Lindsay Clancy strangled her children. Cora was 5. Dawson was 3. Callan was 8 months old. Her lawyer stood up in court and admitted she used exercise bands to kill them in the basement after she sent her husband out for takeout. Two were dead when he got home. The baby died three days later. The only argument left was whether three homicides should count.

The country got the full TikTok-diagnostics package. Postpartum. Psychosis. Voices. Trauma. A stack of pill bottles and a sad playlist. The SSRI-medicated mob ran cover like this was a self-care story instead of a triple child killing. They wanted a diagnosis, not a verdict. They wanted her sick, not guilty. They wanted three dead kids memory-holed so nobody had to say the words mother and murderer in the same sentence.

If a father does this, he’s a monster by lunch. No mental health talk. No pill-bottle excuses. No entertainment of feelings. A man kills his kids and the country wants him buried. A woman does it and half the country starts writing her a medical alibi. Personal responsibility for thee, never for her.

One juror held his seat. He looked at what she did, not the brand of Zoloft. So the defense demanded the judge throw him off the jury for “not following reasonable doubt.”

The judge left him on. The jury hung. Mistrial. Now she can be tried again for killing her children instead of getting a standing ovation for her symptoms.

We’re not letting this slide.

If they come for him, and they will, this is to cover security, lawyers, and lost work.

Lindsay killed them.

Stand with him.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​