In a quiet Ohio neighborhood still wrapped in grief, a four-year-old girl stood at the front of a small memorial service and said goodbye to both of her parents—Spencer Tepe and Monique Tepe—who were taken from her in a sudden and violent act on December 30, 2025. The little girl, whose name the family has chosen to keep private to protect her, clutched a single white rose as she looked at the two framed photographs placed side by side. She didn’t speak long words or make long speeches. She simply whispered, “I love you, Mommy. I love you, Daddy. See you soon,” before placing the rose between the pictures and stepping back into the arms of her grandmother.
That single moment—tiny, fragile, impossibly brave—has become the emotional center of a tragedy that has gripped central Ohio and reached far beyond. Spencer Tepe, a 37-year-old dentist known for his gentle chairside manner and genuine care for patients, and Monique Tepe, a devoted stay-at-home mother who filled her days with crafts, laughter, and endless love for her children, were found shot to death in their home in the early morning hours. Their two children—the four-year-old daughter and a one-year-old son—were unharmed but left orphaned in an instant.
The suspect, Michael David McKee, Monique’s ex-husband from a brief first marriage, was arrested days later in Illinois and now faces multiple counts of aggravated murder. Investigators believe the attack was targeted and premeditated, rooted in long-simmering resentment that never fully disappeared after the divorce. The horror of the crime is almost too much to bear, yet in its aftermath, the story has shifted from darkness to something luminous: the unbreakable bond of family and the way love refuses to be extinguished even when lives are stolen.
A close family member, speaking on behalf of the grieving relatives, shared a quiet but powerful truth after the memorial: “Their love and spirit shine through her.” The four-year-old girl, they said, has begun repeating phrases her mother used to say—little songs, silly nicknames, gentle reminders to “be kind and be brave.” She carries her father’s habit of humming while she plays and insists on brushing her teeth the exact way he taught her. “It’s like they left pieces of themselves inside her,” the relative said. “Every time she smiles, laughs, or helps her little brother, we see them both. They’re gone from our arms, but they’re still right here.”
The community has rallied around the children in ways both large and small. A GoFundMe started by close friends has raised over $800,000 to cover immediate needs, future education, therapy, and a trust to ensure stability. Neighbors have organized meal trains, childcare rotations, and quiet moments of support so the grandmother and aunt who are now primary caregivers are never alone. Teachers at the preschool the four-year-old attends have created a memory box filled with drawings, notes, and tiny keepsakes so she can hold onto her parents whenever she needs them.
Friends of Spencer and Monique have shared countless stories that paint a vivid picture of two people who lived with open hearts. Spencer was the dentist who stayed late to finish a child’s filling even when he was exhausted, who remembered every patient’s name and favorite sports team. Monique was the mother who turned ordinary days into magic—baking themed cupcakes for no reason, building blanket forts on rainy afternoons, and always making sure her children knew they were her entire world. Together they created a home filled with music, laughter, and love so deep that even tragedy cannot erase its echo.
The little girl’s goodbye has become a symbol for the entire grieving community. At the memorial, dozens of white roses were placed around the photographs—each one carried forward by someone who loved the couple. When the service ended, the four-year-old walked back to the front alone, picked up one more rose, and laid it gently on top of the others. Then she turned to the crowd and said, in the clearest, strongest voice a four-year-old can muster: “Mommy and Daddy are still watching. They told me to be happy.”
Those six words silenced the room. Grown men wept openly. Women held each other. Even the minister paused, visibly moved, before quietly saying, “And so they are.”
Grief experts say that young children often process loss differently from adults—they speak in simple truths, hold memories in small rituals, and find comfort in believing their loved ones are still near. The Tepe family has leaned into that instinct, surrounding the children with stories, photos, and traditions that keep Spencer and Monique present. They light a candle every evening and tell one happy memory before bed. They keep Spencer’s favorite playlist playing softly in the background. They let the little girl wear one of Monique’s soft cardigans when she feels scared. These small acts are building a bridge between what was and what will be.
The outpouring of support has been overwhelming. Local businesses have offered free counseling sessions, schools have set up grief support groups for children, and complete strangers have sent letters and cards addressed simply to “The Tepe Children.” One card, written in a child’s handwriting, read: “I’m six. I lost my grandpa last year. It still hurts but it gets softer. Your mommy and daddy are your angels now. They’re the best kind.”
As the legal process moves forward and the community continues to grieve, the focus remains firmly on the children. The four-year-old girl who said goodbye with such quiet courage has become a living reminder that love does not end when breathing stops. It changes shape. It lives in memories, in stories, in the way a child hums her father’s tune or whispers her mother’s words. It shines through her.
Spencer and Monique Tepe are gone, but their love is not. It is carried forward in the heartbeat of a little girl who still feels them near. And in the hearts of everyone who has witnessed her strength, their legacy endures—quiet, resilient, and impossibly bright.
