In an emotional, tear-soaked interview that has left Australia reeling, a longtime support worker for the Clune family has finally spoken out — revealing the hidden, heart-wrenching reality behind the walls of the Mosman Park home where four lives ended in unimaginable tragedy. Breaking down in sobs, the carer — who knew teenage brothers Leon, 16, and Otis, 14 for more than a decade — exposed a side of the family no outsider ever truly saw: a household overflowing with profound love, fierce protectiveness, and crushing, invisible exhaustion that no amount of devotion could overcome.
The bodies of Leon and Otis — both living with severe autism, one non-verbal and both requiring constant, intensive care — were discovered alongside their parents, Jarrod Clune, 50, and Maiwenna “Mai” Goasdoue, 49, on Friday morning, January 30, 2026, inside their luxurious Mott Close residence in Perth’s elite Mosman Park suburb. Three family pets lay dead too, sealing the scene as one of total, final devastation. Police quickly labeled it a suspected double murder-suicide, with a note on the front door warning not to enter and call authorities, and a second, more “critical” note inside allegedly detailing the parents’ tormented decision.
But it was the carer — arriving for a routine visit and finding that chilling door note — who raised the alarm. Now, in her first public words since the horror, she has shattered the silence with raw honesty. Tears streaming as she spoke, she described Leon and Otis not as burdens, but as boys who “captured your heart” the moment they smiled or connected in their unique ways. “All they wanted was to be understood,” she said, voice cracking. “And when they were, they lit up everything around them. Their parents were their biggest, fiercest supporters — fighting every single day for them.”
Behind the affluent facade — the manicured garden, the pool where neighbors occasionally glimpsed the boys swimming — lay a relentless battle. The carer painted a picture of parents who rarely slept, who coordinated endless therapies, medical appointments, and behavioral supports while navigating a system that seemed to shrink rather than expand when they needed it most. Reports of recent NDIS (National Disability Insurance Scheme) funding cuts have swirled since the discovery: reductions in vital hours for nursing, respite care, or specialized workers that allegedly left Jarrod and Mai feeling utterly cornered. “They were in the trenches every day,” the carer said, echoing what friends have whispered. “The constant rejection, the battles for services — it was exhausting, never-ending. They felt like they had no other choice.”
School newsletters from years past offer fleeting glimpses of happier times: Leon and Otis thriving in moments of joy, sharing innocent comments that charmed teachers and classmates. Yet as the boys grew, so did the challenges — behaviors that demanded 24/7 vigilance, communication barriers, and a world that often labeled them “too difficult.” One former educator recalled an eerie question from one of the boys in the final week about “long school absences” — phrased so oddly it lingered in memory. No one connected it then. Now it haunts.
The carer’s breakdown has ignited nationwide fury and sorrow. “My heart feels unbearably heavy knowing the NDIS system failed them,” she wept, accusing the scheme of abandoning a family that had poured everything into caring for their sons. Friends and advocates echo her: the parents advocated fiercely for autism awareness online, masking their despair behind smiles and resilience. But the pressure mounted — isolation from extended family, exhaustion from round-the-clock care, and a funding system that critics say buckles under high-needs cases.
Neighbors in the quiet, leafy cul-de-sac remain stunned. Floral tributes pile at the Mott Close gate, cards scrawled with guilt: “We should have checked in more.” The suburb’s usual calm — luxury cars gliding by, riverside views — now feels haunted. How could despair hide so completely in such privilege?
Political fallout explodes. Federal Disability Minister Mark Butler called it an “unspeakable tragedy” but dodged specifics on the family’s NDIS package. WA Premier Roger Cook labeled the deaths “devastating” while resisting calls for a coronial inquest. Disability advocates warn this isn’t isolated — it’s a symptom of a broken support network where families with profound needs teeter on razor-thin margins. “The burden of disability should never justify violence,” one commissioner stressed, urging a reckoning over funding shortfalls and worker training gaps.
The carer’s testimony cuts deepest: Leon and Otis weren’t statistics or challenges — they were beloved sons whose smiles could melt hearts, whose needs were met with unwavering love until that love collided with impossibility. “There truly was no one like them,” she said through tears. Their parents’ final act, however unthinkable, stemmed from a desperation few outsiders grasped.
As investigations continue — autopsies pending, notes analyzed, timelines reconstructed — the nation grapples with uncomfortable truths. How many more families are silently crumbling? How many warning signs — subtle withdrawals, funding battles, exhausted glances — go unheeded until homes fall silent forever?
Prayers flood in for Leon, Otis, Mai, and Jarrod — a family whose love was immense, whose struggles were crushing, and whose story now demands change before another tragedy claims the unseen.
