A 42-year-old mother took the life of her 11-year-old daughter, who had severe disabilities, before ending her own life in what police have described as a “tragic and deeply distressing” case. The incident occurred in a quiet residential area of Greater Manchester on the evening of January 17, 2026. Emergency services were called to the property after a concerned relative raised the alarm when the pair failed to answer calls or appear for a scheduled medical appointment the following morning.
Upon entry, officers discovered the bodies of both mother and daughter. The child, who had been diagnosed with profound physical and learning disabilities since infancy, was found in her specially adapted bedroom. A handwritten note was discovered on the bedside table, addressed to family members and written in the mother’s hand. The contents, revealed during the initial coroner’s inquest opening on January 20, read in part: “I can’t watch her suffer anymore. I’m taking her with me so she won’t be alone. I’m sorry. I love you all.”
The note continued with instructions for the care of family pets, the location of important documents, and a plea that the children’s younger sibling (a non-disabled younger brother who was staying with relatives at the time) be told “Mummy and sister are together now and not in pain.” Police have confirmed the note was written in the hours leading up to the deaths, and forensic analysis has ruled out third-party involvement. The mother died by ligature strangulation; the child is believed to have been administered a fatal dose of prescription medication before the mother took her own life.
The case has reignited painful national conversations about the support available to families caring for children with profound disabilities. The daughter had required round-the-clock care, including tube feeding, regular hospital visits, and specialized equipment. Friends of the family described the mother as “completely devoted,” rarely leaving the house except for medical appointments, and often exhausted but never complaining publicly. “She lived for that girl,” one neighbor told reporters. “You could see it in every single thing she did. She was terrified of what would happen if she wasn’t there anymore.”
Social services had been involved with the family for several years, providing respite care and support packages, but records show the mother had recently declined additional overnight help, insisting she wanted to remain the primary caregiver. In the weeks leading up to the tragedy, she had confided in a close friend that she feared the system would “take her daughter away” if she admitted how overwhelmed she felt. That fear—of losing control, of her child being placed in residential care—appears to have been a central factor in her thinking.
The father of the children, who had separated from the mother several years earlier but remained involved in their lives, has been left devastated. He released a short statement through his solicitor: “My daughter was my world. My son has lost his mother and his sister. There are no words for this pain. We are broken, but we will protect our boy and keep his sister’s memory alive.”
The tragedy has prompted renewed calls for reform in how the UK supports families with disabled children. Charities including Mencap, Contact, and Scope have issued joint statements urging the government to increase funding for respite care, mental health support for carers, and emergency crisis intervention for parents at breaking point. “Too many families are left to cope in isolation,” a spokesperson said. “When a parent reaches the point of believing death is the only way to protect their child from suffering, the system has already failed them both.”
The coroner has opened an inquest but adjourned proceedings pending further investigation, including a full review of the family’s interaction with health and social services. Police have stressed that no criminal charges will be brought against any third party, describing the case as one of profound sadness rather than malice.
In the days following the deaths, a makeshift memorial grew outside the family home—teddy bears, flowers, candles, and handwritten notes from neighbors and strangers alike. One message left by a local mother read: “I’ve been there—feeling like I’m drowning. I wish I’d knocked on your door. I’m so sorry.” Another, from a young woman who had been the daughter’s occasional respite carer: “You were the bravest, happiest girl. I’ll never forget your smile.”
Online, the story has generated thousands of comments, many from parents of disabled children sharing their own struggles with exhaustion, guilt, and fear of the future. Support groups have reported a surge in calls from carers feeling overwhelmed, with many saying the case has forced them to confront feelings they had kept hidden.
For the surviving younger brother, now living with close relatives, the road ahead will be long. Family members say he asks for his mother and sister daily, sometimes drawing pictures of them together “in the sky.” The sister’s final words in her note—“Tell him I love him and I’m sorry”—have become a mantra for the family as they try to rebuild a shattered life.
This is not a story of evil or malice. It is a story of despair so deep that a mother believed the only way to end her child’s suffering was to end both their lives. It is a story of a system that, despite its best intentions, sometimes leaves the most vulnerable families to carry unbearable weight alone. And it is a story of love—fierce, protective, and ultimately tragic—that refused to let a child face pain without her mother by her side.
As the inquest continues and the community mourns, one truth remains painfully clear: behind every statistic about carer burnout and underfunded disability services are real families, real parents, and real children whose stories deserve to be heard before it is too late.
