There’s a moment in every true crime story when tragedy ceases to be a headline and becomes deeply, uncomfortably real. For anyone following the case of Monique and Spencer Tepe, that moment came on a cold morning in Columbus, Ohio, when two children were found alive in their home, orphaned by an act of violence that stunned their community and sent shockwaves far beyond state lines.

The details are as haunting as they are heartbreaking. On December 30th, 2025, Spencer Tepe—a respected dentist—never showed up for work. His absence was so out of character that, by 9 a.m., his boss was calling for a wellness check. What followed was a series of frantic calls, a misdirected officer, and finally, a friend who, peering through a window, saw the body of a loved one near the bed. By the time police entered the right house, the reality was undeniable: Spencer and his wife Monique had been shot to death, their one-year-old son and four-year-old daughter left physically unharmed but forever changed.

In the hours and days that followed, the investigation quickly zeroed in on Monique’s ex-husband, Michael McKee. The arrest came in Illinois, where McKee—a vascular surgeon—was living and working, his credentials and reputation seemingly at odds with the horror of the crime. The hospital that employed him moved swiftly, erasing his profile and distancing itself from the man now facing two counts of aggravated murder. As the charges were upgraded, signaling a belief by prosecutors that this was a premeditated act, the public’s questions grew louder. How does a man who saves lives become accused of taking them? And could a grudge really simmer for nearly a decade, erupting in violence after so many years?

For those closest to Monique and Spencer, the answer was never in doubt. Family members described Michael as emotionally abusive, a man whose anger and need for control didn’t end with divorce. In fact, as one relative put it, “The marriage was short. The harassment wasn’t.” It’s a chilling summary that speaks to the persistence of obsession, the way some wounds refuse to heal, and the danger that can lurk long after a relationship ends.

The psychology behind such cases is complex, but not uncommon. Dr. John Matias, a criminal psychologist, breaks it down with a clarity born of years working with both offenders and victims. He explains that the greatest risk for violence in domestic relationships often comes in the months immediately following a separation. But there’s a subset of cases where the threat never truly fades—where stalking, harassment, and resentment can continue for years, sometimes culminating in acts of violence long after most would expect the danger to have passed.

At the heart of these tragedies is a profound struggle with dependency and identity. Human beings, Dr. Matias notes, are born helpless, dependent on others for survival. This dependency shapes our relationships throughout life, creating a tension between autonomy and belonging. In healthy families, children learn to navigate this balance, growing into independent adults. But when dependency is denied or twisted—when vulnerability is shamed and weakness is forbidden—it can set the stage for future problems, including the toxic dynamics that lead to domestic violence.

For men like Michael McKee, the need for control can become all-consuming. In relationships, especially after major commitments like marriage, the drive to dominate can intensify. The distinction between self and other blurs; the partner becomes an extension of the abuser, their autonomy a threat to the abuser’s fragile sense of self. When rejection or abandonment occurs, the response is often not acceptance but escalation—an obsessive need to regain control, to exact revenge, to reclaim what was “lost.”

Jealousy and entitlement play powerful roles in this narrative. Research has shown that many domestic violence homicides are precipitated by accusations of infidelity, unilateral decisions to terminate the relationship, or a generalized inability to control the partner. The sense of ownership—what some scholars call “proprietariness”—can drive abusers to extremes, their identity so entwined with their partner that losing them feels like losing themselves.

In the Tepe case, these dynamics are painfully evident. Monique left Michael with the help of her family, taking steps to protect her privacy and safety. She moved on, found love again, and built a new life with Spencer. Yet, according to friends and family, the harassment never stopped. There were threats, rumors of violence, and a restraining order—on paper, nothing extraordinary, but in context, deeply troubling.

The role of stalking as a precursor to homicide cannot be overstated. Studies show that in many cases, stalking continues for years after a relationship ends, with victims living under a constant cloud of fear and uncertainty. For abusers, the obsession can become a way of life, fueled by jealousy, shame, and the inability to cope with rejection. The cycle of rumination and grievance grows, sometimes leading to the belief that only a final, violent act can restore a sense of power.

What makes this case even more disturbing is the contrast between Michael’s public persona and the allegations against him. On social media, former classmates and family members described him as kind, gifted, and hardworking—a man who excelled academically and athletically, who saved lives as a surgeon. The disconnect between this image and the reality of the charges is a stark reminder that abusers often wear masks, presenting themselves as caring and competent while hiding a very different side from the world.

It’s a narrative that challenges the assumptions many hold about domestic violence. Victims are often blamed, their choices questioned, their self-esteem scrutinized. But as Dr. Matias and other experts emphasize, abuse is not a reflection of the victim’s worth or judgment. Abusers choose their actions; they wear masks, manipulate perceptions, and lure their partners with charm and kindness before revealing their true nature. The responsibility lies with the perpetrator, not the victim.

Monique did everything right. She left, sought support, prioritized her children’s safety, and rebuilt her life. Yet, despite her efforts, she could not escape the shadow of her ex-husband’s obsession. The tragedy that befell her and Spencer is a testament to the persistence of unresolved rage, the dangers of unchecked entitlement, and the ways in which trauma can echo across years and lives.

For the children left behind, the impact is immeasurable. Physically unharmed but emotionally scarred, they will grow up with questions that may never be fully answered. The loss of both parents is a wound that cannot be explained away, a reality that will shape their lives in ways no one can predict. The Tepe family, in their public statements, have expressed gratitude for the support they’ve received and a commitment to surround and protect the children as they move forward.

As Michael McKee awaits extradition and trial, the community is left to grapple with the aftermath. Evidence will surface—phone records, surveillance footage, forensic reports—offering more clarity but no comfort. The process of seeking justice is underway, but for those who loved Monique and Spencer, the pain is fresh and raw.

In reflecting on this case, it’s impossible not to consider the broader implications. Domestic violence knows no boundaries—no profession, social status, or level of education offers immunity. The mask of respectability can hide deep wounds and dangerous impulses, making it all the more important to challenge assumptions and support victims without judgment.

The story of Monique and Spencer Tepe is a reminder of the need for vigilance, compassion, and accountability. It is a call to recognize the signs of obsession and control, to take threats seriously, and to shift the narrative away from victim-blaming and toward understanding the complex dynamics at play. For every tragedy like this, there are countless others that go unreported, unrecognized, and unresolved.

As the new year begins, there is a sense of movement toward justice, a hope that the truth will emerge and that those responsible will be held accountable. But there is also a profound sadness—a recognition that, for two beautiful children, the world has changed forever, and that the legacy of violence will not be easily erased.

In the end, the case of Monique and Spencer Tepe is not just a story of loss, but of resilience. It is a testament to the strength of those who seek to protect and support victims, to the importance of community, and to the enduring power of love in the face of unimaginable pain. As the investigation continues and the legal process unfolds, their memory remains at the center of the hearts of those who knew them, a beacon of hope and a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, compassion and justice must prevail.