7Hrs After He Traveled to Visit His Online GF, He Saw She Had No Limbs & Arms, Led to ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, WHY? | HO

I. The Flight That Changed Everything

On November 14th, 2024, Daniel Price boarded a morning flight from Dallas to Portland with the kind of anxious excitement that makes strangers smile at a man they’ve never met. He was 31 years old, freshly showered, wearing his nicest button-down shirt, and carrying, tucked carefully in his backpack, a velvet ring box he had purchased months earlier.

He was flying across the country to finally meet the woman he believed he loved — a woman he had spoken to almost every night for eighteen months.

Seven hours later, he would see her for the first time.

Seven hours after that, he would vanish back into the airport, shaking with humiliation, drowning in whiskey, and replaying the moment he turned around and saw her coming toward him — not the way she sounded on the phone, not the way she appeared in her carefully framed photos, but as she truly was:

A woman with no arms and no legs, maneuvering a powered wheelchair toward him and whispering his name with a trembling smile.

And three days after that moment, she would be dead.

This is the story of how a failed online romance metastasized into a murder-for-hire plot, how a vulnerable woman became a target of rage, and how a digital age defined by curated selves, filtered identities, and unmonitored intimacy allowed the worst possible combination of loneliness and entitlement to explode into violence.

II. The Man Who Shrunk His Life to a 500-Square-Foot Room

Before Marissa Coleman ever appeared in his inbox, Daniel Price was a man retreating from the world at an alarming pace.

After a quiet but devastating divorce two years earlier, Daniel had retreated into a 500-square-foot studio apartment in East Dallas, a space containing a twin mattress, a cluttered desk, and a framed wedding photo he couldn’t take off the wall, though he had stopped looking at it.

He worked as an IT technician — the sort of position that makes one indispensable at the office but invisible everywhere else. His daily routine resembled the kind of schedule you’d build for someone trying not to feel anything: wake up, work on a laptop in the same clothes he slept in, order food, eat alone, sleep, repeat.

Friends tried reaching out. His mother called. His best friend organized outings. Daniel always had excuses — too tired, too much work, maybe next week. Weeks became months. His life shrank until the only voices he heard belonged to coworkers on Slack or customers asking for help logging into servers they didn’t understand.

Daniel wasn’t angry. He wasn’t bitter. He was lonely — so lonely that it became easier to hide than to hope.

By late 2022, he did what many lonely people do: he joined dating apps.

But apps were cruel to him.
Matches ghosted him, canceled dates, or simply disappeared. One woman told him he seemed “emotionally flat.” Another said he gave off “weird energy.”

With every rejection, he folded deeper into himself, convinced he was broken in some ways that other people somehow weren’t.

And that is how he ended up on SoulBond, a niche platform marketed as a refuge for serious, slow-burn intimacy — the kind of place that promised connection without judgment, vulnerability without superficiality.

SoulBond’s tagline read: “Fall in love with who they are, not what they look like.”

It was the perfect promise for a man like Daniel.
It was also the perfect hiding place for a woman like Marissa.

III. “You See Me” — The Woman Behind the Camera Frame

Marissa Coleman joined SoulBond months before Daniel. For her, the appeal was not anonymity but control.

Marissa had tetra-amelia syndrome — a rare congenital condition resulting in the absence of all four limbs. It was a diagnosis so rare that most Americans have never encountered it outside medical journals.

Doctors told her mother she would likely not survive infancy. She did.
They told her she would require life-long care. She didn’t.

Her mother, Diane, refused to let her daughter grow up believing she was fragile. She pushed her, equipped her, and taught her to navigate a world that had not been designed for bodies like hers.

By adulthood, Marissa lived independently in a ground-floor accessible apartment in northeast Portland. She operated her home with voice-activated systems, maneuvered with her powered wheelchair, and supported herself working as a freelance transcriptionist using a combination of voice-to-text software and adaptive tools.

She built her life with determination and quiet dignity.
What she could not build — no matter how hard she tried — was a love life.

Men stared in public. Dates recoiled. Some called her “inspirational” in the way people do when they do not want to acknowledge a disabled woman as fully adult, fully sexual, fully human.

So Marissa went online.
On SoulBond, she could lead with her voice, her humor, her intellect.

But she hid the rest.

Her photos showed only her face.
Her video calls were framed tightly — shoulders and up.
Her disability never came up, and every day she avoided telling Daniel, the more impossible it felt to reveal.

“He’ll see me,” she told her sister once. “But he’ll see me first. The rest…I’ll explain later.”

Later never came.

IV. The Digital Courtship That Became a Lifeline

When Daniel messaged Marissa in March 2023, she responded within the hour. Their first exchange contained more honesty than Daniel had spoken aloud in years.

They both felt unseen in the world.

Both felt lonely.

Both were searching for someone who could hear the parts of their lives they couldn’t share with anyone else.

Messages turned to phone calls.

Phone calls turned into nightly rituals — sometimes stretching past midnight into early morning.

Marissa’s voice became the anchor of Daniel’s day.

Daniel became the person Marissa told everything to, except the one thing she feared would change everything.

He sent her money when her laptop broke. He supported her through medical bills. He told her she was the first person who had ever truly listened to him.

And somewhere along the way, Daniel fell in love with a woman he’d never met.

To friends and to his mother, it looked like obsession.
To Daniel, it felt like salvation.

By the fall of 2024, he insisted they meet.

Marissa panicked.

She stalled.

She delayed.

But the pressure grew until she agreed — reluctantly, fearfully — and sent him her address.

Daniel bought a ticket the same day.

V. The Airport Moment That Broke Two Lives

When Marissa arrived at Portland International Airport on November 14th, she was trembling. She had rehearsed explanations. She had prepared herself for shock, questions, maybe even rejection.

She had not prepared for what actually happened.

When Daniel saw her — saw her disability — he froze.
The bouquet in his hands slipped.
His expression went from anticipation to confusion to horror in seconds.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t ask questions.

He did not let her explain.

He walked away.

Marissa followed him as best she could, calling his name, pleading. Her wheelchair couldn’t keep pace. People stared. A relationship built over 18 months now crumbled in the middle of a public terminal.

Daniel rebooked a return flight and left without looking back.

He blocked her number by evening.

She went home and collapsed in her sister’s arms.

And in the midst of humiliation and heartbreak, something inside Daniel — something raw, furious, and warped — snapped.

VI. The Turn Toward Violence

Daniel spent his return flight drinking, rereading Marissa’s messages, and spiraling into an alternate narrative where he had been the victim, not her.

Humiliation curdled into rage.

Rejection morphed into betrayal.

And wounded pride metastasized into something violent.

He texted an old acquaintance — a man named Javon Hughes, who once boasted about knowing “people who could take care of problems.”

Daniel wrote:

“Someone screwed me over. I want them to disappear.”

Within hours, a chain of communication connected Daniel to Dion Carter, a low-level, debt-ridden man in Portland who agreed to carry out a job he didn’t fully understand.

Daniel offered $5,000.

$2,000 was dropped in a McDonald’s bathroom in Texas.
The rest would be paid after the job was done.

He sent Marissa’s address, her details, and one instruction:
“Make sure she can’t contact anyone. Make it look like a robbery. Just make her disappear.”

Daniel boarded his return flight believing, perversely, that vengeance would repair his pride.

VII. The Night of the Murder

On the night of November 17th, 2024, Dion entered Marissa’s unlocked apartment.

She was awake, watching television.

She screamed when she saw him.

A neighbor partially heard her.

Her voice-activation system failed to complete a 911 call.

Dion panicked.

He grabbed a pillow.

He pushed it over her face.

The medical examiner later estimated it took two full minutes for Marissa to die.

Two minutes in which she could not fight back.

Two minutes in which she tried to twist her body but had no limbs to resist with.

Two minutes in which her killer, horrified and sobbing behind a mask, kept pressing down.

When it was over, Dion fled — leaving behind something catastrophic:
his personal phone.

VIII. The Investigation and the Breakthrough

When Marissa’s home health aide arrived the next morning and found her body, detectives quickly saw signs of suffocation — petechiae around the eyes, bruising around the nose and mouth, a displaced pillow.

There was no forced entry.
No robbery.
Nothing missing.

It was a targeted killing.

The breakthrough came from the phone found on the floor.
Digital forensics recovered text messages between Dion and a number traced back to Daniel Price.

The message that sealed Daniel’s fate:
“Done. Where’s the rest of my money?”

The investigation expanded rapidly.
Dion confessed.
Javon cooperated.
Daniel’s travel records, phone data, and deleted messages told the rest of the story.

The entire murder had unfolded within 72 hours of Daniel seeing Marissa in the airport.

IX. The Trial and the Lives Left in Ruins

Daniel Price was charged with murder, conspiracy, and solicitation. His defense argued heartbreak, emotional distress, and misinterpretation.

But his messages were explicit.
His planning was deliberate.
His motive, though rooted in emotion, had turned into cold intentionality.

He was convicted of all counts and sentenced to life without parole.

Dion received 25 years to life.
Javon received 8 years.

Families were destroyed.
Marissa’s community mourned.
And the state of Oregon quietly began drafting legislation requiring verification standards for digital dating platforms.

X. What Marissa’s Death Reveals About Us

Marissa Coleman survived a rare congenital condition, childhood surgeries, and daily barriers most people never notice. She built a life of independence in a world not designed for her.

What she could not survive was a culture that conditioned a lonely man to see rejection as humiliation, vulnerability as deception, and entitlement as justification.

Her murder forces us to confront uncomfortable truths:

Digital intimacy creates fast, deep attachments without real-world context.

Women with disabilities remain among the most vulnerable populations in online dating.

Rejection is not a crime — but to some men, it feels like one.

Loneliness, untreated, can turn dangerous when mixed with entitlement.

Marissa did not die because she misrepresented herself.
She died because Daniel believed he had the right to punish her for not being who he imagined.

XI. Aftermath: A Foundation, a Movement, a Warning

In the wake of her death, Marissa’s mother and sister founded the Marissa Coleman Foundation, aimed at providing safety tools for disabled individuals navigating online relationships.

Several states began drafting new digital verification laws.
SoulBond overhauled its identity systems.
Advocates used Marissa’s story to highlight ableism, digital vulnerability, and the dangers of unregulated online intimacy.

Marissa’s name became a rallying cry.

And Daniel Price — who once believed Marissa was the love of his life — now spends his days in a maximum-security cell insisting, even after conviction, that he was “the one betrayed.”

He never mentions her name.

XII. A Final Reckoning

The tragedy of Marissa Coleman’s death is not just that she was murdered. It is that she was murdered after spending her entire life trying to overcome the very barriers society placed before her — only to be killed because one man could not overcome his own.

She lived with courage.
She died because someone else lacked it.

The seven hours Daniel traveled to meet her should have been the beginning of a long-awaited love story.
Instead, they became the opening act of a crime that revealed the darkest corners of modern loneliness, the fragility of online identity, and the lethal potential of entitlement.

Her story endures as both a warning and a plea:

We must build a world where vulnerability is not punished, where difference is not weaponized, and where rejection does not become a death sentence.