He was only 8 years old, barely tall enough for his feet to touch the courtroom floor. But when he opened his mouth, the words that came out would send his mother to prison for life. What is this right here? My mama. And what is she doing? Killing my sister. He cried as he spoke, but he never took them back. Not then, not 17 years later.
This is the story of the boy who testified against his own mother and the crime he swears he saw with his own eyes. Esto, Florida, August 8th, 2007. A tiny rural town where the loudest sound most mornings is the rustle of pine trees and the breeze. Amanda Lewis had just come home from a night shift at a nursing home.
By all accounts, it was a normal morning. She was a young single mother, 27 years old, raising two kids, 7-year-old AJ. Quiet but sharp, and her daughter Aana, who would turn 8 in just a few weeks. According to Amanda, the morning started like any other, but by 10:00 a.m. she was screaming into a phone, begging 911 to hurry. Amanda’s voice was frantic.
She told dispatch that Adriana had fallen into the pool and she wasn’t breathing. >> 911, I’m angle it, please. 911. >> I need an ambulance. >> What’s wrong, ma’am? >> My daughter fell in the pole when she’s not breathing. >> Where at, ma’am? Uh, >> in Esto. >> Ma’am, what’s your address? >> 3343 First Avenue South. >> 3343 First Avenue South.
>> Yes. Down the road from the post office at the very end. >> What’s your phone number, ma’am? >> 850230759. >> And she’s not breathing. How old is she? >> She’s seven years old. >> All right, hang on just a second, ma’am. >> Oh god. Just a second. Ma’am, >> her lips are purple. What do I do? >> Ma’am, >> water’s just coming out of her nose.
>> Ma’am. >> Huh? >> You said water’s coming out of her nose. >> Yes, I’ve got her on her side and she’s coming out of her nose every time I move her. >> Okay, hang on just a second. >> Please hurry. >> Rescue. Yes, ma’am. I’ve got them on the way. I’m going to see if they can do something to help you.
Hang on just a moment. Rescue one. They’re advising. They’ve got her laid over on her side coming out of her nose. Is there anything they can do to you get themselves? Hang on just at >> Does she have a fault, ma’am? >> No, she’s not got nothing. She is purple. >> She don’t Hang on just a second. >> Everything’s purple. >> She’s at violence. She’s purple.
No fault. No breathing. >> Hang on just a second, ma’am. Okay, ma’am. I’ve got rescue on the way and I’m fixing to get you someone else. Okay. >> Okay. It’s I’m gonna call you right back in just a few minutes. Emergency responders arrived within minutes to find the little girl pale, limp, and cold.
They worked on her frantically all the way to Bay Medical Center, but by late morning, the doctors had stopped. Adriana was gone. Amanda would later tell police she was doing chores around the house when she realized the backyard was too quiet, too still, and then the scream. At first, it looked like a tragic, heartbreaking accident.
Adriana had a history of seizures and police were told she might have fallen in during one. The town mourned. People brought casserles and whispered about how cruel fate could be. The explanation Amanda gave seemed reasonable. But within 24 hours, that explanation turned into something far darker. The very next day, Amanda’s son, AJ, began telling people something no one was prepared for.
He started talking not just to family but to anyone who would listen. And what he said was devastating. In his small matter of fact voice he said mama had done it. >> So my mom got mad and so she th in the pool and then she told her to go somewhere and she said no cuz mom was going >> and then mom had to go get in the car to go get Adrian and then Adrian was trying to escape from mama and then mama pulled her back in the car and then once they got back home, mama throw her back in the pool and then she started drowning again.
>> Adriana started drowning. And then when she had to take a shower, mama told my mom told me to go get. And then when I was standing in the wagon, she was dead. >> So you stood up in the wagon. Okay. >> He claimed he had seen it happen. He told investigators his mother was angry about something Adriana had done.
So she had taken her to the pool, dunked her in the water, held her there until she stopped moving. The boy repeated his account over and over. Each time with the same haunting detail she held her under. >> Adrian was playing like this and mom holding him so she went scream. >> Police who just a day earlier had been leaning toward tragic accident were now thinking possible homicide.
And then they went back to the house. Inside Adriana’s bedroom officers noticed something strange. almost no toys, no stuffed animals, no coloring books, no clutter that usually fills a child’s space. Neighbors whispered that the girl had been in trouble often, that Amanda could be strict. There was a bruise on Adriana’s forehead, the shape of it.
Some thought it looked like a handprint. Amanda maintained it was an accident, that Adriana’s history of seizures had caused her to fall in. She agreed to a lie detector test and passed. But the image of a little boy saying, “Mama dunked my sister in the pool was now burned into the investigator’s minds.” In September 2007, Amanda Lewis was arrested for first-degree murder and aggravated child abuse.
Fast forward to February 2008. The case had drawn statewide attention. The prosecution’s star witness was not a scientist, not a detective, but a second grader. The day AJ walked into that courtroom, the air was thick. He had just turned seven. He was small for his age, his feet swinging above the floor as he sat in the witness chair.
He had not seen his mother in 6 months. When he finally recognized her, the courtroom felt like it stopped breathing. And then the tears came. >> Hey, Jake. >> So, >> give me your hand. All right. Here. Here. The tears didn’t stop the questions. The state attorney stood beside the boy, speaking softly. AJ began to talk haltingly at first, then with more detail.
>> They want to know how Adriana died. >> Yes. So, >> now I wasn’t there, AJ, was I? >> No. So, >> were you there when she died? >> Yes. So, >> can you tell them how she died? >> Yes, sir. >> Okay. Now, AJ, I want you to come over here. We’re going to put these some photographs up here. Okay. >> Okay. Come on over here.
Right. [Music] Hop up right here. I think you’re going to have to kneel down right there. Kneel down. Okay. Now, what is this right here? Who is this or what is this? >> My mama. >> Okay. And what is she doing? >> Killing my sister. >> How is she doing that, AJ? >> Putting her hand over her face. Would you would you show me how she put her hand over your sister’s face? Huh? >> No.
So, >> you don’t want to do that? >> No. So, >> okay. Who is this? >> My mother. >> And who is this? >> My sister. >> What is this right here? >> My mother’s arm. >> Your mother’s arm. >> Yes, sir. >> Okay. What does this mean right here? She did >> die. What? >> She died. >> She died. Okay. You mean your sister died? >> Okay. What? This too bad.
What does that mean? >> That means it’s scary. >> Was scary. When this was happening, could you see it? >> So, >> was that a yes or a no? Yes. >> He told the jury he had watched his mother put Audriana in the pool and hold her there. He said his sister struggled, splashed, and then went still. He even drew a picture for the jury.
Stick figures, the pool, and small figure beneath the water. No one in that room would ever forget it. After 4 days of testimony, the jury deliberated for just 2 hours. Amanda Lewis was found guilty of firstdegree murder and aggravated child abuse. >> Members of the jury, I understand you’ve reached a verdict. Yes, sir.
>> Madam clerk, at this time, if you would read the verdict for the court, please. >> State of Florida versus Amanda Elaine Lewis, case number 07282 CF. Verdict. We the jury find as follows as to the defendant Amanda Elaine Lewis as to count one in this case. The defendant is guilty as charged of firstdegree felon murder.
We the jury find as follows as to the defendant Amanda Elaine Lewis as to count two in this case. The defendant is guilty as charged of aggravated child abuse. So say we all. Dated this 22nd day of February 2008. Signed Eugene E person. She was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. >> Lewis, under Florida law, there are only two possible penalties that can be imposed for the crime of first-degree felony murder.
They are either death or life imprisonment. This court judges you to be guilty of that crime and sentences you to imprisonment in the Florida Department of Corrections for the remainder of your life. Amanda has never stopped insisting she’s innocent and that Audriana’s death was a tragic accident brought on by her medical condition.
>> My name is Amanda Lewis. I lost my kids and my freedom in the blink of an eye and I am innocent. >> She says she doesn’t blame AJ, that she still loves him and believes he was confused, maybe manipulated. Everything he said was not true, but everything wasn’t a lie. I believe what happened.
He took a series of events and put them all in one day. Um, she had gotten in trouble for spraying something a week prior and he put it that it happened that morning. So, everything he said was not a lie. I just believe he fabricated a series of events into one day. >> 17 years after that fateful day in court, AJ Huau, now grown, finally spoke publicly about his experience, though under the condition that his new identity remain a secret.
In a recent interview with True Crime Central, he reaffirmed the words he spoke as a 7-year-old. Despite the immense emotional toll it took on him and having no idea his testimony would send his mother to prison for her entire life, he maintained that his account was truthful. Stating that his mother is 100% guilty and that he stand by every word he said.
He reflected on the contrast between his life then and now, revealing that he was adopted by a good Christian family and now lives in a happier household. Far removed from the home he knew during those first seven years with Amanda Lewis. His statement is a haunting reminder of the clarity and conviction a child can carry.
Even through the trauma of testifying against a parent, a pool in a quiet Florida backyard, a little boy with a story no one wanted to believe until they did, and a mother whose life now depends on whether he was telling the truth or a terrible mistake. Was justice truly served, or did a 7-year-old carry the weight of a tragedy he might not fully have understood? Could a child’s testimony ever be completely reliable? or did the system put him in an impossible position? Comment below and tell me what you think.
The verdict made headlines across Florida within hours. Television crews crowded outside the courthouse while legal analysts debated the same question over and over again. Could a seven year old child truly understand the difference between memory and suggestion? Some believed AJ was the bravest witness they had ever seen. Others believed he had been placed under unbearable pressure and molded by adults desperate for answers.
Inside the courtroom that day, Amanda Lewis barely reacted when the sentence was read. She stood motionless as the judge spoke, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. But the moment deputies moved to place handcuffs around her wrists, she turned toward the gallery searching for one face. AJ was gone. Child services had quietly escorted him out before sentencing began.
For years afterward, Amanda replayed that final moment in her mind every night inside her prison cell. Not the verdict. Not the cameras. Not even the sentence. What haunted her was the last look she had seen on her son’s face months earlier before the trial began. Confusion. Fear. A child trying to understand why every adult around him kept asking him to repeat the worst day of his life.
Meanwhile, AJ disappeared into the foster system under heavy state protection. The case had become too public, too emotional, too dangerous for anonymity to last long. His name spread through newspapers and television reports despite efforts to shield him. At school, other children whispered about him. Some called him brave. Others called him the boy who sent his own mother to prison.
The psychological burden followed him everywhere.
According to later interviews, AJ developed nightmares almost immediately after the trial. He woke up screaming about water, about his sister calling for help, about police officers carrying his mother away. Foster parents reported that he often refused to sleep unless every light in the house remained on. Some nights he would sit awake until sunrise staring silently at the ceiling.
Therapists were assigned to help him process the trauma, but even they disagreed about what they were dealing with. Was AJ remembering a murder exactly as it happened? Or had repeated questioning shaped his memories into something more certain than they truly were? Child psychologists studying the case years later pointed out that children are uniquely vulnerable during traumatic investigations. Memory at that age is emotional before it is chronological. Fear can sharpen some details while distorting others.
But there was one thing AJ never changed.
Every version of the story ended the same way. He said his mother held Adriana under the water.
Investigators later revealed that AJ repeated that accusation dozens of times over many interviews. Different officers questioned him separately. Social workers interviewed him privately. Prosecutors tested whether his story shifted under pressure. Small details changed here and there, as they often do with children. But the core accusation never disappeared.
That consistency became the foundation of the prosecution’s case.
Still, outside the courtroom, doubts continued growing.
There was no physical evidence directly proving drowning by force. No eyewitness besides AJ. No confession. The medical examiner could not conclusively determine whether Adriana drowned accidentally during a seizure or was intentionally held underwater. The case rested almost entirely on the words of a frightened child.
Critics argued the state had built a life sentence on uncertainty.
Supporters of the conviction argued something else entirely. They pointed to AJ’s emotional collapse on the witness stand, the vividness of his drawings, the fact that he had nothing to gain by accusing his own mother. They believed no child would willingly destroy his own family unless he believed what he was saying.
Years passed.
Amanda adjusted to prison life slowly and painfully. Former inmates later described her as withdrawn and isolated. She spent long periods in the prison library reading legal textbooks and writing appeals by hand. She filed motion after motion insisting her son had been manipulated and that crucial evidence had been misunderstood.
Most of the appeals failed quickly.
But outside prison walls, the story refused to disappear.
Documentary producers contacted everyone connected to the case. Journalists revisited the investigation repeatedly. Internet forums filled with heated arguments between strangers who had never met the family but felt absolutely certain of Amanda’s innocence or guilt.
Then, nearly two decades later, AJ spoke publicly again.
By then he was an adult living under a different name. His voice was deeper. His face had changed. But when interviewers asked him whether he regretted testifying against his mother, he answered immediately.
“No.”
The interviewer asked whether he still believed his testimony was true.
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation.
He explained that people often imagined he must have been coached because they could not emotionally accept the idea of a child accusing his own parent. But according to AJ, the reality was simpler and much darker. He said he saw something terrible and told the truth about it.
When asked whether he loved his mother, AJ became quiet for a long moment before answering.
“I did love her.”
Then he added softly, “But loving someone doesn’t erase what they did.”
That sentence spread across true crime communities almost instantly.
To many listeners, it sounded like closure. To others, it sounded like tragedy layered on top of tragedy. Because regardless of where the truth ultimately lived, everyone involved had lost something irreversible.
A little girl lost her life.
A boy lost his childhood.
A mother lost her freedom.
And a tiny Florida town became permanently attached to one of the most disturbing courtroom moments in modern criminal history.
Even now, legal experts still use the Amanda Lewis case in discussions about child testimony. Law schools examine it when teaching witness reliability. Psychologists reference it when studying trauma and memory formation in children. Some prosecutors call AJ one of the most compelling juvenile witnesses they have ever seen. Some defense attorneys call the case a warning about the dangers of emotionally driven prosecutions.
There are no easy answers.
Because the hardest part of the story is this. AJ was either an extraordinarily brave child who helped convict his sister’s killer, or he was a traumatized boy carrying guilt for something he misunderstood before he was old enough to understand the consequences.
And whichever possibility is true is heartbreaking.
Today the backyard pool where Adriana died is gone. The property changed ownership years ago. Neighbors say the house looks ordinary now. Quiet. Empty. Nothing about it hints at the horror once attached to that address.
But for those who remember the case, one image never fades.
A little boy sitting high in a witness chair with tears streaming down his face as adults asked him to point toward his mother and explain what he saw.
“My mama,” he whispered.
Then after a pause that seemed to stop the entire courtroom from breathing, he spoke the words that would define the rest of both their lives.
“Killing my sister.”
