Pregnant, alone and bused to Utah: How the state became a hub for out-of-state adoptions

Lakaiya Thompson was 11 weeks pregnant with twins and weighing her options.

Her boyfriend had kicked her out when she told him the news, she said. Already raising a teenage son on her own, she didn’t want to face motherhood alone again. Thompson also didn’t want an abortion. So she began searching online for an adoption agency.

That’s how she came across A Guardian Angel Adoptions in Utah, though Thompson lived in Arkansas at the time. “It was like the name itself just made me feel like I was going to be OK,” she said.

The agency worker who answered when Thompson called promised help at a moment when she felt like she had none.

“It was like, Oh, my God, I need the money. I need somewhere to stay. I need a ride to the doctor,” Thompson recalled in an interview. “I needed everything that she was saying that they offer.”

But to receive that support, Thompson said, she was told she needed to come to Utah. So she packed up her son, and the two crossed the Rockies on a three-day bus ride in September 2024.

Once here, Thompson said, she felt shuffled between inexperienced caseworkers, rushed through medical appointments, pressured through delayed payments or threats to withhold money, and scolded after she spoke with other pregnant women who also were brought to Utah by the agency and were living in the same apartment complex.

A Guardian Angel Adoptions is one of roughly a half-dozen agencies that recruit pregnant women from other states and bring them to Utah, where births and adoptions are finalized under some of the least restrictive adoption laws in the country.

In Utah, birth mothers like Thompson can sign away their parental rights just 24 hours after giving birth — a decision that is immediate, permanent and cannot be revoked. In nearly every other state, birth mothers are given a window of time to reconsider. In Arkansas, where Thompson lived before coming to Utah, that window is 10 days after birth.

The state’s law also places no cap on how much adoptive parents can pay toward an expectant mother’s medical care, housing, lost wages, travel or other living costs — including cash payments for unspecified “postpartum expenses.”

Together, those statutes allow agencies to offer generous help to birth mothers, and adoptions that move quickly — and irreversibly — for prospective parents. Critics argue the legal framework has fueled an “adoption tourism” industry that exploits pregnant women who come to Utah, can cut out birth fathers and drives up costs for adoptive parents hoping to expand their families.

“There’s no other state that’s busing and flying women in like this en masse,” said Kelsey Vander Vliet Ranyard, who is a co-founder of Utah Adoption Rights. “It just isn’t happening anywhere else like this.”

Yvonne Johanson, the executive director of A Guardian Angel Adoptions, said she could not respond to a list of questions sent to her about Thompson’s case because she promised confidentiality to her clients.

“Because of my inability to share my side of any story,” she wrote in an email, “it does not make me guilty of any allegations made against me, only guilty of trying to be as protective, and as ethical as possible in a very unfriendly climate.”

Utah doesn’t track how many women travel to the state every year to give birth and place their children for adoption. It also doesn’t count how many of the state’s finalized adoptions are for families who don’t live here.

But the number of adoptions processed in Utah, compared to its number of households, gives the state an adoption rate that is double the national average, according to an analyst with the state’s Office of Legislative Research and General Counsel who gave a recent presentation to lawmakers.

Legislators know the state has a troubling reputation when it comes to adoption. An adoption agency employee matter-of-factly described Utah as the “wild west of adoption” last year in a legislative hearing, one of several held on the issue. In these meetings, lawmakers toggled between taking pride in Utah as an adoption-friendly state and wrestling with whether its laws needed to change amid allegations of exploitation.

Rep. Katy Hall, R-South Ogden, wants to overhaul Utah’s adoption system. She told The Salt Lake Tribune that she doesn’t believe “adoption tourism” itself is necessarily bad. There are times where it would be better for a woman to come to Utah to place her baby, the legislator said, like if she doesn’t have a support system in her home state, or if she is trying to escape abuse. There are also good reasons, she said, why a family might want to work with a Utah agency to facilitate an adoption.

“But I think what’s happened is it’s being abused,” she said. “It’s being exploited. We made it so it’s happening more prolifically.”

The sheer number of adoptions in Utah, plus the stories she’s heard that suggest a large portion — some have told her more than half — of those adoptions involve out-of-state birth moms or adoptive parents, raise “ethical concerns,” she said.

Hall has introduced a bill which would tighten oversight of adoption agencies and spell out clearer protections for birth mothers and adoptive parents. In one significant change under HB51, birth mothers would have a 72-hour window to revoke their consent after signing adoption paperwork.

Johanson, with A Guardian Angel Adoptions, said she appreciates Hall’s efforts and is focused on collaborating with her on the legislation.

She didn’t share her opinion on Hall’s bill, but said that at her agency, “we are always interested in ways to make our program better for our expectant mothers, our adoptive families and the precious babies that bring us all together. ”

The adoption of Thompson’s baby left both her and the adoptive mother she chose critical of Utah’s system.

‘Your back is against the wall’

A Guardian Angel Adoptions offered to fly Thompson, who was then 35 years old, and her son to Utah in early September 2024. But the woman told them her son was too scared to get on an airplane, so she’d rather spend the extra time taking a bus ride. “We’ll just make the best of it,” she wrote in a text to an agency worker and shared with The Tribune.

After a brief hotel stay in Utah, they moved into Apartment 516 in a sprawling West Jordan complex of three-story, taupe buildings where A Guardian Angel Adoptions had placed other expecting mothers.

At her first medical appointment in Utah, Thompson learned she had miscarried one of the twins. Based on the timing, Thompson said she believes the unborn child died during the long bus ride.

There were times, she said, when she struggled to decide whether to raise the surviving twin or follow through with placing her child for adoption.

“I was in such a vulnerable state,” she said, “and I was really indecisive, like saying, ‘Am I doing the right thing? Do I really want to do this?”

She was isolated and far from anyone she knew who could help her. But she had a place to live and the agency was giving her money. She felt like she couldn’t change her mind. “It makes you feel like your back is against the wall, because you don’t have nowhere to go. You don’t have no support.”

Thompson had selected a couple who lives in southern California to adopt her child. This was the family’s second adoption with A Guardian Angel Adoptions, the adoptive mother told The Tribune. A few years prior, they had traveled to Utah to adopt their first child from a Colorado woman who came here to give birth. The adoptive mother asked to not be identified to protect her family’s privacy.

She remembered that it felt like an odd coincidence that two birth mothers from different states had given birth in Utah, but she didn’t question it at that time. She and her husband had been searching for adoption agencies throughout the country, she recalled, so location didn’t matter to them. This time, she said, they paid the agency $55,000 to facilitate the adoption.

As her pregnancy progressed, Thompson said she didn’t feel cared for by the agency. A rotating cast of agency employees, frequently strangers to her, drove her to her medical appointments. Uneasy, she started paying for Uber rides instead.

And when she saw the doctor chosen by the agency, she said, those visits were less personal compared to her previous pregnancy. Appointments were brief, she recalled, and the doctor hardly touched her.

Her discomfort deepened during conversations with agency workers. Thompson said one worker told her that another birth mother had been put on a plane the day after delivering her child. The story stunned — and worried — Thompson.

“Well, I want all the days I can stay,” Thompson recalled saying. “I want all the days I can stay at the hospital.”

One day, Thompson said, she struck up a conversation with another pregnant woman in her apartment complex after a package for her was mistakenly delivered to the wrong apartment. Thompson said she learned the woman was receiving less financial support and fewer benefits than she was. The woman told her that when she moved in, the apartment had not been cleaned, Thompson said, and there was furniture left behind by the pregnant woman who stayed there before her.

Thompson said an agency worker later scolded her for the interaction.

“I realized why she didn’t want me to talk to her,” Thompson said of the adoption worker. “Because she wasn’t even treating her right.”

A letter asking for help

A few weeks before her due date, Thompson walked into an Applebee’s with a letter she had written about how she was feeling.

She was meeting the California couple for the first time at the restaurant, and two adoption agency workers were also at the table. Instead of sitting down, Thompson told them she wanted to read the letter.

“I had to let them know the things I was going through,” Thompson recalled. “I wanted to change my mind, but I knew that I couldn’t change my mind.” She felt committed to the couple.

She wrote that she hadn’t had a recent ultrasound, she said, and that the adoption agency had delayed providing her financial support if she complained. She said they had invaded her privacy and that too many people had access to her personal information. At the end, she asked the couple to advocate for her.

The adoptive mother vividly remembers the lunch, and said she became emotional when Thompson read the letter: “It was incredibly brave of her.”

When she later pressed the adoption agency about these concerns, the adoptive mother said, the responses were confusing, contradictory and “just not satisfactory.”

The meeting was a turning point, Thompson said. Afterward, the agency’s behavior changed as the adoptive parents became more involved at her request. “They didn’t let them do nothing else to me,” she said. “They didn’t let them mistreat me or nothing. They got everything straight in order.”

Thompson went into labor on March 29. Still wary of the agency, she asked the adoptive mother to be with her during the delivery. “She stood by me the whole time,” Thompson said.

Signing adoption papers

At the hospital, the two women talked about their experiences with the agency. The adoptive mother was shocked to learn, she said, that Thompson wanted an open adoption. That’s what the couple had wanted too, but the agency had previously told them that Thompson wanted a “semi-open” arrangement, the adoptive mother said.

Thompson also told her she had wanted to meet the couple earlier in her pregnancy, the adoptive mother said. But the agency had told the couple that the birth mother initially didn’t want contact, she said. They had wanted earlier contact, too, the adoptive mother said.

Thompson delivered the baby — a son — and signed the adoption papers a day later, while still at the hospital. The adoptive mother remembers holding back tears as a lawyer hired by the agency bluntly explained to Thompson the finality of the documents.

“When you sign this, that’s it. There’s no changing your mind, period,” she remembered the attorney saying. “As soon as you sign this paper, you have terminated your parental rights and there was no taking it back. Not ever.”

After the birth, A Guardian Angel Adoptions sent Thompson a $6,000 payment via Cash App. A statement of services reviewed by The Tribune listed this payment as “postpartum expenses.” Thompson said she stayed in Utah for another six months before moving to Austin, Texas, so her son, now 16 years old, could live closer to friends.

Today, Thompson exchanges emails with the adoptive parents, who regularly send pictures of their growing son. Thompson said she knows she made the right choice. The boy, she said, “is doing so well. He’s doing amazing.”

When the baby was about 2 weeks old, the adoptive father clicked on a London Times headline: “Inside Utah’s ‘human marketplace’ for adopted babies.” As they read, the couple realized they weren’t alone in feeling their experience in Utah was wrong.

“I had a ton of guilt just like swarming,” the adoptive mother said about working with the agency. “I can’t believe I gave you money. I was an active participant in this.”

Ranyard, with Utah Adoption Rights, said she doesn’t want any adoptive parents to feel that way — like “they’re buying a baby.”

“We don’t want families to begin that way,” she said.

Potential changes in Utah

On a cold, overcast Sunday morning in November, Ashley Mitchell and her family arrived at the apartment complex where Thompson and her son once stayed.

Mitchell founded Utah Adoption Rights with Ranyard. Both women have placed babies for adoption, and both are concerned about how birth mothers in Utah are treated.

This time, Mitchell brought a stack of more than 300 flyers to hand out at the complex with her husband, John Grace, and their teenage children, Tyler and Oliver, for a bit of “forced family time,” as Grace put it.

The flyers remind women like Thompson of their rights: that they can stay with their child in a hospital before signing consent papers, and that once they sign, it’s final.

“Don’t let anyone pressure you into signing if you are not ready,” each reads. “It’s a big decision and a life-changing event. You can take your time.”

“We’re gonna hit this building, this building and those two,” Mitchell said, “until the flyers run out.”

“And then we watch the analytics and see what happens.”

Each flyer includes two QR codes that direct women to Utah Adoptions Rights resources. After visits like this one, they often see a boost in website traffic and messages from tipsters, concerned about agency actions or women in trouble.

Although Mitchell is adamant the family isn’t doing anything wrong, they rush across the complex — Mitchell with Tyler, her husband with Oliver — depositing papers on nearly identical doorsteps in a well-practiced choreography. Some people walking their dogs take notice, but no one asks questions.

They’re done in about 30 minutes.

Mitchell said going door-to-door is often the only way they can reach birth mothers. The stories she and Ranyard hear prove to them this outreach is necessary, she said.

Like when Thompson began texting them in August, for instance, after the adoptive mother told her about Utah Adoption Rights. Thompson sent all she could about her experience, including receipts showing expenses her agency paid. It’s how Mitchell learned that A Guardian Angel was housing women here.

Ultimately, both Mitchell and Ranyard would like to see Utah’s laws change.

“I want to be very clear,” Mitchell told lawmakers during an October legislative hearing. The stories being told, each anecdote shared “is not an isolated incident.”

“This is not an exaggerated issue,” she said, “and we are not bitter birth moms.”

Hall’s bill would make sweeping changes to Utah’s adoption system, including capping living expenses paid by adoption agencies at $8,000, with weekly payments limited to $200 unless a judge approves a higher amount.

The bill would also require adoption agencies to pay for birth mothers to travel back to their home state using the “same mode and quality” of transportation that brought them to Utah — whether or not they ultimately complete the adoption.

All adoption agencies operating in Utah would also need to become nonprofit organizations by 2027, a move that would increase transparency. The bill also would expand data collection to give lawmakers a clearer picture of how many adoptions involve birth mothers and adoptive parents traveling from out-of-state.

Adoption agencies initially pushed back on the proposed legislation but later backed it after Hall tweaked some early language. It’s expected to be debated during the upcoming legislative session, which starts Tuesday.

Isaac Thomas, who works with A Act of Love Adoptions, told lawmakers during an October legislative hearing that birth mothers choose to come to Utah voluntarily. “They’re not forced or enticed,“ he said. “If they want to stay in their home state, they can.”

At that same meeting, Thompson stood in front of legislators and told them about her experience with the adoption agency, and how she felt alone. “Isolation,” she said, “was their recipe.”

A Guardian Angel Adoptions, she said, threatened to make her repay her medical bills if she didn’t go through with placing her son for adoption.

“Me giving birth to my baby,” she said, “was a transaction.”

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