards."

Garza's license-revocation order noted in 2018 that "the overwhelming majority" of birth mothers placed with her previous adoption agency were "very low income and either homeless or transient"—people like Perzia. Garza said that adoption is often the nexus of larger systemic issues, and many of her clients face economic insecurity, domestic violence, or substance misuse.

"These issues highlight the gaps I often help bridge," she said, "though they reflect broader societal failures that need urgent action."

But Mitchell contends that Garza seeks out such people. For instance, the Virginia woman Muth spoke to was Flossie Green, who The Cut, in an article titled, "'People Say, You Sold Your Baby': How Utah became the most exploitative state in private adoption," identifies as an adoption facilitator—"a scout who connects pregnant women in crisis with adoption agencies across the country, but especially in states with the least oversight."

While some states, for instance, require a child's birth father to consent, Utah law allows for birth mothers to bypass that, in most cases, if they are not married. It has revocation laws that give a birth mother limited time to change her mind about going forward with an adoption, Mitchell said, but once the paperwork is signed, the decision is final.

Mitchell said there are also lax standards concerning how soon an adoptive parent can take a child from Utah before the process has been finalized. And notably, she said, there's no cap on living-expense payments meant to help cover a birth mother's basic needs while pregnant and for two months after delivery.

Mitchell said she and the other co-founder of Utah Adoption Rights "both believe deeply that, especially now in this political climate, that some women just really need adoption as an option."

"But when you are coercing, manipulating, bribing, falsely educating the entire group … of people that are going to be a part of this, they deserve to know their rights," Mitchell said.

Perzia said she asked early in this process why she couldn't just stay in Pennsylvania. The adoptive parents lived on the East Coast. Wouldn't that be easier? They were told no.

If they'd processed the adoption on the East Coast, then Garza's company couldn't have handled the adoption in Pennsylvania, Mitchell said, because the agency isn't licensed there.

But Mitchell said Perzia could have worked with a local adoption provider to carry out her adoption—if she'd known about it.

"They gave up their housing, they left their place of community and connection to come here, believing that the only way that they could do what they needed to do, in the choice of this pregnancy, was to come here. That's a lie," Mitchell said. "They did not have to come here."

Mitchell said she regularly goes to apartment complexes that she knows agencies use to house expectant mothers ahead of placing their babies for adoption, leaving behind flyers that explain their adoption rights.

She doesn't have the money to pay for online advertisements to compete with adoption providers' search results, but she said these flyers can help mothers make informed choices—and she's seeing some success.

Mitchell hopes the information campaign works, because she doesn't believe Utah law will change any time soon.

"We're always going to favor a pro-life narrative that's going to continue to push adoption, even if," she feels, "it's corrupt."

'Ruined Them for a Baby'

Garza filed eviction papers against Perzia and Muth on Nov. 4, after posting a notice for them to vacate a week earlier.

She is seeking damages worth three times the amount of rent owed, starting on Nov. 3—$160.26 each day. At that evaluation, the couple would owe more than $3,000.

Perzia signed the apartment contract in late-June, agreeing to stay there during her pregnancy and leave if she chose not to go forward with the adoption. She affirmed with her loopy signature that she had "no rights or claim to the unit," according to a copy filed in the eviction case.

Perzia also signed another document filed in the case that related to living expenses.

"There is very little talk about living expenses during your pregnancy and time here because we would never want it to be viewed as enticement or bribery," the document states.

It added that all birth mothers are financially supported for eight weeks after delivery.

"Some moms go home with the cash to take care of their own expenses, other moms prefer we continue paying their bills and providing a weekly allowance," it states.

For Mitchell, these lines are a smoking gun—evidence of the loophole she alleges Garza has used to give birth mothers large sums of cash.

During Garza's license-revocation process, a witness testified something similar—that the agency would "provide an envelope full of at least four thousand dollars ($4,000.00) cash to the birth mothers," that all birth mothers received this amount of money and that they "knew they would get paid."

Perzia and Muth asked 2nd District Judge Rita Cornish on Thursday to dismiss the case, arguing Garza doesn't have grounds to evict them because she doesn't own the unit they're staying in and they aren't at-will tenants. Under Utah Code, Cornish said tenants who sublease properties have similar eviction abilities to owners themselves.

Mitchell didn't have much faith their appeal would be successful, and encouraged them to be ready for anything, including the possibility that they end up without shelter.

But Muth and Perzia still had hope.

"A smart judge will say, 'Well, why are you still here?' Well, turn and look at her," Muth had said, referring to Garza as he acted out the courtroom scene. "If she would have gave us what we were promised to relocate, we wouldn't be standing in front of you."

He added that he believed their arguments were sound. But Cornish ultimately found that while their points about their contractual agreements with Garza may or may not have merit, they weren't relevant to the apartment's contract.

The couple fears for what's next. Not necessarily for them, Perzia said, adding that they know how to get by on the streets, but for the two cats they've taken in—Smokey, a strapping, gray tomcat that acts like "he knew us forever," and Frannie, a petite black-and-white female named for Muth's mother.

Perzia and Muth rescued both from the apartment parking lot. Perzia calls them her "service animals."

"I was crying every night. I couldn't sleep every night," thinking about the possibility of losing them, Perzia said.

The couple still has the option under Utah law to accept plane tickets back to Pennsylvania, but they can't take all their belongings — just what will fit in suitcases — and transporting the animals could be a problem.

Whatever happens, Mitchell says their months in Utah will mar them forever.

"They will be ruined from this. They will never walk away from this. Whether they go home or stay in Utah, they'll never recover from this," Mitchell said. "And she will have ruined them for a baby."

— Salt Lake Tribune staff writer Brock Marchant contributed to this report.

This story was produced by The Salt Lake Tribune and reviewed and distributed by Stacker.