In the quiet hum of a Saturday night in Philadelphia’s Mount Airy neighborhood, the streets of the 8300 block of Rodney Street were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and the occasional flicker of porch lights. It was October 4, 2025, a crisp autumn evening where the leaves whispered secrets to the wind, and families settled into their routines. For Kim Matthews, that routine included waving goodbye to her 23-year-old daughter, Kada Scott, as she headed out the door for her overnight shift at a nearby assisted living facility. Kada, with her infectious smile and boundless energy, kissed her mother on the cheek, promised to text when she arrived, and drove off into the night. It was supposed to be just another shift—just another night in the life of a young woman chasing her dreams in the City of Brotherly Love.
But Kada never made it home. Her phone went silent. Her social media froze in time. And in the days that followed, a chilling detail emerged from whispers among friends: Kada had confided that she was being harassed—relentless, unnerving calls from an unknown voice that had begun to shadow her every step. What started as a vague unease has spiraled into a full-blown mystery, gripping Philadelphia and beyond. As of October 11, 2025, one week after her disappearance, Kada Scott remains missing, her absence a gaping wound in the hearts of her family and a puzzle that has police scouring wooded arboretums and pleading for the public’s help. This is the story of a vibrant life interrupted, a young woman’s vanishing act that defies explanation, and the desperate search to bring her home.
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Kada Scott, 23, was last seen leaving her job in Philadelphia on October 4, 2025. Her family describes her as energetic and full of dreams.
To understand the void left by Kada’s disappearance, one must first know the woman she was—a beacon of ambition and warmth in a world that often feels too hurried to notice. Born and raised in the diverse, resilient fabric of Northwest Philadelphia, Kada Scott was the kind of daughter who lit up rooms without trying. At 5 feet 6 inches tall, with a slender 120-pound frame, striking brown eyes, and long black hair that framed her radiant face, she carried herself with the poise of someone who had already conquered small battles and eyed bigger horizons. Friends remember her as the one organizing impromptu game nights or hyping up the group chat with motivational quotes. “Kada was always the glue,” one close friend shared anonymously in the early days of the search, her voice cracking over a phone line to local reporters. “She’d drop everything to help you chase a dream or just laugh through the tough stuff.”
Education was Kada’s launchpad. A proud graduate of Penn State University, she had immersed herself in business courses, her mind buzzing with entrepreneurial fire. Classmates recall her pitching ideas for a sustainable beauty line during late-night study sessions—products that empowered women of color, drawing from her own experiences navigating the pageant world. Yes, Kada had dipped her toes into the glitz of beauty contests, competing as a teen and young adult in local pageants that honed her confidence and public speaking skills. It wasn’t just about the crowns; for Kada, it was about representation, about showing little girls in Philly that they could dream loud and unapologetically. “She wanted to build something real,” her father, Kevin Scott, would later tell reporters, his voice thick with pride and pain. “A business that lifted others up, just like she did every day.”
Work, too, reflected Kada’s nurturing spirit. Just months before her vanishing, she had landed a role as a caregiver at The Terrace at Chestnut Hill, a serene assisted living community nestled on East Abington Avenue in the upscale Chestnut Hill enclave. The job wasn’t glamorous—overnight shifts from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m., tending to the needs of elderly residents who relied on her gentle touch and reassuring words. But Kada thrived there. Colleagues described her as empathetic, the one who remembered birthdays and coaxed smiles from the most withdrawn souls. “She had this light,” a coworker told investigators, as quoted in early police briefings. “You could hear her laughter echoing down the halls at 2 a.m.” The facility, operated by Bridge Senior Living, issued a somber statement in the wake of her disappearance: “We take our associates’ safety and wellbeing very seriously and are fully cooperating with law enforcement’s efforts to locate Ms. Scott. Our thoughts are with her and her family.”
Kada’s home life was her anchor. As the oldest daughter in a close-knit family, she shared a deep bond with her mother, Kim Matthews, a woman whose own strength had weathered life’s storms. Kim, who worked long hours to keep the household afloat, often turned to Kada for advice on everything from recipes to résumés. Father Kevin Scott, a steady presence despite the family’s challenges, doted on his girl with quiet affection—weekend barbecues in the backyard, drives through Fairmount Park where they’d debate the Eagles’ latest plays. Siblings trailed in her wake, idolizing the big sister who taught them to tie their shoes and dream beyond the block. Life wasn’t perfect; Philadelphia’s economic pressures meant scraped-together holidays and the occasional frayed nerve. But Kada was the optimist, the one who posted sunlit selfies on Instagram with captions like “Turning obstacles into opportunities #PhillyStrong.” Her feed was a mosaic of ambition: graduation photos in Nittany Lion blue, pageant gowns shimmering under stage lights, and candid shots of her volunteering at local food drives.
Yet, beneath this portrait of promise, shadows had begun to creep in. In the week leading up to October 4, Kada’s demeanor shifted ever so slightly—a hesitation in her laugh, a glance over her shoulder when her phone buzzed. She confided in friends during coffee runs and late-night texts: unknown numbers lighting up her screen with calls that left her unsettled. “Harassing,” she called them, the word slipping out like a reluctant confession. Details were sparse—no names, no specific threats—but the persistence unnerved her. One friend recalled a group hangout at a Mt. Airy café, where Kada silenced her phone mid-conversation. “She said it was some creep who wouldn’t stop calling,” the friend told ABC6 Action News, her eyes wide with hindsight’s horror. “We told her to block them, report it. She laughed it off, but I could see it bothered her.”
Experts in stalking and cyber-harassment would later weigh in on the red flags. Dr. Elizabeth Klein, a forensic psychologist specializing in missing persons cases at the University of Pennsylvania, notes that such incidents often escalate quietly. “Harassment via phone starts as annoyance but can erode a victim’s sense of safety,” Klein explained in a recent interview with local media. “Young women like Kada—independent, socially active—are prime targets. The lack of immediate action, like changing numbers, is common; victims downplay it to avoid burdening loved ones.” In Kada’s case, the calls came from blocked or unfamiliar numbers, making traceability a nightmare. Philadelphia Police Captain John Craig of the Northwest Detectives Division addressed this at a press conference on October 8: “Days prior to her disappearance, Miss Scott related to family and friends that unknown individuals or person had been harassing her via phone. We’re investigating that. We’re trying to learn more.”
Kim Matthews would corroborate the story, her voice trembling in a CBS Philadelphia interview. “She did mention it to them, but didn’t give any names or anything like that,” Kim said, clutching a photo of Kada from better days. “So we’re trying to piece it together to find out exactly who these people are.” The harassment wasn’t just a footnote; it loomed like a storm cloud over what should have been an ordinary Saturday. As Kada kissed her mother goodbye that evening, did the weight of those calls press on her chest? Did she sense the darkness gathering?
The night of October 4 unfolded like a script from a thriller—deceptively mundane at first, then unraveling into nightmare. Around 9 p.m., Kada pulled into the parking lot of The Terrace at Chestnut Hill, her reliable sedan humming to a stop under the facility’s welcoming lights. Dressed in her standard black scrubs, iPhone tucked in her pocket alongside keys, iPad, and Apple Watch, she clocked in for the graveyard shift. Coworkers later told police she seemed her usual self—chatty, focused, exchanging pleasantries about the weekend ahead. But something shifted. At approximately 9:45 p.m., less than an hour into her shift, Kada stepped out for what she described as a quick break. She didn’t return.
Surveillance footage from the facility was a dead end; the Terrace lacks cameras in key areas, a detail that has frustrated investigators. What police pieced together from witness statements painted a fragmented picture: Kada walked toward the edge of the lot, perhaps to make a call or catch her breath in the cool air. Her car remained parked, engine cold, doors unlocked. By 10:30 p.m., colleagues noticed her absence. Texts went unanswered; calls rang into voicemail. Kim, back home on Rodney Street, began dialing around midnight. “Straight to voicemail,” she recounted, the memory still raw. “I thought maybe she was busy, helping a resident. But as the hours ticked by…” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy.
Dawn broke on October 5 with no sign of Kada. Kim, sleepless and gut-sick, drove to the facility herself. The car was there—keys in the ignition, purse inside, everything intact save for Kada. Panic set in. By midday, the family filed a missing person report with Philadelphia Police’s 14th District. “She’s my oldest daughter,” Kevin Scott told arriving officers, his composure cracking. “I love her. These last few days have been crazy. Head spinning. Trying to figure out what’s going on.” The report triggered an immediate response: K-9 units sniffed the parking lot, helicopters thumped overhead, canvassing the leafy streets of Chestnut Hill. But the trail went cold. Kada’s phone, powered off or destroyed, yielded no pings. Her social media—once alive with stories of coffee runs and career musings—fell silent, a digital ghost town.
As the sun set on the first full day of her absence, the Scott family transformed grief into action. Kim and Kevin printed flyers emblazoned with Kada’s beaming photo: “MISSING: Kada Scott, 23. Last seen 10/4/25. Call 215-686-TIPS.” They blanketed Mt. Airy—taping them to lampposts, pressing them into neighbors’ hands at block parties turned somber. Community members rallied, organizing searches along East Abington Avenue, where the facility’s manicured lawns abut wilder green spaces. “It’s out of character,” Kim pleaded to a growing cluster of reporters. “I just need her to come home and be safe. That’s what I fear—she’s not safe.”
Word spread like wildfire on social media, Philadelphia’s digital town square. Hashtags #FindKada and #KadaScott trended locally on X (formerly Twitter), with posts from influencers and everyday users amplifying the call. One viral thread from reporter Cheyenne Corin captured the urgency: “MISSING WOMAN 🚨 23 y/o Kada Scott was last seen just after 10pm Saturday night. She reportedly left her job early… Police say they see signs she isn’t ‘voluntarily missing.'” Another user, @prettynoirx, shared Kada’s photo with a stark plea: “MISSING: 23-year old Kada Scott… Police say she received harassing phone calls… If you know anything, please call Philly PD!” By midweek, the buzz had reached national outlets, with People magazine running the haunting headline that echoes Kada’s final warnings.
The Philadelphia Police Department, no strangers to the city’s underbelly of unsolved vanishings, treated Kada’s case with urgency from the jump. Northwest Detectives, under Capt. John Craig, dove deep: interviewing coworkers, subpoenaing phone records, sifting through Kada’s online footprint for digital breadcrumbs. “You have a 23-year-old young lady who has completely disappeared,” Craig said at the October 8 press conference, his tone measured but grave. “We have no cell phone activity or social media activity and she’s not reached out to family or friends.” The harassment angle became a focal point—detectives traced the unknown numbers, but blocked callers proved elusive. “No matter what information you have, think of it as a possible piece of a large jigsaw puzzle,” Craig urged the public. “If there’s 100 pieces to a puzzle, you may think yours is insignificant, but without your piece, that jigsaw puzzle is not being solved.”
By Thursday, October 9, frustration mounted. Searches expanded to nearby parks and transit hubs, with volunteers combing the Wissahickon Valley’s trails. Then, on Friday the 10th, a breakthrough—or at least a lead—emerged. Evidence, details of which police withheld to protect the investigation, directed teams to Awbury Arboretum, a sprawling 55-acre oasis in East Germantown, roughly three miles southeast down Stenton Avenue from The Terrace. As dawn broke, a dozen detectives cordoned off the entrance on the 1100 block of East Washington Lane. K-9 units plunged into the wooded thickets, their handlers calling commands amid rustling leaves. New police cadets, fresh-faced and determined, fanned out with flashlights and rakes, scouring fences and underbrush.
Deputy Commissioner Frank Vanore addressed the media scrum, his words landing like stones in still water. “We certainly see some signs that this person wasn’t voluntarily missing,” he said, gesturing to the arboretum’s dense foliage. “Evidence in the case has led us here… It’s all wooded area mostly. There’s a lot of fences and activity going on in there, so it wasn’t very easy to search with just a few detectives.” Vanore didn’t confirm foul play outright—”We don’t know if foul play was involved”—but the implications hung heavy. Kada, a self-described “social media person,” vanishing without a trace? Leaving her car, her lifeline to home? The phone silenced, the harassment unaddressed? “Any young people today—they can’t live without having that phone in their hand,” Vanore added. “Left her car behind. It’s certainly something that’s not usual for someone who’s missing voluntarily.”
The arboretum search yielded no immediate breakthroughs—no clothing fibers, no personal items—but it underscored the case’s “troubling” nature. Investigators theorized Kada might have walked or been picked up along Stenton Avenue, a bustling corridor linking Chestnut Hill to Germantown. Interviews with persons of interest continued, though none named publicly. The harassment suspect remained a ghost; phone forensics dragged on, complicated by the victim’s device being offline.
Kada’s family, meanwhile, clung to slivers of hope amid the agony. Kim Matthews hadn’t eaten properly in days, her sleep fractured by nightmares of what-ifs. “Please come home,” she begged in an NBC10 interview, tears carving paths down her cheeks. “I’m so scared and I love you… Something is out of place. She would never do something like this.” Kevin echoed the sentiment, his father’s resolve hardening into resolve. “I never went through this before,” he told CBS reporters outside the family home. “Trying to remain, keep my composure, hoping everything works out. I just want her back. It’s my daughter. We’re all concerned… Just want her back as soon as possible, make sure she’s safe, want her back home.” Siblings and extended kin formed a prayer circle on Rodney Street, candles flickering against the encroaching dusk. “We’re sick to our stomachs,” Kevin admitted, but defiance flickered in his eyes. “Kada’s a fighter. Wherever she is, she’s fighting.”
Philadelphia’s missing persons epidemic adds a layer of heartbreak to Kada’s story. The city logs over 300 such reports annually, with Black women disproportionately affected—a statistic that advocacy groups like Black and Missing Foundation decry as “modern-day disappearances in plain sight.” Kada fits a haunting profile: young, Black, upwardly mobile, targeted by an unseen predator. “These cases often involve intimate partner violence or stranger stalking,” says Malikah Donaldson, founder of Philly’s grassroots group Mothers in Charge. “The harassment Kada reported? That’s a classic escalation point. We need more resources—tech to trace calls, education on red flags.” Donaldson’s organization has joined the fray, hosting vigils and tip lines, their mantra: “No one forgotten, no case closed.”
Yet, amid the statistics, Kada’s narrative pulses with individuality. Her entrepreneurial spark—ideas scribbled in journals for a beauty brand celebrating natural curls and unfiltered joy—reminds us of futures stolen too soon. Friends scroll her last posts, frozen in time: a selfie from a Penn State tailgate, caption “Living my best life #NittanyPride.” What dreams were blooming in her mind that final night? What song played on her drive to work?
As October 11 dawns, the search presses on. Police urge tips to 215-686-TIPS (8477) or anonymous online submissions at phillypolice.com. Flyers blanket bus stops; X threads swell with shares. The Terrace at Chestnut Hill stands quiet, a sentinel to unanswered questions. For Kim, Kevin, and a city holding its breath, every ring of the tip line is a lifeline. Kada Scott isn’t just a missing person—she’s a daughter, a dreamer, a light snuffed out in the night.
Will the harassment lead to a culprit? Did the arboretum hide clues in its shadows? Or is Kada out there, waiting for the world to find her? One thing is certain: in Philadelphia’s unyielding spirit, the hunt won’t stop. Bring Kada home. Her story demands it.
