“Please.” It was the last utterance of Monique Tepe, a devoted mother and wife, as she fell mortally wounded in her own home. According to investigators, that plea was directed at her attacker – a desperate, final beg to spare her two young children hiding nearby. “She saved them,” one detective stated plainly after interrogating the suspect, encapsulating a mother’s ultimate act of love in the face of unimaginable terror. What unfolded in the Tepe family home in late December 2025 was not just a double homicide; it was a chilling domestic-violence-fueled tragedy that left two small children orphaned yet physically unharmed, thanks to the fierce protection of their parents. This is the story of Monique and Spencer Tepe – their final moments, the suspect’s alleged rampage, and the lingering questions that haunt a grieving family and a stunned city. Prepare to be gripped, because this tale of heroism amid horror will stay with you long after you’ve finished reading.
The Tepe household on the outskirts of Columbus was the picture of suburban success. Dr. Spencer Tepe, a respected local dentist in his mid-40s, had built a thriving practice known for gentle care and community involvement. Patients remembered him as the doctor who always asked about their kids’ soccer games or school projects. Monique, 42, was the heart of the home – a former teacher turned full-time mom who volunteered at school events, baked cookies for fundraisers, and filled their house with laughter. Their two children, a 7-year-old daughter and a 5-year-old son, were the center of their world. Family photos shared by friends show beach vacations, birthday parties, and everyday moments of joy – the kind that make you believe in happy endings.
That illusion shattered on a cold December evening in 2025. Police have not released the exact date publicly to protect the ongoing investigation, but neighbors recall hearing what they thought were fireworks or a car backfiring around 9 p.m. What they didn’t know was that inside the Tepe residence, a nightmare was unfolding. According to Columbus Division of Police homicide detectives, the intruder – now identified as Michael David McKee, Monique’s ex-husband from a previous marriage – forced entry into the home. McKee, a Chicago-area dentist himself, had a documented history of threats against Monique, including alleged statements that he would “kill her many times” over the years, per court records and police affidavits.
The attack was swift and brutal. Spencer Tepe was shot multiple times in the entryway or living room, his body later found in a pool of blood as he attempted to shield his family. Monique, hearing the chaos, confronted the intruder. Witnesses – or rather, the forensic reconstruction – paint a harrowing picture: Monique positioning herself between the attacker and where her children had hidden, perhaps in a closet or upstairs bedroom. As she fell after being shot once in the chest, she managed to gasp out “Please” – a single, powerful word that investigators believe was a direct plea: “Please don’t hurt my kids.” The attacker, according to police statements released after McKee’s arrest, did not pursue the children further. Instead, he fled the scene, leaving the young ones crying but alive. “She saved them,” a lead investigator told reporters off-record, the words carrying the weight of both tragedy and quiet admiration.
First responders arrived within minutes of neighbor 911 calls reporting gunshots and screams. Paramedics pronounced Spencer dead at the scene; Monique was rushed to Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center but succumbed to her injuries shortly after arrival. The children, discovered by officers huddled together, were physically unharmed but deeply traumatized. Child protective services and specially trained victim advocates took immediate custody, ensuring they were placed with trusted relatives. “They were crying for Mommy and Daddy,” one first responder later shared anonymously. “We just held them until family arrived.”
The investigation moved with remarkable speed. Surveillance footage from neighborhood Ring cameras captured a vehicle matching McKee’s fleeing the area minutes after the shootings. License plate readers and traffic cams traced the path northward toward the Ohio-Illinois border. Within 48 hours, Chicago police, acting on a Columbus-issued warrant, located McKee at his residence in the suburbs. He was taken into custody without incident, though reports indicate he was hospitalized briefly for what authorities described as a “self-inflicted injury” during or after the confrontation – fueling speculation of an attempted murder-suicide that failed when he chose flight over finality.
McKee, 45, faces two counts of aggravated murder, felony kidnapping charges related to the home invasion, and weapons violations. Prosecutors are pursuing death penalty specifications, citing the premeditated nature and the presence of minor children. Court documents unsealed in Franklin County Common Pleas Court reveal a toxic backstory: Monique and McKee’s marriage ended acrimoniously years earlier, with allegations of controlling behavior, stalking, and repeated threats. After the divorce, Monique rebuilt her life with Spencer, marrying in a small ceremony surrounded by loved ones. McKee, however, never fully accepted the new reality. Text messages and voicemails recovered from Monique’s phone allegedly show escalating harassment: “You’ll regret this,” “No one else can have you,” and more explicit threats. Police believe McKee tracked the family’s movements, possibly using shared-location apps from the children’s devices or private investigators.
What elevates this case beyond a standard domestic homicide is the raw heroism embedded in Monique’s final act. Forensic analysis of the crime scene – blood spatter patterns, positioning of bodies, and the children’s hiding spot – supports the narrative that Monique deliberately drew the attacker’s focus. “She didn’t run or hide,” a detective explained in a briefing. “She stood her ground to buy time.” In an era where true crime stories often focus on the perpetrator’s pathology, Monique’s story flips the script: a mother’s instinct overriding fear, turning a moment of vulnerability into one of profound courage.
The community response has been overwhelming. Vigils outside the Tepe dental practice drew hundreds, with patients and colleagues sharing memories under candlelight. “Spencer fixed my smile, but Monique fixed my heart,” one longtime patient said through tears. A GoFundMe for the children’s future education and therapy has surpassed $400,000, with donors from across the country contributing. Schools in the district implemented grief counseling sessions, and local therapists reported a surge in inquiries from parents seeking ways to talk to children about violence and safety.
Broader implications ripple outward. Ohio ranks high in domestic violence fatalities, with the Ohio Domestic Violence Network reporting over 60 intimate-partner-related homicides annually in recent years. Advocates point to gaps in protection orders, stalking laws, and firearm access for those with documented threats. Monique had reportedly sought a civil protection order in the past, but enforcement challenges – including cross-state jurisdiction – allowed tensions to fester. “This isn’t just one family’s tragedy,” said Sarah Lang, executive director of a Columbus women’s shelter. “It’s a wake-up call that we need stronger systems to intervene before pleas like ‘Please’ become last words.”
McKee’s defense team has remained largely silent, though preliminary hearings hinted at claims of diminished capacity or self-defense – assertions prosecutors have dismissed as baseless given the evidence. Ballistics confirmed the recovered firearm matched shell casings at the scene, and DNA from a hat left behind allegedly ties McKee directly to the intrusion. If convicted, he faces life without parole at minimum, or execution.
For the children, now living with extended family, the road to healing is long. Child psychologists emphasize the importance of routine, therapy, and honest age-appropriate conversations. “They witnessed unimaginable horror,” one expert noted, “but they also witnessed love – their parents’ final stand to protect them.” Family members describe the kids as resilient, clinging to photos and stuffed animals that belonged to their parents. “They ask when Mommy and Daddy are coming home,” an aunt shared. “We tell them they’re watching over you, always.”
As the case heads toward trial – expected in late 2026 – Columbus remembers Monique not as a victim statistic, but as a hero whose last breath was spent shielding her children. Her “Please” wasn’t weakness; it was power – the power of a mother’s love defying death itself. In a world often desensitized to violence, this story cuts through the noise, reminding us that courage can shine brightest in the darkest moments.
Yet questions linger, fueling late-night discussions in living rooms and online forums: How could threats escalate to this point without intervention? What signs were missed? And most hauntingly, what if one more protection order, one more wellness check, had changed everything?
For now, the Tepe children sleep under new roofs, surrounded by love but forever marked by loss. Their mother’s final word echoes as both plea and promise: Please – spare them. And in that single syllable, she ensured they would live to carry her memory forward.
The community holds candlelight vigils weekly, each flame a tribute to a life cut short and a love that refused to yield. As investigators prepare for trial, one truth stands unshakable: Monique Tepe didn’t just die protecting her children. She lived – and died – saving them.
In the quiet aftermath, her story demands we listen closer, act sooner, and never underestimate the ferocity of a parent’s heart. Because sometimes, the most powerful word in the English language is the last one spoken in defense of those you love most.
