Narrator:
This is The Good Grief Good God Show — raw, honest conversations about surviving things that suck. This episode begins after a special extended introduction, so skip ahead to the four-minute mark if you’re ready to dive straight into the episode. First, allow me to introduce host and songwriter Brad Warren of The Warren Brothers, whose songs have been recorded by artists including Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, and Taylor Swift, with nine reaching #1.

This show, dedicated to Brad’s oldest son Sage — tragically lost to a fentanyl poisoning — offers guests a unique place to share their stories. Brad brings a perspective shaped by twenty years of recovery, the grief of losing a child, and the faith and sense of humor that carry through each conversation.

Today Brad welcomes three-time Emmy Award-winning journalist and former Nashville sportscaster turned financial analyst Aaron Solomon. Away from work, Aaron is simply a dad — father to Grant and Gracie.

In July 2020, just two months after Brad lost Sage, Aaron’s 18-year-old son Grant was killed in a freak car accident. This episode connects two fathers through unimaginable grief — and the faith it takes to face each new day.

Unfortunately, serious allegations followed — claims that Aaron was responsible for Grant’s death, as well as long-standing accusations from his ex-wife dating back to their 2013–2014 divorce. These false claims included allegations of abuse and even an attempt on her life. Over the years, the accusations spread online, fueled by true-crime communities that ignored years of documented facts: nearly a decade of court rulings granting Aaron full or primary custody, his ex-wife’s own admission that she lied, and countless other examples disproving her stories.

This episode, taped in February 2025, allows Aaron to speak for himself — ahead of a later follow-up recorded after his ex-wife’s April arrest for solicitation to commit first-degree murder. She remains presumed innocent until proven guilty.

This conversation isn’t about headlines or hashtags — it’s about grief, faith, and the strength to keep standing when the world tries to tear you down.

Brad Warren:
All right — you ready? Matt, you have all your things on? I think we’re rolling.
Aaron Solomon, thank you so much for doing this. There are so many facets to your story, and we’ll try to get to them. Let me just say, before we start, that your story is one that reminds me — whenever I start to feel sorry for myself in my grief — that there’s always someone who’s endured worse. What you’ve gone through since losing your son… I can’t imagine anything harder.

I’m sorry you’ve had to live through it, but I love that we’re going to talk openly. Outrage is the easy response. We’re all quick to be outraged about things we haven’t researched. Hopefully, conversations like this help people pause — investigate before they conclude.

I don’t want to miss Grant in this story — we won’t. Start wherever you want, and we’ll just talk.

Aaron Solomon:
Thanks for having me, and thanks for being you.

Brad Warren:
Thanks, man. I’ll probably get emotional today — I don’t care.

Aaron Solomon:
When you lose a child… I’ve cried in the middle of restaurants, at stoplights, in movies — anywhere. It is what it is.

Brad Warren:
Yeah — not worried about it.

Aaron Solomon:
I appreciate you, because we’ve become good friends. We were acquaintances through a mutual friend about eighteen years ago, but you and Casey Beaird both reached out within two days of Grant’s accident. I hadn’t realized you had just lost Sage two months before, and Casey had lost Clay eight months prior.

You both said, “I’m here if you need to talk,” and I did. Seeing Casey in person helped a lot — his strength amazed me.

Brad Warren:
Yeah — he’s a spiritual giant.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. I want to be like him when I grow up.

Brad Warren:
When Sage died, Casey and his wife just sat with us — let us cry, ask “what do we do?” I didn’t realize then that they were only six months into their own grief. They were incredible. What a spiritual giant.

Aaron Solomon:
He really was. And then you — you contacted me July 20th. We met for coffee less than three weeks later and talked four hours straight. I needed that. We even talked then about gathering some dads to support each other. A couple months later you started the group that meets right here — and we need it.

Brad Warren:
Yeah, we do.

Aaron Solomon:
Our sons are buried maybe sixty feet apart — about the distance of a pitch.

Brad Warren:
Yeah. Baseball field apart.

Aaron Solomon:
Along with several other kids we know. None of that’s coincidence.

Brad Warren:
No. It’s the strangest, tightest-knit group of fathers I’ve ever known. The pressure, the guilt — every dad wonders, “What did I do wrong?”

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. But I’ve learned — especially from the dads’ group — that everyone grieves differently. One dad couldn’t handle attending games; for me, I needed to go. Grant died right before his senior year. He played basketball and baseball. Being around his friends helped me feel close to him.

His teammates asked me to keep doing the PA announcing, like I’d done the last three years. It was hard — especially on Senior Day — but also healing.

Brad Warren:
People handle grief differently.

Aaron Solomon:
They do. And people who haven’t lost a child are often afraid to bring up your child’s name. Don’t be. We want to talk about them.

Brad Warren:
Yes. It’s been five years for both of us, and I still want to talk about Sage — all the time.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. And during that first week, the stories I heard about Grant — things I never knew — moved me deeply.

One example: the janitor at school told me Grant always shook his hand and asked how his day was going. Another classmate showed me a birthday note he’d written — so wise beyond his years. My sister shared how a family at her school was praying for us because of something kind Grant had done for their freshman son during a basketball game.

Hearing those stories made me want to be a better person.

Brad Warren:
Yeah — we’ve talked about that.

Aaron Solomon:
His classmates made bracelets with Philippians 2:3 — “Be humble and put others before yourself.” I’ve worn mine every day since.

Now, whenever I notice a young person doing something kind, I tell their parents right away.

Brad Warren:
Same. If you have something good to say about someone’s kid, say it. Tell them.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. You never know what that means to someone.

I also got my first tattoo on Grant’s first birthday in heaven — his signature from his driver’s license, with “86,400” beneath it. That’s how many seconds are in a day. It reminds me to be present.

The funny part? The last text I ever sent to Grant and Gracie was the day before the accident:
“There are 86,400 seconds in a day — make the most of where you are.”

Later I learned his baseball coach used that same phrase — “86,400” — as a reset cue during games. When Grant messed up a pitch, the coach would say it… and eventually, Grant started saying it back to him.

So that number became our shared reminder: be present.

Brad Warren:
That’s beautiful.

Aaron Solomon:
It is. Because we’re not promised tomorrow.

(continues seamlessly into Part 2, starting with “Brad Warren: So, it’s going to be a little tough, but let’s talk about the day he died…”)

Would you like me to generate Part 2 now (continuing from that exact point through the end of the episode)?

yes

Excellent — I’ll now generate Part 2 of the transcript, continuing directly from where Part 1 ended (right after Aaron’s line “Because we’re not promised tomorrow.”).
It will follow the exact same style — lightly cleaned, speakers in bold, dialogue only, and fully ready to copy straight into Word or your website.

Here’s TRANSCRIPT (S3/EP3) – Part 2 👇

Brad Warren:
So… it’s going to be a little tough, I’m sure, but let’s talk about the day he died. He was a great baseball player — a pitcher with college aspirations. You were taking him to a pitching practice, right?

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. The dads in our group, our kids all went in different ways — some overdoses, suicides, car accidents. Grant loved baseball, wanted to play in college, and was a talented pitcher. He’d hurt his shoulder diving for a loose ball in basketball, so he was working to build back velocity.

There was a training facility in Gallatin that helped players increase speed, so we toured it as a family a month before his accident. He decided to do the program, and that Monday morning, July 20 2020, was his evaluation session.

We were both going separately but meeting there. His mom texted me that morning saying she couldn’t go and asked if I could. I said, “Yes.”

We both happened to catch up on the interstate. I called him and said, “Hey, I’m right behind you.” We were early — not in a rush.

He parked on a slight incline in front of the building. I parked to his left. He got out of his truck, opened the back door to grab his bag. I looked down at a quick work email. When I looked up, his truck was gone — rolling backward down the hill into a ditch.

I jumped out, expecting to see him standing beside it or maybe knocked down. I didn’t. My heart sank. I looked in the truck — he wasn’t inside. Then I saw him trapped underneath.

I almost fainted, but instinct took over. I knew from years in news — we needed professionals fast. I called 911. Construction workers who’d seen the accident ran over to help.

They tried to reach him. I was giving dispatch every detail. Paramedics arrived quickly — jacks, boards, everything. A police officer tried to move me away, but I didn’t want to leave my son. I think the officer was trying to spare me the sight.

They asked me to give a statement inside. I scribbled what happened, then followed the ambulance to the hospital. On the way, I texted both sides of the family — “Grant’s been in a terrible accident. Get here fast.”

When I arrived, a chaplain was waiting. That’s never a good sign. I prayed, called his mom — “They’re working on him.”

A doctor came in with the chaplain and told me they couldn’t save him. I fell to the floor screaming, “No, you can’t be serious — there has to be something you can do.”

They said LifeFlight was ready, but he couldn’t be resuscitated enough to transport. Multiple internal injuries.

I was alone with strangers when I heard those words. My ex-wife and family were still on the way. I couldn’t tell them over the phone; I just said, “Get here.”

One by one they arrived — and one by one collapsed when they heard. Outside, a hundred people were praying.

He hadn’t been feeling well the week before; otherwise, he’d have been in Atlanta pitching that day.

Brad Warren:
I just have to stop and say — after hearing that, it’s insane that anyone could invent a story that you killed your son. There were witnesses. It makes no sense.

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. Anyone who knows me knows how much I loved my kids.

Brad Warren:
Right. There’s no motive. None.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. If I’d wanted to harm him — which is unthinkable — we’d been alone countless times. We trained together every day. But I adored him. That’s what makes the rumors so cruel.

Brad Warren:
People forget how outrage travels. Somebody says something, and before long the internet believes it.

Aaron Solomon:
That’s what happened. After the accident, I lay in bed that first night asking, “Why, God? Why my dad at 24 and my son at 18?” I didn’t understand.

Brad Warren:
Grief can become anger — a weapon.

Aaron Solomon:
Yes. And I’ve seen that. Some dads in our group go through pure rage before healing. For me, I felt despair — but I also felt faith.

Brad Warren:
You’ve said before that losing your father in Vietnam shaped you.

Aaron Solomon:
It did. My dad died when I was seven months old. I never knew him. My stepdad was great, but losing my father made me vow to be the most involved dad possible. That’s why I never missed a game or practice.

That morning I was there because being a dad was my life.

Brad Warren:
You were known for that. Everyone saw it.

Aaron Solomon:
After the hospital, we went to a vigil at the school. It had rained all day, but as the music started, a double rainbow appeared — arching perfectly over everyone as soon as Ed Cash said Grant’s name. I knew then he was in heaven.

For a moment, even his mom and I stood side by side in grief. Whatever had come before didn’t matter — our son was gone.

Brad Warren:
How long before that changed?

Aaron Solomon:
Not long. Within days, unfortunately.

Brad Warren:
What happened?

Aaron Solomon:
At the visitation, people later told me she was saying to those in line that it might not have been an accident — while standing three feet from me.

Brad Warren:
My God.

Aaron Solomon:
Three days after the funeral, I got calls from two different people who’d heard her say it. I couldn’t believe it.

Brad Warren:
And later, she publicly claimed you hit him with a bat and ran him over?

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah — that was one of the stories. She said I hit him, dragged him into a ditch, and then ran him over. There were witnesses who saw the accident. None of that happened.

Brad Warren:
And the police never suspected you.

Aaron Solomon:
Never. There was no investigation into me — because it was clearly a tragic accident.

Brad Warren:
But then she went online.

Aaron Solomon:
Yes. By spring 2021 she started pages on Facebook, Instagram, maybe Twitter — posting every day. Lies about me, about my daughter, about the funeral home, even. It went on for years — until 2024.

I had people ask, “Why don’t you just move away?” But I wasn’t going to run. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Brad Warren:
Yeah.

Aaron Solomon:
At one point, true-crime YouTubers picked it up. Millions of views. They ignored court documents showing she’d admitted lying years earlier. It destroyed my reputation overnight.

Brad Warren:
People love conspiracy more than truth.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. They said everyone from the police to judges to the governor was in on some cover-up. Meanwhile, her own relatives publicly defended me.

Brad Warren:
And through all that, you stayed quiet.

Aaron Solomon:
For a long time. I didn’t want to hurt my daughter more. She was being pulled into the middle. Eventually, a year after the accident, she appeared in a video — saying things that weren’t true. Those of us who love her knew it was parental alienation.

Brad Warren:
And then, in 2025, everything came to light — her arrest.

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. She was indicted for solicitation to commit murder — trying to have me killed. Hearing that… it was surreal. I pitied her more than anything.

Brad Warren:
I can’t imagine.

Aaron Solomon:
I still pray for her. But I also thank God for protection.

Brad Warren:
Your story’s one of loss and survival — but also faith.

Aaron Solomon:
Faith is the only reason I’m still here. The first night, lying in bed, I knew where Grant was. I could feel it. That doesn’t mean I don’t ache every day, but I know he’s okay.

Brad Warren:
And that’s what keeps you going.

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. That — and my daughter. I live with the hope that one day we’ll be reunited.

Brad Warren:
Amen.

Aaron Solomon:
Grief never ends, but grace carries you through it.

Brad Warren:
Thank you for sharing your story, brother.

Aaron Solomon:
Thank you for giving me a safe place to tell it.

(End of Transcript – S3/EP3)

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Narrator:
This is The Good Grief Good God Show — raw, honest conversations about surviving things that suck. This episode begins after a special extended introduction, so skip ahead to the four-minute mark if you’re ready to dive straight into the episode.

First, allow me to introduce host and songwriter Brad Warren of The Warren Brothers, whose songs have been recorded by artists including Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, and Taylor Swift, with nine reaching #1.

This show, dedicated to Brad’s oldest son Sage — tragically lost to a fentanyl poisoning — offers guests a place to share their stories. Brad brings a perspective shaped by twenty years of recovery, the grief of losing a child, and the faith and sense of humor that carry through every conversation.

Today Brad welcomes three-time Emmy Award-winning journalist and former Nashville sportscaster turned financial analyst Aaron Solomon. Away from work, Aaron is simply a dad — father to Grant and Gracie.

In July 2020, just two months after Brad lost Sage, Aaron’s 18-year-old son Grant was killed in a freak car accident. This episode connects two fathers through unimaginable grief — and the faith it takes to face each new day.

Unfortunately, serious allegations followed — claims that Aaron was responsible for Grant’s death, as well as long-standing accusations from his ex-wife dating back to their 2013–2014 divorce. These false claims included allegations of abuse and even an attempt on her life.

Over the years, the accusations spread online, fueled by true-crime communities that ignored documented facts: nearly a decade of court rulings granting Aaron full or primary custody, his ex-wife’s own admission that she lied, and countless other examples disproving her stories.

This episode, taped in February 2025, allows Aaron to speak for himself — ahead of a later follow-up recorded after his ex-wife’s April arrest for solicitation to commit first-degree murder. She remains presumed innocent until proven guilty.

This conversation isn’t about headlines or hashtags — it’s about grief, faith, and the strength to keep standing when the world tries to tear you down.

Brad Warren:
All right — you ready? Matt, you have all your things on? I think we’re rolling.
Aaron Solomon, thank you so much for doing this. There are so many facets to your story, and we’ll try to get to them. Let me just say, before we start, that your story is one that reminds me — whenever I start to feel sorry for myself in my grief — that there’s always someone who’s endured worse. What you’ve gone through since losing your son… I can’t imagine anything harder.

I’m sorry you’ve had to live through it, but I love that we’re going to talk openly. Outrage is the easy response. We’re all quick to be outraged about things we haven’t researched. Hopefully, conversations like this help people pause — investigate before they conclude.

I don’t want to miss Grant in this. We won’t. Start wherever you want, and we’ll just talk.

Aaron Solomon:
Thanks for having me, and thanks for being you.

Brad Warren:
Thanks, man. I’ll probably get emotional today — I don’t care.

Aaron Solomon:
When you lose a child… I’ve cried in restaurants, at stoplights, in movies — anywhere. It is what it is.

Brad Warren:
Yeah — not worried about it.

Aaron Solomon:
I appreciate you, because we’ve become good friends. We were acquaintances through a mutual friend about eighteen years ago, but you and Casey Beathard both reached out within two days of Grant’s accident. I hadn’t realized you had just lost Sage two months before, and Casey had lost Clay eight months prior.

You both said, “I’m here if you need to talk,” and I did. Seeing Casey in person helped a lot — his strength amazed me.

Brad Warren:
Yeah — he’s a spiritual giant.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. I want to be like him when I grow up.

Brad Warren:
When Sage died, Casey and his wife just sat with us — let us cry, ask “what do we do?” I didn’t realize then that they were only six months into their own grief. They were incredible. What a spiritual giant.

Aaron Solomon:
He really was. And then you — you contacted me July 20th. We met for coffee less than three weeks later and talked four hours straight. I needed that. We even talked then about gathering some dads to support each other. A couple months later you started the group that meets right here — and we need it.

Brad Warren:
Yeah, we do.

Aaron Solomon:
Our sons are buried maybe sixty feet apart — about the distance of a pitch.

Brad Warren:
Yeah. Baseball field apart.

Aaron Solomon:
Along with several other kids we know. None of that’s coincidence.

Brad Warren:
No. It’s the strangest, tightest-knit group of fathers I’ve ever known. The pressure, the guilt — every dad wonders, “What did I do wrong?”

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. But I’ve learned — especially from the dads’ group — that everyone grieves differently. One dad couldn’t handle attending games; for me, I needed to go. Grant died right before his senior year. He played basketball and baseball. Being around his friends helped me feel close to him.

His teammates asked me to keep doing the PA announcing, like I’d done the last three years. It was hard — especially on Senior Day — but also healing.

Brad Warren:
People handle grief differently.

Aaron Solomon:
They do. And people who haven’t lost a child are often afraid to bring up your child’s name. Don’t be. We want to talk about them.

Brad Warren:
Yes. It’s been five years for both of us, and I still want to talk about Sage — all the time.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. And during that first week, the stories I heard about Grant — things I never knew — moved me deeply.

One example: the janitor at school told me Grant always shook his hand and asked how his day was going. Another classmate showed me a birthday note he’d written — so wise beyond his years. My sister shared how a family at her school was praying for us because of something kind Grant had done for their freshman son during a basketball game.

Hearing those stories made me want to be a better person.

Brad Warren:
Yeah — we’ve talked about that.

Aaron Solomon:
His classmates made bracelets with Philippians 2:3 — “Be humble and put others before yourself.” I’ve worn mine every day since.

Now, whenever I notice a young person doing something kind, I tell their parents right away.

Brad Warren:
Same. If you have something good to say about someone’s kid, say it. Tell them.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. You never know what that means to someone.

I also got my first tattoo on Grant’s first birthday in heaven — his signature from his driver’s license, with “86,400” beneath it. That’s how many seconds are in a day. It reminds me to be present.

The funny part? The last text I ever sent to Grant and Gracie was the day before the accident:
“There are 86,400 seconds in a day — make the most of where you are.”

Later I learned his baseball coach used that same phrase — “86,400” — as a reset cue during games. When Grant messed up a pitch, the coach would say it… and eventually, Grant started saying it back to him.

So that number became our shared reminder: be present.

Brad Warren:
That’s beautiful.

Aaron Solomon:
It is. Because we’re not promised tomorrow.

Brad Warren:
So… it’s going to be a little tough, I’m sure, but let’s talk about the day he died. He was a great baseball player — a pitcher with college aspirations. You were taking him to a pitching practice, right?

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. The dads in our group, our kids all went in different ways — some overdoses, suicides, car accidents. Grant loved baseball, wanted to play in college, and was a talented pitcher. He’d hurt his shoulder diving for a loose ball in basketball, so he was working to build back velocity.

There was a training facility in Gallatin that helped players increase speed, so we toured it as a family a month before his accident. He decided to do the program, and that Monday morning, July 20 2020, was his evaluation session.

We were both going separately but meeting there. His mom texted me that morning saying she couldn’t go and asked if I could. I said, “Yes.”

We both happened to catch up on the interstate. I called him and said, “Hey, I’m right behind you.” We were early — not in a rush.

He parked on a slight incline in front of the building. I parked to his left. He got out of his truck, opened the back door to grab his bag. I looked down at a quick work email. When I looked up, his truck was gone — rolling backward down the hill into a ditch.

I jumped out, expecting to see him standing beside it or maybe knocked down. I didn’t. My heart sank. I looked in the truck — he wasn’t inside. Then I saw him trapped underneath.

I almost fainted, but instinct took over. I knew from years in news — we needed professionals fast. I called 911. Construction workers who’d seen the accident ran over to help.

They tried to reach him. I was giving dispatch every detail. Paramedics arrived quickly — jacks, boards, everything. A police officer tried to move me away, but I didn’t want to leave my son. I think the officer was trying to spare me the sight.

They asked me to give a statement inside. I scribbled what happened, then followed the ambulance to the hospital. On the way, I texted both sides of the family — “Grant’s been in a terrible accident. Get here fast.”

When I arrived, a chaplain was waiting. That’s never a good sign. I prayed, called his mom — “They’re working on him.”

A doctor came in with the chaplain and told me they couldn’t save him. I fell to the floor screaming, “No, you can’t be serious — there has to be something you can do.”

They said LifeFlight was ready, but he couldn’t be resuscitated enough to transport. Multiple internal injuries.

I was alone with strangers when I heard those words. My ex-wife and family were still on the way. I couldn’t tell them over the phone; I just said, “Get here.”

One by one they arrived — and one by one collapsed when they heard. Outside, a hundred people were praying.

He hadn’t been feeling well the week before; otherwise, he’d have been in Atlanta pitching that day.

Brad Warren:
I just have to stop and say — after hearing that, it’s insane that anyone could invent a story that you killed your son. There were witnesses. It makes no sense.

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. Anyone who knows me knows how much I loved my kids.

Brad Warren:
Right. There’s no motive. None.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. If I’d wanted to harm him — which is unthinkable — we’d been alone countless times. We trained together every day. But I adored him. That’s what makes the rumors so cruel.

Brad Warren:
People forget how outrage travels. Somebody says something, and before long the internet believes it.

Aaron Solomon:
That’s what happened. After the accident, I lay in bed that first night asking, “Why, God? Why my dad at 24 and my son at 18?” I didn’t understand.

Brad Warren:
Grief can become anger — a weapon.

Aaron Solomon:
Yes. And I’ve seen that. Some dads in our group go through pure rage before healing. For me, I felt despair — but I also felt faith.

Brad Warren:
You’ve said before that losing your father in Vietnam shaped you.

Aaron Solomon:
It did. My dad died when I was seven months old. I never knew him. My stepdad was great, but losing my father made me vow to be the most involved dad possible. That’s why I never missed a game or practice.

That morning I was there because being a dad was my life.

Brad Warren:
You were known for that. Everyone saw it.

Aaron Solomon:
After the hospital, we went to a vigil at the school. It had rained all day, but as the music started, a double rainbow appeared — arching perfectly over everyone as soon as Ed Cash said Grant’s name. I knew then he was in heaven.

For a moment, even his mom and I stood side by side in grief. Whatever had come before didn’t matter — our son was gone.

Brad Warren:
How long before that changed?

Aaron Solomon:
Not long. Within days, unfortunately.

Brad Warren:
What happened?

Aaron Solomon:
At the visitation, people later told me she was saying to those in line that it might not have been an accident — while standing three feet from me.

Brad Warren:
My God.

Aaron Solomon:
Three days after the funeral, I got calls from two different people who’d heard her say it. I couldn’t believe it.

Brad Warren:
And later, she publicly claimed you hit him with a bat and ran him over?

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah — that was one of the stories. She said I hit him, dragged him into a ditch, and then ran him over. There were witnesses who saw the accident. None of that happened.

Brad Warren:
And the police never suspected you.

Aaron Solomon:
Never. There was no investigation into me — because it was clearly a tragic accident.

Brad Warren:
But then she went online.

Aaron Solomon:
Yes. By spring 2021 she started pages on Facebook, Instagram, maybe Twitter — posting every day. Lies about me, about my daughter, about the funeral home, even. It went on for years — until 2024.

I had people ask, “Why don’t you just move away?” But I wasn’t going to run. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Brad Warren:
Yeah.

Aaron Solomon:
At one point, true-crime YouTubers picked it up. Millions of views. They ignored court documents showing she’d admitted lying years earlier. It destroyed my reputation overnight.

Brad Warren:
People love conspiracy more than truth.

Aaron Solomon:
Exactly. They said everyone from the police to judges to the governor was in on some cover-up. Meanwhile, her own relatives publicly defended me.

Brad Warren:
And through all that, you stayed quiet.

Aaron Solomon:
For a long time. I didn’t want to hurt my daughter more. She was being pulled into the middle. Eventually, a year after the accident, she appeared in a video — saying things that weren’t true. Those of us who love her knew it was parental alienation.

Brad Warren:
And then, in 2025, everything came to light — her arrest.

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. She was indicted for solicitation to commit murder — trying to have me killed. Hearing that… it was surreal. I pitied her more than anything.

Brad Warren:
I can’t imagine.

Aaron Solomon:
I still pray for her. But I also thank God for protection.

Brad Warren:
Your story’s one of loss and survival — but also faith.

Aaron Solomon:
Faith is the only reason I’m still here. The first night, lying in bed, I knew where Grant was. I could feel it. That doesn’t mean I don’t ache every day, but I know he’s okay.

Brad Warren:
And that’s what keeps you going.

Aaron Solomon:
Yeah. That — and my daughter. I live with the hope that one day we’ll be reunited.

Brad Warren:
Amen.

Aaron Solomon:
Grief never ends, but grace carries you through it.

Brad Warren:
Thank you for sharing your story, brother.

Aaron Solomon:
Thank you for giving me a safe place to tell it.