Lindsay Clancy will remain at a Mᴀssachusetts psychiatric hospital until further notice as she awaits the fate of her triple-murder case after a stunning mistrial on Friday.
Clancy, 36, will return to Tewksbury Hospital, the state-run facility where she was previously being held, her defense lawyer Kevin Reddington confirmed on Friday after his was denied by the state’s Supreme Court.
The jury was unable to reach a unanimous decision — due to one male holdout juror — about whether Clancy was criminally responsible for strangling her three kids, Cora, 5, Dawson, 3, and Callan, 8 months, in the basement of their Duxbury home on Jan. 24, 2023.
Clancy, who claims she was in the throes of postpartum psychosis and overprescribed a cocktail of psychiatric meds, then slit her wrists and throat and threw herself from the second story of the home, leaving her partially paralyzed.
Dr. Avram Mack, who formerly worked at Nemours Children’s Health in Delaware, painted a picture of Clancy’s dreary routine at the psychiatric facility in Tewksbury when he took the stand at her trial on Aug. 21.
“Mostly, she described, she stays in bed or on her own,” Mack told the courtroom, referencing interviews with Clancy at the hospital.
“I don’t think she described interacting with patients very much. There were a couple of ways in which she did interact with staff, at least. There was a therapist that she described working with,” the shrink said.
Clancy, who has to use a wheelchair after her suicide attempt, also worked with a physical therapist at the hospital, but “wasn’t very interested” in the physical therapy.
“She wasn’t interested in the food there,” Mack continued.
She described having visitors “on a not infrequent basis, and that sometimes, she was able to eat food or drinks that were brought in by them.”
Clancy also described “that she wasn’t very interested in her own hygiene or grooming,” he added.
“Showering is embarrᴀssing. It requires staff to help her, and that’s one way in which she would rather not,” Mack said. “It may also be that she described a lack of interest … so, it’s both components.”
“She described feeling depressed, which she termed situational depression,” the psychiatrist said. “She described feeling—I’m not sure the exact term she used—but feeling miserable, not wanting to be alive.”
Mack, who got into a fiery exchange with while testifying in the case, on the same day he testified.
Clancy will remain at the facility under the same murder charges as prosecutors weigh their next steps on whether or not to try her again with a new jury.
Her attorneys could peтιтion for bail, though it is likely she will remain in Tewksbury Hospital under the same bail conditions while she awaits the fate of a new trial, Brad Bailey, a Boston defense attorney and former prosecutor, told The Post.
Bailey, who is not involved in the case, believes Plymouth County District Attorney Timothy J. Cruz will push to retry Clancy following the mistrial to push for justice in the killings of little Cora, Dawson, and Callan.
“I do anticipate that Tim Cruz will choose to retry the case, not only because, in his opinion, he has to stand up for the three deceased children, but also because the case hasn’t been resolved,” Bailey said.
Prosecutors may offer Clancy a plea deal for a lesser charge, such as second-degree murder or manslaughter rather than first-degree murder, according to Bailey.
“I can’t imagine Kevin Reddington would accept that or take it,” Bailey added of a plea deal.
Bailey said he believes that at a new trial, the prosecution will focus on finding stronger experts, specifically ones that have experience with treating postpartum psychosis.
The defense will also likely try to do a better job helping the jury understand that patients can come in and out of psychosis and have periods of lucidity, the attorney added.
Unless Cruz confidently determines that it is not worth retrying Clancy, given that 11-to-1 jurors are seeking to acquit her, he is unlikely to seek a dismissal.
“If the state decides it doesn’t want to retry, it would do what we call a nolle prosequi in the case, which is a move to dismiss the indictments on their own,” Bailey said.
“I think we’re gonna be looking at a trial down the line, which is gonna be Murder One, and much of the process and proceedings are gonna be the same,” he continued.
“And I would be surprised if he gets any different result, and certainly it’s potentially possible that the defense could get the result they’re looking for.”
💔 STELLA PARTON BREAKS HER SILENCE — What She Said About Dolly’s Health Has Fans Looking Back
Dolly Parton’s Sister Breaks Silence What Really Happened - GMT - G1
Stella Parton was born May 4, 1949, the sixth of twelve children raised by Robert Lee and Avie Lee Parton in Sevierville, Tennessee — a household defined by noise, limited money, and almost no privacy, the kind of environment that produced strong, determined personalities.
Stella was one of them.
By seven, she was appearing alongside her older sister Dolly on a Knoxville television program; by her teens, she was writing her own songs, though marriage and motherhood pulled music to the margins of her life for a stretch.
The dream never fully disappeared.
In 1967, she recorded a gospel album with her mother and sisters, and later worked clubs in Washington, D.C., before founding her own record label in 1975 and releasing “I Want to Hold You in My Dreams Tonight,” which climbed to number nine on the country charts.
Long before any of that commercial success, Stella had already shown a willingness to take positions others avoided.
At 26, amid backlash against Australian singer Olivia Newton-John for winning recognition in country music, Stella recorded “Ode to Olivia” in her defense — a stand that offered her no career benefit and real risk of criticism, but one she took anyway simply because she believed staying silent was the wrong choice.
That instinct defined the rest of her career: hits like “The Danger of a Stranger” and “Steady as the Rain” (written by Dolly) built a genuine, independent following, including in the U.K., while Stella also worked in New York theater and spoke openly, often controversially, about poverty, domestic violence, and the treatment of women in the music industry.
She was named the Christian Country Music Association’s Female Vocalist of the Year in 2004.
Through all of it, she remained defined publicly, more often than not, as simply “Dolly’s little sister” — a label she spent five decades quietly proving didn’t tell the full story.
That same directness is why her comments in the fall of 2025 carried real weight.
Stella had never positioned herself as the family’s image manager or spokesperson; she was, by reputation, someone who believed difficult truths shouldn’t stay hidden indefinitely.
What she described wasn’t dramatic or accusatory — it was a portrait of a woman who had spent years prioritizing everyone else’s needs over her own.
The context mattered.
Carl Dean, Dolly’s husband of nearly sixty years, died in March 2025 at 82, after a long illness during which Dolly had devoted herself almost entirely to his care.
She later acknowledged that in the process, she’d neglected her own health significantly.
The loss reverberated through the whole extended family — the Partons had lost three brothers in the years surrounding this period, compounding grief that, for a family that had once crowded twelve children into a single small home, meant losing pieces of a shared childhood one after another.
Stella herself went seven years without releasing new music during this stretch, later describing the period simply as one shaped by sorrow, while still speaking about the importance of finding moments of laughter within it.
Looking back, one moment reads very differently in hindsight than it did at the time: in late September 2025, Dolly postponed her planned Las Vegas residency, citing health challenges — a rare cancellation for a performer whose six-decade career had included very few of them.
At the time, most fans treated it as a minor, temporary setback.
Stella’s later reflections suggested the signs had actually been building for some time, visible to family in ways the public smile made easy to miss.
That concern crystallized publicly not long after, when Dolly’s younger sister Frieda posted a simple request on Facebook asking fans to pray for Dolly.
What looked at first like an ordinary, well-meaning gesture spread rapidly, sparking widespread speculation about how serious Dolly’s condition actually was.
Dolly herself responded directly within days, appearing in a video from a Grand Ole Opry commercial shoot, insisting with her familiar humor that she wasn’t finished yet — the now widely remembered “I ain’t dead yet” moment that briefly quieted public concern.
In the months that followed, the pattern repeated: reassuring updates about kidney stones, dehydration, and treatment, paired with continued work on new projects, right up until Dolly Parton’s death on August 25, 2026, at 80.
Looking back across that full timeline — the postponed residency, the family’s public worry, Stella’s own account of a sister who consistently deprioritized her own wellbeing — it becomes easier to see what the people closest to Dolly understood well before the rest of the world did: that the warmth and resilience the public saw every time she appeared on camera came at a real, largely invisible cost.
