Missy’s Final Cry — A Story That Should Have Changed Everything.2136

She was only five years old.

Five years — barely enough time to learn to tie her shoes, to count the stars, to spell her own name in pink crayon on the refrigerator door.

Her name was Melissa “Missy” Mogle, and she should have been chasing butterflies, not ghosts.
She should have been learning songs, not silence.
She should have been safe.

But on May 19, 2025, that safety ended.

When police entered the small house in Tallahassee that morning, they found Missy lying still on the floor.
Unresponsive.
Covered in bruises — dark, blooming marks on the fragile canvas of her skin.

The paramedics tried to revive her, but the light that once lived in her eyes had already faded.

She died later that day in the hospital.
She was five.

Missy’s story is one that should never have happened — a story of warnings ignored, of systems that looked away, and of a little girl’s cries that were never truly heard.

Her mother, Chloe Spencer, was only twenty-three.
Her stepfather, Daniel Spencer, thirty-five — a man already marked by a criminal past.
He had once been charged for attempting to meet a minor.

And yet, he lived in a home with a child.

When detectives searched their house, they uncovered what words can barely describe — footage from a security camera that turned a home into a place of horror.

The videos showed Daniel striking Missy, binding her small limbs, and suffocating her with bedding.
Traces of her blood were found on pillows, sheets, even on the walls.

In one video, Chloe — the woman who gave Missy life — was seen standing over her daughter, shoe in hand, ready to strike.

Later, she admitted she did.

But the tragedy didn’t begin that day.
It began much earlier.

A year before, in 2024, a hotline report accused Daniel of sexually abusing Missy

.
The Department of Children and Families investigated but claimed there was “insufficient probable cause.”

No charges were filed.
No follow-up was done.

And so, he stayed.
Living under the same roof.

Eating at the same table.
Tucking Missy into bed at night — or pretending to.

Friends and relatives saw the signs.
They called, they pleaded, they reported.
Bruises hidden under long sleeves.

Missy’s sudden silence.
Her flinching at loud voices.

But somehow, the urgency was always missing.
Paperwork piled up.
Calls went unanswered.
Visits were delayed.
And in that space between concern and action — a child slipped away.

Neighbors remember Missy as a quiet, curious girl.
She loved stuffed animals and coloring books.
Her favorite toy was a small white bunny she carried everywhere — its fur worn thin from countless hugs.

Sometimes, they’d see her on the porch, humming softly to herself.
Other times, they’d see her standing behind the window, eyes wide and distant, as if waiting for someone to come get her.

No one ever did.

The night before she died, neighbors heard shouting — the kind that makes the air thick with dread.
Then silence.
And then, nothing.

By morning, it was too late.

After her death, the outrage came like a wave.
Not just grief — fury.
People demanded answers:
How could a man with a known history of child exploitation live with a little girl?

How could previous reports be dismissed?
How could an entire system designed to protect children fail so completely?

Every report.
Every warning.
Every small voice that said “something’s not right.”

They were all there.
All ignored.

Now, Missy’s name joins a list that should never exist — a list of children failed by those meant to protect them.
Her death is not just a tragedy; it’s an indictment.

For every form unfiled, every call not returned, every meeting postponed, a piece of her story was lost — until the final one could no longer be ignored.

At her funeral, a tiny white coffin rested beneath a canopy of pink flowers.
A stuffed bunny lay beside her, the same one she used to clutch when she was scared.
Someone placed a note in her hand.
It read simply:
“You deserved better.”

And she did.

Missy’s story should haunt us — not to break us, but to remind us.
Every child deserves to be seen.
Every cry deserves to be heard.
Every warning deserves to be acted on.

Because silence kills.
And this time, it took a five-year-old girl whose only crime was trusting the wrong adults.

💔
May Missy rest in peace.
And may the world never look away again.

At Just Two Years Old, Jah’Siah Has Spent His Life on Dialysis and Needs a Miracle.1719

A mother’s warning carries a weight that no one can ignore.

Her baby boy is fighting for his life, and she is running out of options.

Two-year-old Jah’Siah Neal has never known a day of freedom from machines.

Since birth, he has been tethered to dialysis for 12 hours a day.

He was born with only one kidney, and now even that single kidney has failed.

What he faces today is end-stage kidney failure.

For most people, those words are medical terms.

For his mother, Shauntrice Boozer, they are a living nightmare.

She watches her little boy suffer every single day.

She watches him hooked up to tubes instead of playing with toys.

She watches him grow weaker when he should be growing stronger.

She sees the toll it takes on his small body, but also on the entire family.

And yet, she says, to most people, the trauma remains invisible.

No one sees the hours of dialysis that drain him.

No one sees the exhaustion in his tiny frame.

No one feels the ache of leaving him behind just to go to work and keep the lights on.

Shauntrice describes her reality in words no mother should ever have to write:

“I watch him be sick all day every day. I have to leave him and go to work to pay bills and afford gas to travel to appointments. I feel alone and hopeless. All I ask is that we be seen and heard.”

Her plea is raw.

Her heart is breaking.

And yet, she keeps showing up, every single day, because her son needs her strength.

Jah’Siah’s fight is not only against kidney failure.

It is against the silence that often surrounds families like his.

It is against the invisibility of illnesses that people do not understand.

And it is against the loneliness that comes when you feel forgotten.

But his mother will not allow him to be forgotten.

She is raising her voice for him.

She is begging for awareness, compassion, and help.

For Jah’Siah, a kidney donor could mean the difference between life and death.

Until then, dialysis is his lifeline.

Every day, twelve long hours, his body is connected to a machine that does the work his kidney cannot do.

For a two-year-old, that is not just medical care — it is a childhood stolen.

While other children are running and laughing, Jah’Siah is enduring endless hours of treatment.

While other toddlers explore the world with curiosity, his world is limited by hospital visits, pain, and fatigue.

And yet, despite it all, his spirit shines.

He is still a little boy who smiles, who loves, who deserves the chance to live a full life.

His mother’s greatest fear is not the exhaustion, not the financial strain, not even the long hours of dialysis.

Her greatest fear is losing him.

And so, she fights with every ounce of strength she has.

She goes to work, pays the bills, drives to appointments, and then comes home to sit by his side, watching him sleep, praying over him, hoping for a miracle.

She says she feels alone.

But she does not want to give up.

She just wants to be seen.

She just wants to be heard.

And she wants the world to know that her son matters.

That his life matters.

That this fight is not just statistics or numbers, but a little boy who deserves to grow up.

Jah’Siah’s story is a call for awareness.

It is a plea for kidney donors.

It is a reminder that behind every diagnosis is a child, a family, and a love so deep it will not stop fighting.

His mother asks us to lift him up in prayer.

To share his story.