I’ve always been drawn to the stories behind the headlines. Not the gory details that make us double-check our locks (though I absolutely do that too), but the lives that existed before they became true crime footnotes. The 2022 University of Idaho murders hit differently for me—maybe because these victims were just starting their lives, or maybe because their stories got buried under an avalanche of amateur sleuthing and conspiracy theories.
So who were Ethan, Kaylee, Xana, and Madison before that horrific November night?
Four Lives, Four Stories
Ethan Chapin was a 20-year-old triplet with an infectious smile that apparently never quit. (I’ve stared at his photos way longer than is probably normal, trying to imagine the kind of energy that made everyone describe him as “radiating joy.”) A freshman from Conway, Washington, he was dating Xana Kernodle and had siblings attending the same university.
Kaylee Goncalves, 21, was days away from graduating and had already lined up a job in Austin. She’d recently moved out of the King Road house but returned that night to visit her lifelong bestie, Madison. Her dad described her as fiercely loyal—the kind of friend who’d drop everything if you needed her. I can’t help but wonder if that’s what brought her back to the house that night.
Xana Kernodle was the kind of 20-year-old who balanced college classes with a job at a local restaurant. Friends described her as resilient and creative—someone who made everyone feel included. She and Ethan had been dating for about a year, according to the extensive timeline of events that followed the murders.
Madison Mogen—Maddie to her friends—was the 21-year-old marketing major who’d been inseparable from Kaylee since they were kids. She worked alongside Xana at the restaurant and was known for her warmth and kindness. (In another life, I’d like to think we would have been friends—she sounds like the person who remembers how you take your coffee after meeting you just once.)
“They Were More Than Victims”
That’s what Kaylee’s father, Steve Goncalves, kept repeating in interviews after the murders. And he’s right—reducing these four to their tragic end misses the point entirely.
Ethan’s family shared how he was “one of the most incredible people you’ll ever know,” while Madison’s friends talked about how she could make anyone feel like they belonged. Xana was described as having this quiet strength that inspired others, and Kaylee was apparently planning to backpack through Europe before settling into her new job.
They were normal college kids doing normal college things. Going to parties. Working part-time jobs. Falling in love. Planning futures that extended well beyond that November weekend.
The Night That Changed Everything
The texts sent between roommates in the hours after the murders are absolutely chilling. The surviving roommates tried repeatedly to contact their friends, unaware of what had happened upstairs while they slept. The growing panic in those messages is palpable—the slow realization that something was terribly wrong.
(Ryan says I need to stop reading those texts before bed because I keep waking him up to “make sure he’s breathing.” He’s probably right.)
A Community Forever Changed
The University of Idaho canceled classes. Students fled campus early for Thanksgiving break. A college town known for its safety suddenly felt dangerous in a way that residents had never experienced before.
The murders shocked Moscow, Idaho, a town of about 25,000 people where violent crime was practically non-existent. Locals started locking doors that had remained unlocked for decades. Parents called their college kids hourly. The ripple effects of fear spread far beyond the King Road house.
Remembering Them Right
When I dive into true crime cases (which is, let’s be honest, most nights after my corporate job), I try to remember that before they were victims, they were people with inside jokes and favorite songs and plans for next weekend.
Ethan, Kaylee, Xana, and Madison were robbed of futures that looked incredibly bright. They deserved to graduate, to travel, to fall in and out of love, to build careers and families—to experience all the messy, beautiful parts of growing up that most of us take for granted.
Their legacy shouldn’t be defined by how they died, but by how they lived—with joy, friendship, ambition, and love.
And maybe the most respectful thing we can do as true crime followers is remember that.
(But also, definitely double-check your locks tonight. I know I will.)