She Traveled From Ontario To Surprise Her BF In Texas- Only To Find Out 𝐇𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐥𝐛𝐬 – He Deceived | HO

Her name was Sarah Mitchell.

She was 32 years old and lived alone in a small apartment in Ontario, Canada.

From the outside, her life looked ordinary.

She worked as a receptionist at a dental office.

She paid her bills on time.

She kept to herself.

But ordinary was just the mask she wore.

Inside, Sarah was drowning in a pain that had been building since childhood.

Sarah grew up in a house where love was conditional.

Her parents were there physically, but emotionally they were absent.

Her father worked long hours and barely spoke to her.

Her mother was critical of everything Sarah did.

Nothing was ever good enough.

Sarah learned early that she had to earn affection, and no matter how hard she tried, she never earned enough.

She grew up believing that something was fundamentally wrong with her, that she was unlovable, that she didn’t deserve kindness.

This belief followed her into adulthood like a shadow.

When she was 19, she met her first serious boyfriend.

His name was Marcus.

At first, he seemed perfect.

He paid attention to her.

He told her she was beautiful.

For the first time in her life, Sarah felt seen.

But 6 months into the relationship, things changed.

Marcus started drinking heavily.

When he drank, he became violent.

He would push her, slap her, grab her hard enough to leave bruises.

The next morning, he would cry and apologize.

He would promise it would never happen again.

And Sarah believed him because she wanted so badly for someone to love her.

The relationship lasted 2 years.

2 years of walking on eggshells.

Two years of making excuses to her friends about the marks on her arms.

Two years of convincing herself that this was what love looked like.

When she finally left him, she thought she had learned her lesson.

She thought she would never let anyone hurt her again.

She was wrong.

Her second relationship started when she was 23.

His name was David, and he never laid a hand on her.

He didn’t need to.

David was an expert at emotional manipulation.

He told her that her friends were fake and didn’t really care about her.

He convinced her that she was too sensitive, too emotional, too needy.

Whenever she got upset about something he did, he would turn it around and make her feel guilty for being upset.

He made her question her own reality.

After a year with David, Sarah had cut off most of her friends.

She had started to believe that maybe she really was the problem.

When David finally left her for another woman, Sarah felt relieved and destroyed at the same time.

The third relationship was the worst.

She met James when she was 26.

He seemed stable and mature at first.

He had a good job and talked about the future.

But slowly, James started asking her for money.

Small amounts at first.

$20 here, $50 there.

He always had an excuse.

His car broke down.

His paycheck was delayed.

His mother needed help with medical bills.

Sarah gave him the money because she thought, “That’s what you do when you love someone.

You help them.” Over the course of a year, James took nearly $8,000 from her.

He never paid any of it back.

When she finally confronted him, he called her selfish and greedy.

He said she was holding money over his head.

He made her feel like she was the villain for wanting her own money back.

That relationship ended with her bank account empty and her self-worth even emptier.

By the time Sarah was 28, she had given up on relationships.

She had been physically abused, emotionally manipulated, and financially exploited.

Each relationship had taught her the same lesson.

She wasn’t worth treating well.

She started to believe that this was her fate, that she was destined to be hurt by everyone who got close to her.

She stopped going out.

She stopped trying to meet new people.

She went to work, came home, and spent her evenings alone, scrolling through social media.

She looked at other people’s lives and wondered why everyone else got to be happy while she suffered.

The loneliness was crushing.

Sarah would lie awake at night, feeling like she was the only person in the world.

She had pushed away the few friends she had left because she was tired of hearing them tell her to move on, to get over it, to try again.

They didn’t understand.

They hadn’t been through what she’d been through.

They didn’t know what it felt like to give everything to someone only to have them destroy you.

So, she isolated herself completely.

Work became the only place she interacted with other humans.

And even there, she kept conversation short and surface level.

Sarah’s therapist would later say that by this point, she was suffering from complex post-traumatic stress disorder.

Years of repeated trauma had rewired her brain.

She was hypervigilant, always waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

She had trouble sleeping.

She experienced flashbacks to moments of abuse.

She felt numb most of the time, disconnected from her own emotions.

But Sarah didn’t know any of this.

She just knew that she was broken and that nothing would ever fix her.

What made everything worse was the hope that refused to die.

Despite everything, despite all the pain and all the evidence that she should give up, part of Sarah still wanted to be loved, she still fantasized about meeting someone who would see her for who she really was and love her anyway.

Someone who would be gentle with her wounded heart, someone who would prove that she wasn’t unlovable after all.

This hope was dangerous because it made her vulnerable.

and vulnerability for someone like Sarah was a weapon that could be used against her.

She was 30 years old and completely alone when she opened Instagram one evening and saw a message request from a stranger.

Three words appeared on her screen.

Hey, beautiful queen.

Sarah stared at those words for a long time.

Part of her knew she should ignore it.

Part of her knew that nothing good would come from responding.

But the lonely part of her, the part that was starving for any kind of attention, made her click on the profile.

And that single click changed everything.

He knew exactly what to say because men like him always do.

The message came from an account called Fred the Realm MC.

Sarah clicked on his profile and saw exactly what he wanted her to see.

There were photos of him in recording studios with expensive microphones and soundboards.

pictures of stacks of cash spread out on tables.

Luxury cars with him leaning against them.

Professional photo shoots where he looked confident and successful.

His bio read, “Houston’s next big thing.

Signing soon.

Living the dream.” Everything about his profile screamed success and ambition.

Everything was a lie.

Those studio photos were stolen from other people’s Instagram accounts.

The cash pictures came from Google image searches.

The cars didn’t belong to him.

The professional photos were heavily edited versions of pictures taken years ago when he weighed 400 lb less.

But Sarah didn’t know any of this.

She saw what he wanted her to see.

A man who had his life together.

A man who was going places.

A man who might actually be worth her time.

His first message was simple but effective.

Hey, beautiful queen.

When she responded, he didn’t waste time with small talk.

He told her she had an interesting profile.

He said there was something different about her that caught his attention.

He asked her what she did for work, what she liked to do for fun, what her dreams were.

These weren’t the generic questions most men asked.

He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her.

Within the first conversation, he was already making her feel special.

The next day, he messaged her again.

This time, the compliments got more specific.

He told her that her eyes looked sad in some of her photos and asked if she was okay.

He said he could tell she had been through difficult things.

He told her that he understood what it felt like to be hurt.

Sarah was caught off guard by how quickly the conversation got deep.

Most men just wanted to talk about surface level things or push for phone numbers and dates.

But Fred seemed different.

He seemed to actually care.

Within a week, they were talking every single day.

Fred would send her good morning messages before she woke up.

During her lunch break, he would text her asking how her day was going.

In the evenings, they would have long conversations that lasted hours.

He asked about her past relationships and listened when she told him about the abuse she had suffered.

He didn’t judge her or tell her to get over it.

Instead, he told her that those men were idiots who didn’t know what they had.

He told her she deserved so much better.

He positioned himself as the protector she had always needed but never had.

Fred was a master at mirroring.

When Sarah mentioned feeling lonely, he told her he felt the same way.

When she talked about wanting a simple, peaceful life, he said that was exactly what he wanted too once his music career took off.

When she shared her dreams of traveling and seeing new places, he told her that when his album deal came through, he would take her everywhere.

He made himself the perfect match for her by reflecting back everything she wanted to hear.

And Sarah, who had been starving for validation her entire life, ate it all up.

The rapper persona was always front and center.

Fred would tell her he just got out of the studio after recording for 6 hours straight.

He would mention meetings with producers whose names Sarah didn’t recognize, but assumed were important.

He talked constantly about his upcoming album deal that was supposedly just weeks away from being finalized.

He would reference the Houston music scene like he was a major player in it.

And mixed into all of these stories were constant mentions of drugs.

He talked about sipping lean while writing lyrics.

He mentioned taking pills before performances.

He posted about smoking weed in the studio.

Sarah noticed these references but told herself that artists did drugs.

it was part of the culture.

She ignored the red flag.

By the end of the first month, Fred was telling Sarah he loved her.

He said he had never connected with anyone the way he connected with her.

He told her she understood him like no one else ever had.

He promised that when he made it big, she would be right there with him, living the dream.

These declarations came fast, way too fast for someone he had never met in person.

But Sarah didn’t see it as a warning sign.

She saw it as proof that this was real, that someone finally loved her the way she had always wanted to be loved.

There was a reason Sarah fell so quickly.

People who have been abused repeatedly develop what psychologists call a starvation for validation.

They become so desperate for someone to tell them.

They’re worthy that they’ll accept love from anyone who offers it, even if that love is fake.

Sarah’s brain was wired to latch on to any source of positive attention because she had been denied it for so long.

Fred knew this instinctively.

He had done this before with other women.

He knew exactly how to exploit loneliness and turn it into dependence.

Two weeks into their conversations, Sarah asked if they could video chat.

She wanted to see his face in real time to hear his voice without the delay of voice notes.

Fred’s response came quickly.

My phone camera is broken.

Getting a new one this week.

Sarah accepted this explanation.

A week later, she asked again.

This time, Fred changed his approach.

He told her he wanted their first time seeing each other to be special.

He said he was planning something romantic.

He wanted to see the look on her face when they met in person, not through a phone screen.

He made it sound like he was doing this for her, like his refusal to video chat was actually a romantic gesture.

Month one turned into month two.

The excuses kept coming.

Each one paired with increased emotional intimacy.

In the studio late, look terrible.

Phone acting up again.

Want to finish this track first? Then I’ll come see you.

Every time Sarah asked to see him, Fred had a reason why not right now, but soon.

And every time he gave an excuse, he would follow it up with a voice note telling her how much he loved her, how he couldn’t wait to hold her, how she was the best thing that ever happened to him.

The pattern was clear, but Sarah couldn’t see it.

She was too deep in late night texts became her favorite part of the day.

Fred’s voice notes became the soundtrack to her evenings.

His constant attention filled the void that had been empty for so long.

Sarah didn’t realize what was happening.

Every excuse was a brick in a prison and she was building the walls herself.

One evening, Fred sends her photos of what he claims is his contract with Universal Records.

The documents look official with logos and legal language.

Sarah doesn’t know that he downloaded a template from the internet and filled in fake information.

She believes it’s real because she needs it to be real.

She posts about it vaguely on her Instagram story.

Sometimes good things really do happen to good people.

Her friend Michelle sees the post and sends her a private message asking what’s going on.

Sarah doesn’t respond.

Sarah starts investing everything she has into this relationship.

She sends Fred money when he asks for it, telling herself it’s temporary until his deal comes through.

Baby, the studio is charging me extra for overnight sessions.

He messages her.

Can you spot me $200? I’ll pay you back triple when I get my advance.

Sarah sends the money even though it means her electric bill will be late.

She starts losing weight, buying new clothes, getting her hair done.

She’s transforming herself into the woman she thinks Fred deserves.

When her coworker comments that she looks different, Sarah says she’s just taking better care of herself.

She doesn’t mention that she’s doing all of this for a man she’s never seen in person.

The friends who are still in her life are getting more concerned.

Michelle confronts her at a coffee shop in early June.

Sarah, this isn’t healthy.

You’re sending money to someone you’ve never met.

You’re changing everything about yourself for him.

This is not normal.

Sarah’s face gets hot with anger.

She tells Michelle that she wouldn’t understand because Michelle has never had trouble finding love.

Michelle fires back that what Sarah has isn’t love, it’s obsession.

The friendship ends that day.

Sarah leaves the coffee shop in tears and immediately messages Fred about it.

He responds exactly how she needs him to.

She’s just jealous.

People can’t stand seeing you happy.

You have me now.

That’s all that matters.

In June, Fred tells Sarah he’s finally ready to come visit her.

They plan everything for the second weekend of the month.

Sarah takes time off work.

She cleans her apartment until it’s spotless.

She buys new sheets and candles.

She plans meals.

She’ll cook for him.

The day before he’s supposed to arrive, Fred cancels.

Baby, I’m so sorry.

Drake’s producer needs me in the studio tomorrow for an emergency session.

This could change everything for my career.

I’ll make it up to you.

I promise.

Sarah is devastated.

She cries so hard she vomits.

But she tells Fred it’s okay because she doesn’t want to seem unsupportive of his career.

July brings another planned visit and another cancellation.

This time, Fred says the record label flew him to LA at the last minute for meetings.

Sarah’s mental health is falling apart.

She’s having anxiety attacks at work.

She can’t sleep more than 3 hours a night.

She keeps a journal and one entry from late July reads, “Why won’t he just let me see him? What is he hiding? No, I can’t think like that.

He loves me.

He’s just busy.

But why do I feel so crazy?” She doesn’t show these doubts to Fred.

When she messages him, she’s supportive and understanding.

Inside, she’s breaking.

Sarah’s friend, Jessica, notices how bad things have gotten.

Jessica suggests something that seems innocent at the time.

Why don’t you surprise him? Just show up in Texas.

It would be romantic.

If he really loves you like he says, he’ll be thrilled.

Sarah’s eyes light up at this idea.

She starts planning immediately.

She needs to get his address without making him suspicious.

One evening, she messages Fred.

Baby, I want to send you a gift.

Something special that needs a signature.

Can I have your address? Fred responds casually with his apartment address in Austin.

He never imagines she would actually come.

To him, it’s just an address.

To Sarah, it’s a destination.

Sarah borrows $2,000 from her credit cards for the trip.

She books a flight for September 15th.

She leaves Ontario at 4:00 a.m.

when it’s still dark outside.

On the plane, she listens to a playlist she made called Finally Meeting My King.

She’s nervous and excited in equal measure.

During a layover in Chicago, she buys more anxiety medication from a pharmacy and takes double her normal dose.

At a gas station in Texas, she practices what she’ll say when he opens the door.

She rehearses different scenarios in her car.

The anticipation is almost unbearable.

Sarah doesn’t tell Fred she’s coming.

She wants it to be a complete surprise.

The night before she arrives, she sends him a message.

Your gift ships tomorrow.

You’re going to love it.

Fred responds with a heart emoji.

He has no idea that the gift is her.

He’s busy messaging three other women that same night using the same lines he uses on Sarah.

He tells his mother that evening that he met someone special online.

His mother asks when he’s going to meet her in person.

Fred laughs and says soon, but he’s thinking never.

Fred sends Sarah a voice note on September 15th, not knowing she’s already in Texas.

Can’t wait until I can finally come see you, baby.

Soon.

Real soon.

I promise.

Sarah listens to this message as she pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

Her hands are shaking.

She checks her makeup one more time in the rearview mirror.

She grabs the small bag she packed with an overnight outfit and walks toward apartment 2B.

She has no idea that in the next 10 minutes, her entire world is about to explode.

The Texas heat hits Sarah the moment she steps out of her rental car.

It’s 2:00 p.m.

on September 17th, 2023, and the temperature is 96°.

She’s wearing jeans and a nice blouse because she wanted to look good for Fred.

Now she’s sweating before she even reaches the building.

She looks up at the apartment complex and feels her stomach drop.

This is not what Fred described.

This is not a luxury building with a door man and a gym.

This is a run-down three-story complex in third ward with peeling paint and cracked sidewalk.

Sarah checks the address on her phone three times.

This has to be wrong.

Fred talked about his nice apartment in a good part of Houston.

He mentioned the view from his balcony and the pool area where he sometimes worked on lyrics.

This building doesn’t have a pool.

It has a chainlink fence and trash bins overflowing near the entrance.

The smell hits her next.

A mix of garbage and something she can’t identify.

She texts Jessica.

This can’t be right.

But the address matches perfectly.

Apartment 2B, second floor.

Sarah walks up the concrete stairs, her heart beating so hard she can feel it in her throat.

She tells herself there’s an explanation.

Maybe Fred is staying here temporarily while his real place is being renovated.

Maybe he’s helping a friend.

Maybe this is where his studio is.

She reaches apartment 2B and stands in front of the door for a full minute.

She can hear a TV playing inside.

She smooths down her hair, checks her breath, and knocks three times.

Who is it? The voice from inside is Fred’s voice.

She recognizes it from all the voice notes.

But it sounds different in real time.

Breier and strained.

Sarah’s heart soarses for a second because this is it.

She’s finally here.

And they’re about to meet.

Delivery for Fred Williams, she calls out, trying to sound official so he won’t suspect it’s her.

There’s a long pause, then Fred’s voice again.

Just give me a minute.

Sarah hears sounds from inside the apartment that confuse her.

Heavy breathing.

Something falling or being knocked over.

Footsteps but slow and dragging.

More breathing.

Labored like he’s been running.

I’m coming.

I’m coming.

Fred calls out and he sounds panicked.

10 minutes pass.

Sarah knocks again.

She’s starting to feel strange, like something is very wrong.

Why is it taking so long to answer the door? She hears a woman’s voice now, muffled and annoyed, Fred, there’s someone at the door.

What are you doing? More sounds of movement and then footsteps approaching.

These ones lighter and faster.

The door opens and Sarah comes face to face with a woman in her 60s wearing a bathrobe and slippers.

The woman looks annoyed and tired.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

I was sleeping and my son can’t get up that easy.

Sarah’s brain is trying to process what she just heard.

Son, this is Fred’s mother.

Sarah’s rehearsed greeting dies in her throat.

I’m I’m looking for Fred Williams, she manages to say.

The woman nods.

That’s my son.

What do you need? Sarah’s mouth is dry.

I’m his girlfriend.

Sarah from Canada.

The woman’s face changes completely.

Her eyebrows go up and her mouth opens slightly.

Girlfriend, she repeats like Sarah just said she’s an astronaut.

From where? Sarah says it again.

Canada.

We’ve been together for 6 months.

He didn’t tell you about me.

Patricia, Fred’s mother, looks genuinely shocked.

She knows her son doesn’t have friends who visit.

She knows he barely leaves his room.

A girlfriend seems impossible.

But this young woman is standing at her door, claiming to have traveled from another country.

Patricia’s expression shifts from shock to something like pity.

“You should come in,” she says quietly, opening the door wider.

Sarah steps inside.

“The apartment is small and cluttered.

There’s medical equipment in the living room, oxygen tanks, and blood pressure monitors.

The TV is playing a talk show.

Everything smells like old food and medication.

This is nothing like what Fred described.

Patricia leads Sarah down a narrow hallway toward a bedroom.

“Fred,” she calls out.

“You have a visitor.” Sarah’s hands are shaking now.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening, but every instinct is screaming that something is terribly wrong.

They reach the bedroom doorway and Patricia steps aside.

Sarah looks into the room and her entire world collapses.

Fred is in a hospital bed that takes up most of the small room.

But that’s not what destroys her.

What destroys her is Fred himself.

He weighs close to 1,000 lb.

His body fills the entire bed.

He can’t sit up properly.

He’s propped up on pillows, breathing heavily from the effort of trying to move.

His face buried in layers of weight is the face from his profile picture, but unrecognizable under everything else.

Sarah can’t breathe.

Not from shock, from rage.

It’s filling her chest like fire.

Fred is looking at her with a mixture of embarrassment and fear.

Baby, he starts to say, I can explain.

But Sarah doesn’t let him finish.

You knew, she says, and her voice is shaking.

You knew what I’d been through.

You knew every man before you broke me, and you did this.

Her voice is getting louder.

This is why no video calls.

This is why she’s screaming now.

This is why you couldn’t visit because you can’t even stand up.

Fred is trying to speak, his words tumbling out fast.

But I love you.

The feelings are real.

I do love you, Sarah.

Everything I said was true, except this.

We can work on this together.

You can help me lose the weight.

We can Sarah cuts him off with a sound that’s almost a laugh, but comes out like a sob.

Nothing about you is real.

Your pictures aren’t real.

Your apartment isn’t real.

Your career isn’t real.

Your body isn’t even real.

You’re a lie.

A complete lie.

Patricia is trying to step between them.

Her hands up.

Let’s everybody calm down.

Let’s talk about this calmly.

But Sarah is beyond calm.

She’s hyperventilating.

Her vision going dark around the edges.

Every abuse she’s ever suffered.

Every lie she’s ever been told, every time she’s been used and discarded, it’s all crashing over her at once.

This is worse than all of them combined.

Marcus hit her, but at least he was real.

David manipulated her, but at least she knew who he was.

James stole from her, but at least she’d seen his face.

Fred took 6 months of her life and built it all on a complete fabrication.

She backs out of the room, still staring at him.

Fred is crying now, begging her to stay, to talk, to understand.

But Sarah can’t hear him anymore.

She turns and runs.

She slams the apartment door so hard the sound echoes through the hallway.

The neighbor in 2C opens his door to see what’s happening.

He’ll later tell police.

She was screaming like an animal in pain.

I’ve never heard sounds like that come from a human being.

Sarah makes it down the stairs and to her car.

She sits in the driver’s seat and screams until her voice gives out.

Then she cries.

Then she screams again.

She hits the steering wheel over and over until her hands hurt.

She’s broken.

Completely and utterly broken.

And Fred did this.

Fred, who couldn’t even get out of bed to answer his own door, had somehow reached across a thousand miles and destroyed her.

Room 237 at the budget inn becomes Sarah’s psychological crime scene.

She checks in at 3:30 p.m.

on September 17th, barely able to speak to the desk clerk, she walks into the room and sees herself in the mirror above the dresser.

She stares at her reflection for a long time.

Her makeup is ruined from crying.

Her eyes are red and swollen.

She looks at herself and asks out loud, “How did I fall for this? How did I become this stupid?” She doesn’t recognize the woman looking back at her.

this broken, pathetic woman who flew across the continent for a man who doesn’t exist.

Sarah sits on the edge of the bed and pulls out her phone.

She scrolls through six months of messages from Fred.

Every I love you now feels like a knife.

Every promise now sounds like mockery.

She opens Google and searches for the suicide prevention hotline.

She calls the number and talks to a counselor for 47 minutes.

The counselor asks if she has a plan to hurt herself.

Sarah says no, but she’s not sure she wants to be alive anymore.

The counselor tries to help her process what happened.

Sarah hangs up when the counselor suggests she might benefit from going to a hospital.

She’s not ready to face that level of intervention.

There’s a liquor store across the street from the hotel.

Sarah walks over and buys two bottles of cheap wine and comes back to her room.

She takes the anxiety medication from her purse and puts the pills on the nightstand next to the wine.

She looks at them for a while, thinking about how easy it would be.

Just take all the pills, drink all the wine, and stop feeling this pain.

But something stops her.

Maybe it’s not courage.

Maybe it’s anger.

She opens the voice memo app on her phone and starts recording herself talking.

“Why is it always me?” she says into the phone.

“What did I do to deserve this? I tried to be kind.

I tried to love people.

And every single one of them hurt me.

But this this is different.

He didn’t just hurt me.

He made me love someone who doesn’t exist.

That’s worse than anything anyone’s ever done to me.

Her phone starts buzzing non-stop.

Fred is texting her.

One message after another.

Sarah counts 57 texts in 3 hours.

Please understand, he writes.

I’m still the same person you fell in love with.

My body is different, but my heart is the same.

Another message.

You fell in love with the real me, the inside me.

Does the outside really matter that much? Then don’t leave me.

Please don’t leave me.

You’re all I have.

His messages get more desperate.

I’ll die without you.

I can’t live knowing I lost you.

Please come back.

Please give me a chance.

Sarah reads every message but doesn’t respond.

Each one makes her angrier.

Around 3:00 a.m., Sarah stops crying.

This is the moment that investigators will find concerning later.

There’s a shift that happens in her.

The tears dry up.

Her breathing becomes normal.

Her hands stop shaking.

She sits up in bed and opens her phone’s browser.

She starts searching.

Is catfishing illegal in Texas? She types.

The answer is no.

Not unless money is involved.

She searches emotional damage lawsuits and finds that they’re nearly impossible to win.

She searches how to hurt someone who hurt you and scrolls through revenge forums and advice columns.

Then she searches something specific, vulnerable spots on obese bodies.

She reads medical articles about complications of extreme obesity, pressure points, areas of reduced sensation, places where blood flow is compromised.

The sun comes up at 6:00 a.m.

Sarah hasn’t slept at all.

She picks up her phone and texts Fred.

You’re right.

Love is what matters.

She watches the three dots appear immediately as he types back.

I’m coming over.

We need to talk.

She sends.

Fred’s response comes in seconds.

Really, baby? I knew you’d understand.

I knew you loved me for real.

When are you coming? Sarah tells him she’ll be there around noon.

She asks if his mother will be home.

Fred says his mother has a doctor’s appointment and will be gone from 11:00 a.m.

to 2:00 p.m.

Perfect.

Sarah thinks they’ll have privacy to really talk.

At 7:00 a.m., Sarah gets in her rental car and drives to the nearest Walmart.

She walks through the store in yesterday’s clothes.

She goes straight to the kitchen section and stands in front of the knife display for several minutes.

She picks up a set that comes in a box.

Four knives of different sizes.

The packaging says they’re good for cutting meat.

She pays cash at the selfch checkckout.

The receipt shows the purchase at 7:14 a.m.

She puts the box in her purse and drives back to the hotel.

Sarah sits in her hotel room with the knife set on the bed next to her.

Her mind is working through everything.

He made her love a ghost.

That’s the thought that keeps repeating.

She didn’t fall in love with a real person.

She fell in love with a character Fred created.

A fantasy designed specifically to manipulate her.

She gave him her last chance at happiness.

After Marcus and David and James, after all the abuse and pain, she had one more piece of hope left.

And Fred took it and crushed it.

He knew what she’d been through because she told him everything.

She trusted him with her trauma and he used it against her.

Sarah’s internal dialogue is becoming darker.

Someone has to pay for all of it.

Not just for what Fred did, but for everything.

For her father ignoring her.

For her mother’s constant criticism.

For Marcus’ fists.

For David’s gaslighting.

For James’ theft.

For every person who ever made her feel worthless.

Someone has to pay.

And Fred is right there.

Fred who can’t even run away.

Fred who is trapped in that bed.

Fred who deserves everything that’s coming to him.

At least that’s what Sarah tells herself.

It might as well be him.

She takes a shower and puts on clean clothes.

She does her makeup carefully.

She wants to look composed when she arrives.

She practices in the mirror what she’ll say.

She’ll tell him she forgives him.

She’ll tell him they can work through this together.

She’ll make him feel safe.

Then when his guard is down, she’ll do what needs to be done.

Sarah looks at herself one more time before leaving the hotel room.

The woman in the mirror isn’t the woman who landed in Texas yesterday.

That woman was broken and crying.

This woman is calm and focused.

This woman has a plan, and that makes her the most dangerous person in Texas.

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Now, let’s continue.

Sarah steps out of hotel room 237 at 10:30 a.m.

on September 18th, looking pretty.

She’s wearing a soft blue dress and has curled her hair.

Her makeup is perfect, covering the evidence of a sleepless night.

She looks like a woman going to meet her boyfriend for a nice lunch.

No one at the hotel would ever guess what she’s carrying in her purse.

Tucked between her wallet and keys, wrapped carefully in the black lingerie she’d brought for their first night together, is the largest knife from the Walmart set.

The irony isn’t lost on Sarah.

The lingerie that was supposed to celebrate new love is now hiding the weapon that will end a life.

Before she leaves, Sarah makes three final communications.

First, she calls her mother.

They haven’t spoken in months because Sarah’s mother criticized her relationship with Fred.

The phone rings four times before her mother answers with a cautious, “Hello.” Sarah’s voice is steady when she speaks.

“Mom, I love you.

I’m sorry for everything, for being difficult, for pushing you away, for all of it.” Her mother sounds confused and concerned.

“Sarah, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Sarah doesn’t answer the question.

She just says, “I love you.” one more time and hangs up.

Her mother will replay this conversation in her mind a thousand times, trying to hear the warning she missed.

Next, Sarah texts Jessica.

Their friendship ended badly, but Sarah wants her to know something.

“You were right about everything,” she types.

“I should have listened to you.

I’m sorry I didn’t.” Jessica is at work when the message comes through.

She stares at it for a minute, confused.

She types back, “What’s going on? Are you okay?” But Sarah doesn’t respond.

Jessica will later tell police that she had a bad feeling, but didn’t know what to do about it.

She thought Sarah was just finally admitting the relationship was fake.

She never imagined Sarah was saying goodbye.

The third communication is a voice note to her old therapist, the one Sarah stopped seeing when she wouldn’t focus on anything but Fred.

Sarah records it in her car before starting the drive.

Dr.

Martinez, I finally understand what you meant about taking control of my life, about not being a victim anymore, about choosing my own path instead of letting others choose for me.

I get it now.

Thank you for trying to help me.

The therapist will receive this message hours later and immediately feel sick.

She’ll recognize the tone for what it is.

Not gratitude, but justification.

Not healing, but rationalization for something terrible.

Sarah puts her phone in the cup holder and opens Google Maps.

The drive from the budget in to Fred’s apartment is 23 minutes.

She pulls out of the parking lot at 10:47 a.m.

There’s no romantic playlist this time.

Yesterday she had music and hope.

Today she drives in complete silence.

The only sound is the air conditioning and the GPS giving directions.

Sarah uses the quiet to practice what she’ll say.

She rehearses her lines out loud like an actress preparing for a role.

I’m so sorry for how I reacted yesterday.

I was in shock, but I thought about it all night and I realized that love is more than physical.

She says it over and over until it sounds natural and believable.

At a red light, Sarah does something specific.

She goes into her phone settings and turns off her location services.

She disables the feature that shares her location with apps.

She knows enough about technology to understand that phones leave digital trails.

She doesn’t want anyone tracking where she is or where she’s been.

This action will later be used as evidence of premeditation.

People who are going to talk things out don’t hide their locations first.

People planning violence do.

While Sarah is driving across Houston, Fred is getting ready in his apartment.

His mother, Patricia, is preparing to leave for her doctor’s appointment.

Fred is more excited than Patricia has seen him in years.

Mom, please.

He begs her.

Can you make sure everything looks nice? Sarah’s coming over.

This is really important.

Patricia is skeptical about this whole situation.

A girlfriend showing up out of nowhere, the scene yesterday.

But Fred is her son and he’s happy.

So, she helps.

She tidies up the living room.

She takes out the trash.

She sprays air freshener.

She adjusts the curtains to let in more light.

Before Patricia leaves at 10:55 a.m., she stands in Fred’s doorway.

Are you sure about this, baby? That girl seemed real upset yesterday.

Fred waves away her concern.

She just needed time to process.

Mom, she loves me.

She said so in her text.

Everything’s going to be fine.

Patricia still looks worried, but she doesn’t push it.

She needs to get to her doctor’s appointment or she’ll lose her slot.

I’ll be back around 2, she tells Fred.

Call me if you need anything.

Fred promises he will.

He watches her leave and then goes back to preparing.

Fred has applied cologne liberally, so much that the whole room smells like it.

He put on his best shirt, the biggest one he owns that’s still somewhat clean.

He’s positioned himself as upright as possible in bed, trying to look presentable.

His phone is next to him with Sarah’s Instagram profile open.

He keeps looking at her pictures.

She’s so beautiful.

He still can’t believe she actually came all the way to Texas for him.

Sure, yesterday was bad, but she came back.

She forgave him.

That means she really does love him.

Despite everything, despite his body, despite the lies, she loves the real him.

Fred looks at a photo Sarah posted 3 months ago.

She’s smiling in it, genuinely happy.

The caption says, “Good things coming.” Fred had commented on that post with heart emojis.

He remembers that day.

They had talked for hours about their future together, about the life they’d build.

He feels guilty about the deception.

He really does.

But he tells himself it will all be worth it.

Now that Sarah knows the truth and still wants to be with him, they can really start their relationship honestly.

They can work on his health together.

She can help him lose weight.

They can have the life he promised her, just starting from a different place than she expected.

At 11:13 a.m., Fred hears a car pull into the parking lot.

He strains to look out the window, but can’t see from his position.

His phone buzzes with a text from Sarah.

I’m here.

Coming up now.

Fred’s heart races with excitement and nervousness.

He smooths down his shirt one more time.

He positions his arms in a way that he thinks looks casual and welcoming.

He has no idea that in the next 10 minutes, everything he hoped for will turn into a nightmare.

He has no idea that Sarah isn’t coming to forgive him.

She’s coming to make him pay.

And in that difference between what Fred expects and what Sarah intends lies the space where tragedy lives.

Sarah arrives at apartment 2B at 300 p.m.

Exactly.

She knocks softly and Fred calls out, “Come in.

It’s open.” She pushes the door and walks inside.

The apartment smells like cologne mixed with the medical equipment smell from yesterday.

She walks down the hallway to Fred’s bedroom and stands in the doorway for a moment.

Fred is sitting up as much as he can in bed smiling at her.

“You came back,” he says, and there are tears in his eyes.

“I knew you loved me.

I knew it.” Sarah walks over to the bed slowly.

She’s calm.

She’s collected.

Her hands aren’t shaking like yesterday.

She sits down on the edge of the reinforced bed next to Fred.

She even gives him a hug, leaning over his massive body carefully.

Fred wraps his arms around her as much as he can and holds her tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her hair.

“I’m so sorry I lied.” Sarah will later tell police that this hug was the last kindness she could manage, the last human moment before she stopped being human.

She pulls away and looks at Fred.

Tell me why, she says.

Make me understand how you could do this to me.

Fred starts talking.

The words pour out of him like he’s been waiting to confess for months.

I’ve been like this for 5 years, he says, gesturing to his body.

I used to be 400 lb.

I could walk.

I could go places.

But I kept gaining and gaining and I couldn’t stop.

Food was the only thing that made me feel good.

And once I got this big, I couldn’t leave the apartment anymore.

I couldn’t work.

I couldn’t do anything.

He pauses to catch his breath.

No woman would talk to me looking like this.

Not in real life.

But online, I could be anyone.

I could be the man I used to be, the man I wanted to be.

Fred continues his confession.

With you, it was different, though.

I really did fall for you, Sarah.

The feelings were real, even if the photos weren’t.

Every conversation we had, every time I told you I loved you, I meant it.

You fell in love with my soul, not my body.

That has to count for something.

He reaches for her hand.

Sarah lets him take it, but her face doesn’t change.

We can still make this work, Fred says.

You can help me lose weight.

We can do this together.

The love is real.

That’s what matters.

Sarah pulls her hand away.

I fell in love with a lie, she says quietly.

Her voice is flat and cold.

You knew about Marcus, about David, about James, about all of them.

I told you everything.

Every way I’d been hurt.

Every scar on my heart.

You knew I was broken and you broke me more.

Her voice gets louder.

You’re worse than all of them because you made me believe.

You made me think there was someone out there who could actually love me.

You gave me hope and then you took it away in the crulest way possible.

Fred starts to cry.

But I do love you.

I swear I do.

Please, Sarah.

Please don’t give up on us.

Sarah stands up from the bed.

She reaches into her purse.

I’m sorry, too, she says, but not for what I’m about to do.

She pulls out the knife.

Fred’s eyes go wide with terror.

Sarah, no.

Please, what are you doing? He tries to move away, but his body won’t let him.

He can’t get out of the bed.

He can’t run.

He can’t even roll over quickly.

He’s completely trapped.

The first strike comes at 3:47 p.m.

Sarah drives the knife into his upper abdomen.

Fred screams in shock and pain.

He raises his arms to try to protect himself, but they’re slow and weak.

“This is for every lie,” Sarah says through gritted teeth as she strikes again.

Fred is begging now, crying, calling for his mother.

“This is for every excuse,” Sarah says with the third strike.

Blood is spreading across the bed.

Fred is trying to push her away, but he has no strength.

His size makes him vulnerable, not protected.

“This is for making me hope,” Sarah says with the fourth strike.

“She’s crying now, too.” Tears streaming down her face as she stabs him over and over.

Each strike is accompanied by her rage and pain pouring out.

“You made me think I could be happy.

You made me think someone could love me.

You took 6 months of my life.” Fred is gasping for air.

His hands are covered in blood from trying to stop her.

I really did love you, he manages to say.

These are his last words.

Sarah stabs him three more times.

The medical examiner will later count 17 stab wounds total.

Fred stops moving at 4:02 p.m.

Sarah stands beside the bed, the knife still in her hand, watching him die.

She sees the exact moment the life leaves his eyes.

His chest stops rising and falling.

His hand falls from where it was weakly trying to protect himself.

The room is silent except for Sarah’s heavy breathing.

She doesn’t call 911.

She doesn’t try to help him.

She just stands there looking at what she’s done.

Blood is everywhere.

On the bed, on her dress, on her hands, on the floor.

Sarah walks to Fred’s bathroom like she’s in a trance.

She turns on the sink and washes her hands.

The water runs red and then pink and then clear.

She dries her hands on a towel and hangs it back up neatly.

She walks back to the bedroom and picks up Fred’s phone from the nightstand.

She knows his passcode because he gave it to her months ago in case of emergency.

She opens their text conversation and deletes everything.

All 6 months of messages gone.

She deletes the Instagram messages, too.

She’s trying to erase the evidence of their relationship.

The neighbor in apartment 2C heard some commotion around 400 p.m.

raised voices and what might have been screaming, but the walls are thin in this building and people argue all the time.

He assumed someone had their TV up too loud or was watching a violent movie.

He never thought to call anyone.

He went back to his video game and forgot about it until the police knocked on his door later.

Sarah looks at Fred’s body one last time before she leaves.

She walks over and leans down close to his ear.

Now we’re even,” she whispers to the corpse.

She picks up her purse, checks that she has the knife, and walks out of the apartment.

She doesn’t run.

She walks normally down the stairs into her rental car.

She gets in, starts the engine, and drives away.

Behind her, Fred’s body is cooling on the blood soaked bed.

Patricia will find him when she gets home from her doctor’s appointment in less than 2 hours.

But right now, Sarah is driving down the highway with no particular destination in mind.

The rage that has been building for years is finally gone.

In its place is nothing, just empty silence.

Patricia returns home at 5:15 p.m.

She’s tired from her doctor’s appointment, and the waiting room took longer than expected.

She walks into the apartment calling out for Fred.

Baby, I’m home.

How did it go with Sarah? There’s no response.

The apartment is too quiet.

Patricia walks down the hallway toward Fred’s bedroom and stops in the doorway.

Her son is lying in his bed covered in blood.

His eyes are open, but seeing nothing.

Fred, she says, her voice rising.

Fred.

She rushes to him and tries to shake him awake, even though somewhere in her mind she knows he’s gone.

She screams and fumbles for her phone.

The 911 call comes in at 5:18 p.m.

My baby, he’s not breathing.

There’s blood everywhere.

Patricia is hysterical, barely able to speak coherently.

The dispatcher tries to get information from her.

Where is the blood coming from? Has she checked for a pulse? Patricia can’t form clear answers.

Please just send someone.

My son is dead.

Someone killed my son.

The dispatcher sends police and paramedics immediately.

They arrive within 6 minutes.

Fred is pronounced dead at the scene.

The paramedics don’t even try to revive him.

He’s been dead for over an hour and he’s lost too much blood.

The crime scene tells a clear story.

There’s massive blood loss all over the bed and floor.

The medical examiner counts 17 stab wounds.

What stands out immediately is the lack of defensive wounds on Fred’s hands and arms.

He tried to protect himself but couldn’t effectively because of his size and immobility.

His body position shows he died exactly where he was when the attack started.

He couldn’t get out of bed.

He couldn’t run.

He couldn’t fight back in any meaningful way.

He was completely helpless.

Detective Dennis Rodriguez is assigned to the case.

He arrives at the apartment at 6:45 p.m.

and starts piecing together what happened.

Patricia is sitting in the living room with a victim advocate, still sobbing.

She tells Rodriguez about the girl from Canada.

The girlfriend Fred claimed to have, the one who showed up yesterday and ran out angry, the one who came back today.

Rodriguez asks for a name.

Patricia doesn’t know Sarah’s last name, but she knows she’s from Ontario.

That’s enough to start with.

Rodriguez finds Fred’s phone on the nightstand.

The screen is cracked, but it still works.

When he opens the messages app, he sees that recent conversations have been deleted, but Rodriguez knows that deleted doesn’t mean gone.

The forensics team will be able to recover those messages.

More importantly, there’s Instagram still logged in.

Rodriguez scrolls through Fred’s DMs and finds Sarah Mitchell from Ontario.

Her profile is public.

He can see her face clearly.

He screenshots everything and sends it to the team.

The apartment building has security cameras at the entrance.

Rodriguez reviews the footage and there she is.

Sarah Mitchell walking in at 3:00 p.m.

wearing a blue dress and carrying a purse.

She walks out at 4:15 p.m.

wearing the same dress now with what looks like stains on it.

Her face is blank.

No emotion at all.

She gets into a silver rental car and drives away.

Rodriguez gets the license plate number and puts out an immediate alert.

He also finds the murder weapon left at the scene, a kitchen knife with clear fingerprints on the handle.

The forensics team bags it as evidence.

Sarah is driving east on I 10 toward Louisiana.

She’s been driving for 3 hours and she doesn’t know where she’s going.

She just knows she needs to move.

At some point, she stops and posts on Instagram.

Just two words.

Finally free.

She deletes it 5 minutes later, but not before several people screenshot it.

One of them will send it to police.

In Bowmont, Texas, she stops for gas.

She’s almost at the Louisiana border.

She sits in her car at the gas station and thinks about turning herself in, about calling 911 and ending this.

But then she thinks about Fred and the rage comes back.

She starts the car and keeps driving.

The police are tracking her through.

multiple methods.

Her credit card shows the gas purchase in Bowmont.

License plate readers on I 10 catch her car passing through at 7:42 p.m.

Cell tower pings show her phone’s location even though she turned it off hours ago.

The phone still pings towers when it’s off, unless the battery is completely removed.

Sarah doesn’t know this.

The mistake that seals her fate happens at a gas station just across the Louisiana border.

She uses Fred’s credit card to pay for gas.

She must have taken it from his apartment.

The transaction flags immediately in the system.

By midnight, police know exactly where Sarah is and where she’s heading.

They set up to intercept her at a rest stop on I 10 in Louisiana.

At 7:23 a.m.

on September 19th, Sarah pulls into the rest stop to use the bathroom and maybe sleep for a few hours.

She’s exhausted.

She hasn’t slept in over 48 hours.

When she walks back to her car, there are six police vehicles surrounding it.

Officers have their guns drawn.

Sarah Mitchell, put your hands up.

Get on the ground now.

Sarah doesn’t run.

She doesn’t resist.

She just stands there looking at them with that same blank expression from the security footage.

Sarah gets on the ground and lets them handcuff her.

She’s eerily calm.

As they’re walking her to the police car, she asks, “Is it done? Is he really dead? One of the officers looks at her confused.

Another officer, Rodriguez, who flew in to make the arrest, says, “Fred Williams died two days ago.” Sarah nods.

Good.

At least one of them paid.

Rodriguez asks, “One of who?” Sarah doesn’t answer.

They search her purse and find the bloody knife still wrapped in black lingerie.

They also find her wallet.

Inside is a photo that stops Rodriguez cold.

It’s a couple photo edit.

Someone digitally put Sarah and Fred’s faces together in a romantic pose, hearts and flowers around them.

Sarah made this fake photo of them as a couple and carried it in her wallet.

Rodriguez shows Sarah the photo.

Did you make this? Sarah looks at it and starts laughing.

Not a happy laugh.

A broken, bitter laugh.

He made me believe we were that couple.

He made me think it was real, so I made it real in the only way I could.

Rodriguez asks if she understands what she’s done, if she understands the consequences.

Sarah looks him directly in the eyes.

He deserved it.

They all deserved it.

Every man who ever hurt me.

But Fred was the one I could reach.

Fred was the one who couldn’t run away.

She doesn’t show any remorse.

She doesn’t cry.

She just sits in the back of the police car staring out the window as they drive her back to Texas to face murder charges.

The trial begins in January 2024, 4 months after Fred’s murder.

Sarah’s public defender is Maria Gonzalez, a woman in her 50s who specializes in cases involving domestic violence and trauma.

Gonzalez knows this case is nearly impossible to win.

The evidence of premeditation is overwhelming.

Sarah bought the knives the morning of the murder.

She sent fake forgiveness texts to gain access.

She turned off her phone’s location.

These are not the actions of someone who snapped in the moment.

These are the actions of someone who planned to kill.

But Gonzalez decides on a strategy.

Argue temporary insanity and extreme emotional disturbance.

Make the jury understand that Sarah’s mind was so broken by trauma that she wasn’t capable of rational thought.

The stakes are enormous.

If convicted of first-degree murder, Sarah faces life in prison.

If they can get it reduced to manslaughter, she might serve 15 years.

The prosecution goes first.

They show the Walmart security footage from the morning of September 18th.

There’s Sarah, calm and composed, standing in front of the knife display.

She picks up a set, reads the package, puts it in her cart.

She doesn’t look distressed or upset.

She looks like someone buying kitchen supplies.

The prosecutor tells the jury this is a woman who knew exactly what she was planning to do.

Then they show Sarah’s text messages to Fred.

You’re right.

Love is what matters.

I’m coming over.

The prosecutor argues this was a calculated lie to make Fred feel safe so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

They show Sarah’s Google searches from the hotel room.

How to hurt someone who hurt you and vulnerable spots on obese bodies.

The prosecution says this proves Sarah researched how to kill Fred most effectively.

The prosecutor brings up Sarah’s calm demeanor throughout the murder.

She didn’t panic.

She deleted messages from Fred’s phone.

She drove calmly out of the parking lot.

She posted finally free on Instagram.

She stopped for gas and food.

Does this sound like someone who had a mental breakdown? Or does it sound like someone who committed murder and felt good about it? The prosecution argues that Sarah deceived Fred by pretending to forgive him just to get access to him when he was vulnerable and alone.

This wasn’t a crime of passion.

This was premeditated murder, plain and simple.

Maria Gonzalez stands up for the defense and tells a different story.

She walks the jury through Sarah’s entire history of abuse.

Marcus who beat her, David who manipulated her mind, James who stole her money and her dignity.

She explains complex PTSD and how repeated trauma changes the brain.

She introduces the concept of cumulative provocation.

One betrayal might not excuse violence, but what about a lifetime of betrayals? What about a woman who was systematically destroyed by every man she ever trusted? Gonzalez argues that when Sarah saw Fred, she didn’t just see Fred.

She saw every man who ever hurt her.

She didn’t kill Fred Williams.

Gonzalez tells the jury.

“She killed every man who ever hurt her.

Fred just happened to be the one who was there.” Patricia Williams takes the stand and the courtroom goes silent.

She’s lost weight since Fred’s death.

Her hands shake as she swears to tell the truth.

The prosecutor asks her to describe finding her son’s body, and Patricia breaks down immediately.

she can barely get the words out.

There was so much blood.

His eyes were open.

I knew he was gone, but I kept shaking him, begging him to wake up.

The entire courtroom is crying.

But then Patricia says something nobody expects.

She looks directly at Sarah and says, “I lost my son, but I understand her pain.” The prosecutor looks shocked.

Patricia continues, “Fred was my baby and I loved him.

But what he did to that girl was cruel.

What he did to all those women was wrong.

He didn’t deserve to die.

But I understand why she broke.” Sarah takes the stand and she shows no emotion.

She’s wearing a simple gray dress.

Her hair is pulled back.

She looks directly at the jury as she speaks.

I felt my whole life was a joke to him.

Every message, every promise, every I love you was him laughing at me.

He knew my pain because I told him everything and he weaponized it against me.

He used my trauma to trap me.

The prosecutor asks if she planned to kill Fred.

Sarah doesn’t hesitate.

Yes.

From the moment I left that hotel room, I knew what I was going to do.

The courtroom gasps.

Her own lawyer looks horrified.

Sarah continues, “In that moment, he became all of them.

Every man who ever hurt me, and I was tired of being hurt.” The prosecutor asks if she’s sorry.

Sarah looks at Fred’s mother.

“I’m not sorry, he’s dead.

I’m sorry.

I’m not sorry.” Other witnesses tell stories that complicate everything.

Jessica, Sarah’s friend, testifies that she suggested the surprise visit.

I blame myself every day.

If I hadn’t said that, Fred would still be alive.

Sarah’s therapist explains dissociation and how trauma victims can enter altered mental states where they’re not fully in control of their actions.

Then the defense brings in three of Fred’s previous catfishing victims.

One woman from Oregon, one from California, one from Florida.

Each one tells a similar story.

Fake photos, elaborate lies, promises that never materialized.

The woman from California breaks down on the stand.

He destroyed me.

I attempted suicide after finding out the truth.

I was in the hospital for a week.

She looks at Sarah.

I understand why she did it.

I thought about it, too.

The bombshell evidence comes near the end of the trial.

The forensics team recovered data from Fred’s laptop.

He wasn’t just catfishing Sarah.

He was actively deceiving 14 women simultaneously.

The defense shows the jury screenshots of conversations with all of them.

Same lies, same promises, same manipulation tactics.

Then they show something even more disturbing.

A suicide note from 2022 written by a woman named Amanda, who Fred had catfished for over a year.

Amanda survived the attempt, but the note says, “I can’t live knowing that everything I believed was a lie.

Fred destroyed me.” The defense also shows that Fred had taken over $50,000 total from various women over 5 years.

Small amounts from each, but it added up.

Finally, they show a document found on Fred’s computer titled The Playbook.

It’s a stepbystep guide Fred wrote for himself on how to manipulate lonely women online, how to spot vulnerability, how to exploit trauma, how to keep them hooked without ever meeting.

The jury sits in stunned silence.

This isn’t just about Sarah anymore.

This is about systemic emotional abuse and the consequences of digital deception.

The prosecutor argues that no matter what Fred did, murder is still murder.

The defense argues that Sarah was driven insane by cumulative trauma and that Fred’s own actions led directly to his death.

After 3 weeks of testimony, the case goes to the jury.

Everyone waits to see if broken hearts can be a defense for taking a life.

The jury deliberates for 3 days.

Inside that room, 12 people argue about justice and trauma and whether a broken heart can justify taking a life.

The jury is divided at first.

10 jurors want to convict Sarah of secondderee murder.

Two jurors, both women who have experienced abuse themselves, argue for voluntary manslaughter.

They believe Sarah’s extreme emotional disturbance should reduce the charge, but the evidence of premeditation is too strong to ignore.

The knife purchase, the fake forgiveness text, the deleted location data.

After 3 days, the two holdouts agree to seconddegree murder.

The final vote is 12 to0.

The verdict comes on February 14th, 2024, Valentine’s Day.

The irony is not lost on anyone in the courtroom.

Sarah stands as the jury foreman reads the verdict.

We, the jury, find the defendant, Sarah Mitchell, guilty of murder in the second degree.

Sarah doesn’t react.

Her face remains blank.

She just stares straight ahead like she’s looking at something no one else can see.

Behind her, Patricia Williams is crying quietly.

In the gallery, Fred’s other catfishing victims have mixed reactions.

Some look satisfied, others look devastated.

One woman is shaking her head and crying.

The judge sets sentencing for two weeks later.

At the sentencing hearing, the judge speaks directly to Sarah.

This case represents a modern tragedy.

Two lives have been destroyed by deception and violence.

The court recognizes the defendant’s extensive history of trauma and abuse.

The court acknowledges that Fred Williams engaged in cruel psychological manipulation.

However, premeditation cannot be ignored.

The defendant had multiple opportunities to walk away, to seek help, to choose a different path.

She chose murder.

The judge sentences Sarah to 25 years to life with the possibility of parole after 20 years.

Sarah will be 52 years old before she can even apply for release.

Sarah is given the opportunity to make a final statement.

She stands up and speaks without notes.

Her voice is steady and clear.

I spent my whole life being a victim.

Men hit me.

Men lied to me.

Men stole from me.

Men destroyed me piece by piece until there was almost nothing left.

For once, I decided not to be the victim.

I decided to fight back.

She pauses and looks directly at the camera that’s recording the proceedings.

Fred Williams was a predator.

He systematically targeted vulnerable women and destroyed their hearts and minds for his own entertainment.

I have no regrets except getting caught.

Every woman he was deceiving is free now because I made sure he can’t hurt anyone else.

The judge tells her to sit down.

Sarah sits.

She doesn’t cry.

She doesn’t apologize.

She just sits.

Fred’s story becomes internet infamy.

He’s reduced to meme status online.

The catfish who got caught trends on Twitter.

People make jokes about his weight and his deception, but some people push back against the mockery.

Fred was a human being with a mother who loved him.

He struggled with mental health issues and food addiction that nobody took seriously.

His need for validation through deception was a symptom of deeper problems that were never addressed.

The apartment where he died is demolished 6 months after the murder.

The lot remains empty.

Nobody wants to build there.

The case sparks nationwide discussion about online deception.

A legislator in Texas proposes Sarah’s Law, which would criminalize severe catfishing that causes emotional or financial harm.

The law fails to pass, but the conversation continues.

Dating apps start implementing stricter photo verification systems.

Some apps now require video verification before accounts can be activated.

Patricia Williams starts the Fred Williams Memorial Fund.

The fund supports both catfishing victims and people struggling with severe obesity.

Patricia says, “Both groups need help.

Both groups are suffering.

Both groups deserve compassion.” Patricia does something that shocks everyone.

She publicly forgives Sarah.

In a television interview 6 months after the trial, Patricia says, “Both of them were victims of modern loneliness.

My son was trapped in his body and used the internet to escape.

Sarah was trapped in her trauma and believed Fred was her escape.

They destroyed each other.

Patricia becomes an advocate for mental health resources.

She speaks at conferences about her son’s struggles with food addiction and his need for connection that led him to deceive so many women.

The internet killed my son twice, she says.

Once through his addiction to food and validation and once through revenge.

Sarah adjusts to prison life.

She becomes a jailhouse lawyer, helping other incarcerated women who are abuse survivors file appeals and paperwork.

She refuses almost all interview requests except one.

She agrees to speak with a journalist from a women’s magazine who focuses on domestic violence.

In that interview, Sarah says she’s writing a manifesto called The Last Victim about her life and the systemic failures that led to Fred’s murder.

She receives thousands of letters from people.

Some call her a hero.

Some call her a monster.

Disturbingly, she receives marriage proposals from men who say they understand her and want to support her.

Sarah throws all of those letters away.

The 14 other women Fred was catfishing come forward after the trial.

Together, they lost over $50,000 to Fred’s lies, but the emotional damage is immeasurable.

They form a support group that meets monthly via video call.

Some of these women admit that they fantasized about hurting Fred when they found out the truth.

One woman says in an interview, “Sarah did what we all wanted to do.

We just didn’t have the courage or the desperation.” This statement causes controversy.

Some people argue it glorifies violence.

Others say it’s an honest acknowledgement of how devastating catfishing can be.

One year after the murder, something unprecedented happens.

Patricia visits Sarah in prison.

The meeting is arranged through their lawyers and approved by the prison.

The two women sit across from each other in a private visiting room.

Patricia speaks first.

“I see my son in your pain,” she tells Sarah.

“You’re both people who were drowning and made terrible choices because of it.” For the first time since her arrest, Sarah breaks down crying.

She sobbs so hard she can barely breathe.

Patricia reaches across the table and takes Sarah’s hands.

The guard allows it.

A photographer captures the moment through the window.

Two broken women embracing across the table.

The mother of the victim holding the hands of her son’s killer.

The photo runs on the front page of every major newspaper.

Sarah will spend the next two decades in prison.

Fred is buried in a cemetery outside Houston.

Patricia visits his grave every Sunday.

And online, millions of people continue to deceive each other with fake photos and false promises.

The conditions that created this tragedy haven’t changed.

If you’re carrying trauma like Sarah was, please talk to someone before it explodes.

Therapy isn’t weakness, it’s survival.

We want to hear from you in the comments.

Have you ever been catfished? What would you have done in Sarah’s situation? Let’s have a real conversation about this.

If you found this story important, subscribe.

I cover cases that actually teach us something, not just shock value.

And seriously, share this with a friend who’s dating online.

It might save them from their own version of Fred.

Thanks for watching.

Stay safe out