Domestic violence is something I’ve experienced myself. Having two young sons while living through it, I spent years trying to shield them — to protect their innocence and keep them safe from something no child should ever see. That’s why this case sits so heavy on my heart.
The boys and I were lucky enough to walk away, but the thought that our story could have ended like this still makes me sick to think about. It’s a reality that lives quietly inside so many of us — survivors who know how close we came to being a headline instead of a heartbeat.
This isn’t my time to tell my full story, but rather to reflect on Susan and her sweet boys, who were all failed by the very systems meant to protect them. Especially those boys — taken from safety and handed back to the man who had already stolen their mother’s life. That failure is something no parent, no child, should ever have to endure.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing — that’s what an abuser often is. They appear calm, kind, respectable. Sometimes they’re even friends with police, or hold positions of power that make their victims seem “unstable” or “emotional.” But behind closed doors, they break spirits, silence voices, and destroy families while the world sees only their mask of normalcy.
For years, they’ve stayed involved in the legal battles and the media storm surrounding her case, refusing to let her story fade. Like a beacon of light from a lighthouse in a cold, foggy sea, they continue to stand firm — hopeful, steady, and praying for the day their daughter’s body is found and brought home.
They long for the moment Susan can finally rest beside her two beautiful boys, together in peace at last.
I’ve always been drawn to real stories — the ones that stick in your chest and don’t let go. But the story of Susan Powell hits differently. Maybe because I’m a parent. Maybe because I’ve seen how control and fear can hide behind a smile. Or maybe because it’s just one of those tragedies that reminds you how quickly “normal” can turn into a nightmare.
This isn’t just another true crime case to me — it’s a story about a woman who did everything right, who tried to protect her kids, and who saw the danger coming long before anyone else believed her. A few weeks after Susan went missing, her two-year-old son drew a picture at daycare — three people in a van. When the staff asked him who it was, he said softly, “Mommy was in the trunk.”
That one sentence says more than any police report ever could.
Susan was a 28-year-old woman from West Valley City, Utah — a full-time broker at Wells Fargo, married to Josh Powell, and mom to two little boys. On December 6, 2009, she vanished. One day she was at church with her kids, smiling, doing the normal mom thing. The next, she was gone. When Susan didn’t show up for work the next morning, people immediately knew something was wrong. She wasn’t the type to just disappear. Josh had an excuse ready: he said he’d taken the boys camping overnight. In the middle of a freezing Utah winter. On a school night.
Police quickly grew suspicious. They found Susan’s phone in Josh’s car — the SIM card had been removed. Inside, they also found shovels, tarps, gas canisters, and a generator. Not exactly camping gear for a family outing. Then came the most chilling discovery — a handwritten note Susan had hidden away: “If I die, it may not be an accident. Even if it looks like one.” That line alone makes your blood run cold.
Susan had been born on October 16, 1981, and married Josh in 2001. On the surface, they looked like any other young couple — new house, two kids, steady jobs. But behind closed doors, the marriage was unraveling. Josh was controlling, jealous, and financially reckless. He burned through their money, isolated her from loved ones, and seemed more obsessed with power than partnership. His father, Steven Powell, only added to the unease — a man whose later arrest would reveal an unhealthy and deeply disturbing obsession with Susan.
By 2008, Susan was documenting everything. She took photos of damage around the house and kept notes about her fights with Josh. She even wrote another letter, hidden in a safe deposit box: “He has threatened to skip the country and told me if we divorce there will be lawyers.”
When police entered the Powell home after she vanished, they found her purse, keys, and personal items still there. Two fans were blowing over a wet spot on the carpet. No forced entry. No signs of a break-in. Just that quiet, heavy sense that something awful had happened there. Three days later, they discovered blood containing Susan’s DNA on that same carpet. Then, on December 15, they found her hidden documents — written proof of her fear and her attempts to protect her children.
“I have been having extreme marital stress for 3–4 years now,” she wrote. “For mine and my children’s safety, I feel the need to have a paper trail.” And she did. She left her truth in writing because she knew someone might need it one day.
After Susan disappeared, Josh moved with his sons — Charlie and Braden — to Washington State to live with his father, Steven Powell. It didn’t take long before police found disturbing things there: Steven had secretly filmed and photographed women in his neighborhood, including Susan, through their windows. He kept personal items that belonged to her.
Josh’s behavior only grew stranger. He refused to cooperate with police, avoided interviews, and lawyered up fast. He even rented cars for random trips with hundreds of unexplained miles on them. The case remained open, but with no body and no confession, it stalled.
In 2011, custody of the boys was finally taken from Josh and granted to Susan’s parents, Chuck and Judy Cox, after investigators uncovered more of the Powell family’s dysfunction. Josh was given supervised visitation rights. The court believed it was safer that way.
Then came February 5, 2012 — the day that would end everything.
During a supervised visit, a social worker brought Charlie and Braden to Josh’s home in Graham, Washington. When they got to the door, Josh quickly pulled the boys inside and locked the social worker out. She called 911 immediately, panicked, saying she smelled gas and heard screaming.
Moments later, the house exploded. Josh had killed his two sons with a hatchet before igniting the fire that took all three of their lives. Even now, writing those words feels unbearable. It’s the kind of evil that’s hard to comprehend. A man so desperate for control that he destroyed the only innocent things left of the woman he’d already taken from the world.
Susan’s body has never been found. Her family still searches, still fights for her to be remembered for who she was — not just how she died. In 2015, Steven Powell, Josh’s father, was released from prison after serving time for voyeurism and possession of child pornography. He died three years later.
There are still theories about where Susan’s remains might be — abandoned mines, remote desert areas, places Josh was known to drive near the night she disappeared. But the truth is, we may never know. And yet, Susan’s story continues to resonate. Not because of the mystery, but because of the message she left behind: believe women when they say they’re afraid. She saw it coming. She did everything right. She spoke her truth in the only way she could — through letters, through fear, through a mother’s intuition that something terrible was waiting just ahead.
She didn’t just disappear. She was silenced. And what remains now are her words — the ones she left behind for the world to finally listen to. As heartbreaking as the ending was, it truly isn’t over. Not until Susan is brought home to her parents,Chuck and Judy Cox, in Puyallup, Washington — the same parents who have carried her memory with unwavering strength and grace, have her placed with her beautiful boys, and sadly both of her parents have passed now too, her mom in 2018 and her father in 2024. Truly that is the most peace I have felt over the case that they are all together now. Living in peace. There are people that still keep the hope that her remains will one day be found, the Redit thread is something to check out and come up with your own ideas. Rest peacefully Susan, you are with your loved ones, and we will keep your memory alive.
