She Was Set To Give Birth As A Georgia Prisoner, Again. Terrified, She Asked A Nonprofit For Help.

By Joshua Sharpe, Georgia Recorder

December 15, 2025

Walking into court, Danielle Edwards thought she might have a chance to get her daughter back—someday.

She’d given birth to Lily two years earlier as a state prisoner, and the relative who’d cared for the child since was seeking full custody. Edwards had been out for a year and was proud of her progress. She was sober and had a job, a home and a car. But when she recognized the judge that fall day in 2020, Edwards said she felt her hopes vanish. The Walton County judge knew her from the drug-dealing case that sent Edwards to prison.

Edwards said she told the judge that she made no excuses for her failures and knew she would have to prove herself. She asked the judge for a plan to eventually get Lily back.

The judge gave the relative full custody and ordered Edwards to have no contact with her daughter.

“So guess what I did,” Edwards said later in an interview. “I went and got high.”

And she kept getting high, she said, to dull the pain. She was arrested a year later on a shoplifting charge, then a probation violation. Out on bond, she found out she was pregnant again. She expected to give birth for a second time as a state prisoner and couldn’t face the trauma. Terrified, she asked for help from Amy Ard, the executive director of the nonprofit Motherhood Beyond Bars, which helps new mothers who are incarcerated in Georgia and their children’s caregivers.

Ard, whose nonprofit contracted with the state, went to prison facilities to lead childbirth education classes, postpartum support groups and prenatal yoga. She even threw baby showers in the prisons. Ard and the nonprofit also championed legislation that banned shackling incarcerated women before, during or after childbirth in Georgia. Ard had met Edwards years earlier during one of her prison postpartum classes.

Ard said she wasn’t surprised when Edwards relapsed after losing custody of Lily. Edwards’ story was deeply emblematic of why many women remain in cycles of incarceration after suffering trauma and drug addiction.

Ard, a longtime doula, was horrified by the prospect of Edwards giving birth as a prisoner for a second time and maybe losing custody of another child.

But could a nonprofit stop a pregnant woman from going to prison?

Getting lost, giving birth in custody

Edwards’ path to incarceration was tragically common.

Edwards, a Columbus native, grew up around heavy drinking and domestic violence. She said she would later realize that it taught her that turning to a substance was the way to control emotions, and that violence was normal in relationships. She never really felt loved or understood, and as she became a teenager, she searched for love from men. At 18, a boyfriend introduced her to methamphetamine, and she got lost for a decade in drugs and abusive relationships.

By 2016, Edwards was 29 with a 3-year-old son and descending into a relapse. She said she couldn’t stand the feeling of endangering him while she was in active addiction, making bad decisions that seemed good while high. She stayed high at all times because it was the only way she knew to survive the traumas that otherwise consumed her mind.

And men kept hurting her.

Fleeing one, Edwards ended up selling and using drugs out of a Monroe motel while pregnant.

Edwards, six months pregnant, was sentenced to two years in prison, three on probation.

On Aug. 6, 2018, Edwards was taken from a DeKalb County medical prison to Atlanta Medical Center, where she gave birth with complications. In the room to witness the moment was a guard from the Georgia Department of Corrections. The agency said in a statement that pregnant prisoners get wrap-around services and that staff who work with them have “trauma informed” training. The statement did not address Edwards’ specific concerns. Edwards said she was allowed a total of about six hours, over two days, with newborn Lily. The last time she saw her, Edwards thought she was supposed to have one more visit to say goodbye. And so Edwards gave the baby a kiss, said she loved her and that she would be back to feed her.

In her windowless hospital room, guards handed her a prison uniform and said to get ready to leave. “I started bawling, because in my mind, I just lied to my baby, and she’s not even three days old,” recalled Edwards, who wouldn’t see Lily for six months.

Getting in the transport van, Edwards said a guard confiscated the photos of Lily that the hospital had given her.

Edwards was taken to Lee Arrendale State Prison in north Georgia, where she said staff made her squat and cough, though she had fresh stitches, to make sure she wasn’t smuggling contraband. She was sent to the infirmary, where, she said, she didn’t even get bed sheets. A fellow prisoner went and found her some, and from that moment, Edwards would notice that she so rarely received help from the prison system. Prison meant constant deprivation, feeling dehumanized and new trauma. But in the year and a half she spent in state custody, Edwards said the people who really helped her were almost always other women serving time.

On the run

When Edwards was released in September 2019, she walked all over Monroe trying to find a job until she landed a cook position at Pizza Hut. Even after losing custody of Lily and relapsing, Edwards kept the job. She stayed close with Ard, who marveled at her progress.

But Edwards wasn’t doing as well as it appeared.

In September 2021, she was pulled over with her boyfriend. An officer told her she had an outstanding warrant for stealing $140 worth of products from a Walmart in Walton County. Edwards was still on probation from the motel drug dealing case.

Edwards waited two months in jail before she was released with an ankle monitor. Motherhood Beyond Bars helped her get into a drug rehab program in nearby Gwinnett County. She had to go every day for check-ins and classes.

Months into the program in 2022, Edwards learned that she was pregnant with her third child. The father, Taylor Layman, was her co-defendant from the drug dealing case. They hadn’t officially dated until long after they were released from prison, but they’d always had a connection and saw a future together. Finally, a man treated her well and took her as she was.

Their relationship, however, was not allowed under their probation. Co-defendants weren’t supposed to have any contact. Less than two months into her pregnancy, Edwards heard that officials were sending her back to prison for violating her probation by dating her co-defendant. Edwards called the probation office and was told to surrender right away.

Edwards said she would be there soon. But really, when she hung up the phone, Edwards said she kept thinking about the trauma of giving birth to Lily as a state prisoner and just couldn’t fathom surviving it again.

Edwards called Ard and gave her a heads up: I’m on the run.

A chance to avoid the dangers?

Ard and staff were several years into redesigning Motherhood Beyond Bars’ work. In late 2019, Ard said she and, consequently, the nonprofit were deemed no longer allowed at state prisons after conflicts with Department of Corrections officials. The nonprofit kept learning about pregnant women in prison. In its statement, the prison system said it offers extensive services for pregnant prisoners before and after birth, and women have praised a doula program run in partnership with Emory University’s nursing school and the Georgia Prison Motherhood Project.

When Motherhood Beyond Bars moved out of the prisons, the nonprofit expanded its support for caregivers and their families. It began offering a free “lifetime” supply of diapers for each child — an enormous savings.

Between 50 and 100 women give birth in custody as state prisoners each year in Georgia. Ard said it’s key to reach them as soon as possible to help establish care and start services. Babies born to incarcerated women have been found to be more likely to be born premature or have a low birth weight or other troubles. And other mothers had called the prison birth experience traumatic, along with the devastatingly quick separation from the child and abrupt delivery to prison.

Ard didn’t want Edwards to go through it again. She didn’t advise going on the run, though.

Not that Edwards ran far. She was in Monroe.

Edwards was arrested in July 2022 at, of all places, the Walton County courthouse, attending a hearing for her boyfriend’s case. She had hoped no one would recognize her because of the face mask she wore against COVID-19. In hindsight, she would laugh at that plan — thinner than an N95. She was quickly recognized.

Edwards was six months pregnant, which she assumed was a factor in the decision to let her go with an ankle monitor hours later.

Edwards went online and contacted rehab centers, including Hope House, an inpatient facility for women in Augusta. Staff responded, and she was floored to be accepted for free admission. But she needed help getting probation and the court to agree to it.

Edwards called Ard, asking for her help to stay out of prison. Ard and the nonprofit had never tried such a thing. But she was inspired. Ard wrote a letter to the lawyer appointed to represent Edwards, praising Edwards and offering to help encourage the court to send Edwards to treatment.

The lawyer welcomed the help, and with Ard’s intervention, her probation officer and the judge agreed that Edwards needed treatment. But if she failed and turned up in court again, the judge said, Edwards would go straight to prison.

Hope?

Edwards embraced life at Hope House, where women lived in their own apartment in big tan buildings and socialized in the yard. Edwards and other women helped each other take maternity photos by the pond, which was surrounded by flowering plants.

Edwards attended group meetings and counseling and gained insight into her past behaviors. She developed emotional tools and accepted the damage she caused. And she understood that trust and forgiveness would be earned, not given.

Edwards kept working on what she could control and getting ready for her daughter. On Oct. 31, 2022, Edwards gave birth to Billie at a local hospital with the father in the room.

Edwards brought Billie back to Hope House, where they lived until Edwards completed the program in February 2023. She opted to continue treatment as an outpatient while living six months in transitional housing.

That August, Edwards graduated after a year of treatment. Edwards and Billie moved in with the father. They had decided to stay in Augusta, where they were building a strong community of friends and support for their sobriety. They soon welcomed a son, Wilder.

A purpose

In December 2024, Edwards started a job she seemed made for. She’s a program coordinator at Motherhood Beyond Bars, where she offers support to caregivers looking after the children of incarcerated mothers. She helps with government assistance paperwork and sends free diapers.

Critically, Edwards works to maintain contact between the children and their mothers in prison. And she talks with the mothers, sometimes sharing her experience to offer encouragement or give perspective. She finds echoes of her story in theirs. She sees so many women who just need help getting up after falling down.

Ard said Edwards’ helped transform the nonprofit, launching diversion efforts that have helped 21 pregnant women go to treatment instead of prison. The women were found through Motherhood Beyond Bars’ jail programs, which started in 2023 with inspiration from Edwards’ case as a new way for the nonprofit to identify pregnant women before they reach state prison. With more than 150 county jails in Georgia, Ard started by building partnerships with sheriffs whose facilities had often held pregnant women. She found most sheriffs eager to accept free help facilitating care. By December 2025, the nonprofit had agreements in 11 counties: Bibb, Carroll, Cobb, Douglas, Floyd, Fulton, Hall, Polk, Rockdale, Troup and Ware. The nonprofit has identified 111 pregnant women so far in jails. Ard said the group is supporting 392 incarcerated mothers’ children, and 1,056 members of caregivers’ families.

Ard said expanding into new counties will require more funding, but she’s determined to keep changing things for expectant moms in trouble — with Edwards at her side.

Edwards spent Thanksgiving visiting with her oldest son, along with Billie and Wilder. She still can’t see Lily but is thankful that she is safe. With Billie and Wilder, Edwards is grateful to be able to give them a peaceful home and the emotional tools she never learned growing up.

“I sit back, and I’m like, I’m so lucky,” the mother said.

The Georgia Recorder, an independent, nonprofit news organization, connects public policies to stories of the people and communities affected by them through a steady mix of in-depth reporting, blog posts, and social media updates on the latest news and progressive commentary. The Recorder is part of States Newsroom, a national 501(c)(3) nonprofit supported by grants and a coalition of donors and readers.