Tossing Damages in Florida Hospital Case Shakes Faith in Justice

When a Florida jury awarded the Kowalski family a verdict exceeding $231 million, it wasn’t simply awarding damages. It was affirming a foundational promise of the US justice system that ordinary citizens can hold powerful institutions accountable when their choices destroy lives.

The promise became more fragile when Florida’s Second District Court of Appeal reversed that verdict—already reduced $47.5 million—and ordered a new trial.

The court held that Johns Hopkins All Children’s Hospital was protected by statutory immunity under Chapter 39 of the Florida statutes for reporting suspected child abuse, and that the jury shouldn’t have heard the testimony about the restrictive orders imposed by a dependency court once the child involved was removed from her parents’ custody.

In the appellate court’s view, the hospital acted in “good faith,” and the jury’s understanding of the family’s suffering was tainted by context the judges say should have been excluded. This approach elevates procedure over people and turns good faith from a safeguard into a shield so broad it swallows accountability.

We all agree health-care providers must be able to report suspected abuse; that protection saves lives. But immunity only exists when actions are taken in “good faith"—a boundary the state legislature drew intentionally to prevent exactly the kind of unchecked institutional power this case spotlights. Under this ruling, the moment a report is made, nearly every subsequent act can be cloaked in immunity, no matter how harmful.

That isn’t a safety net. It’s a blank check. And if that becomes the legal norm, families lose far more than rights. They lose trust in the very institutions they turn in crisis.

Here’s the reality beneath the legal theory: When parents bring a medically fragile child to a hospital and suspicion enters the room, they can suddenly lose control not just over medical decisions, but over their family’s future. That should concern every Floridian and every American who has ever sought help for a child and expected support, not suspicion.

Beata Kowalski was a nurse infusionist—a mother who understood medicine and advocated fiercely for her daughter. When the system decided she was the problem, the presumption of parental love evaporated. Her daughter, Maya, was separated from the family for 87 days. Beata died by suicide under the weight of terror, grief, and helplessness. No appellate opinion can soften that truth, and no statute should erase it.

This ruling risks importing into medicine the same dynamic qualified immunity created in policing: A doctrine meant to protect responsible professionals expanding, case by case, into armor against accountability. Trust in public institutions isn’t strengthened by shielding their conduct from scrutiny; it’s destroyed by it.

This isn’t an attack on child protection. It’s a demand that protection doesn’t morph into unchecked power. We can defend children and still defend due process. We can support doctors and social workers without turning families into suspects simply because they sought care.

A jury heard weeks of testimony and reached a unanimous verdict. The appellate court didn’t say the jury got the facts wrong—only that jurors saw the consequences of the hospital’s decisions. But consequences aren’t prejudicial. They are the case. Shielding jurors from the human impact of institutional choices isn’t neutrality. It’s erasure.

If jurors can decide on life and liberty, they can be trusted to hear the full story of how a family was shattered. Sanitizing harm isn’t justice—it’s insulation. And when courts begin insulating institutions from accountability, families notice. Cynicism grows. Trust fractures. The system we rely on to protect us begins to look like one designed to protect only itself.

Appellate review exists to safeguard fairness, not to reset the scoreboard when juries reach uncomfortable truths. If the concern was evidentiary nuance, narrower remedies existed. Instead, years of litigation and a clear jury verdict were swept aside not because the facts changed, but because process was elevated above truth.

If “good faith” becomes presumed rather than proven, we replace judgment with deference and juries with doctrine. That isn’t how a constitutional system functions. The jury isn’t symbolic; it’s the heartbeat of accountability.

This decision sends a dangerous message: Accountability is welcome until it becomes inconvenient. And in cases where families face institutional power, that message lands loudly and painfully.

The Florida Supreme Court should review this case. “Good faith” must mean real good faith, proven on evidence, not a reflexive assumption. Immunity must stay narrow. And juries must remain central in evaluating institutions entrusted with life-altering authority.

A mother sought help and never returned home. A child endured isolation no family should face. A jury spoke. That voice shouldn’t be silenced by a preference for procedural neatness over lived human truth.

Our justice system exists to protect the vulnerable and restrain the powerful. When it forgets that mission, families pay the price. The appellate ruling may have paused accountability, but it didn’t extinguish it. The work of restoring balance, dignity, and genuine good faith continues.

The case is Johns Hopkins All Children’s Hosp. v. Kowalski, Fla. Dist. Ct. App., 2d Dist., No. 2D2024-0382, 10/29/25.

This article does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Bloomberg Industry Group, Inc., the publisher of Bloomberg Law, Bloomberg Tax, and Bloomberg Government, or its owners.

Author Information

Sean C. Domnick is shareholder at Rafferty Domnick Cunningham & Yaffa.

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