The Boise courtroom felt smaller than ever on January 29, 2026, as families of the four University of Idaho students murdered in November 2022 faced Bryan Kohberger one last time before he received his sentence of death by lethal injection. After more than three years of waiting, legal battles, and unbearable grief, the victim impact statements gave the parents, siblings, and loved ones a few precious minutes to speak directly to the man convicted of taking their children.

Steve Goncalves, Kaylee Goncalves’s father, had already spoken—his voice steady as he recounted the night police came to his door and the life his daughter would never live. But when he turned to address Madison Mogen—Kaylee’s best friend and the fourth victim killed that night—his composure cracked.

“I love you, Maddie,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty space where Madison’s parents sat. “Wish you were still here.”

The words hung in the air. Madison’s mother Stacy Mogen bowed her head, tears falling freely. Her father Ben reached over and squeezed her hand. Steve continued, voice trembling: “You girls were supposed to finish school together, travel the world, get married, have kids who would call us grandpa and grandma. Instead we’re left planning memorials instead of weddings. Maddie, you were supposed to teach children how to read and dream big. Now the only children who will ever know your name are the ones who read about what happened to you.”

Madison Mogen—known to everyone as Maddie—was the quiet optimist of the group. Friends described her as the one who always remembered birthdays, sent encouraging texts before exams, and dreamed of becoming an elementary school teacher. Her parents spoke next. Stacy stood first, voice soft but steady.

“She loved children,” Stacy said. “She wanted to spend her life helping them discover the world. She talked about having her own classroom, decorating it with bright colors, reading stories every afternoon. That was her future. Someone decided she didn’t get one.”

Ben Mogen rose after his wife. He had stayed mostly silent in public for three years, letting others carry the voice of grief. Today he chose to speak directly to Kohberger.

“You took her from us,” he said, looking across the room. “You took her smile, her kindness, her future. I don’t know if you can understand what that does to a parent. I don’t think you can. But I want you to hear this clearly: every morning I wake up and the first thing I feel is that she’s gone. Every holiday, every quiet evening when the house feels too big, every time I see a little girl with blonde hair—I miss her. And I will miss her for every day I have left. You made sure of that.”

He paused, drew a long breath, then spoke again, softer: “I love you, Maddie. Wish you were still here.”

The courtroom remained still. Kohberger sat motionless at the defense table, eyes forward, expression blank behind his glasses. His legal team had instructed him to show no reaction, to give nothing that could be used in appeals or future proceedings. He followed that instruction perfectly.

The statements continued for nearly four hours. Xana Kernodle’s mother, Cara Northington, spoke of waking every morning still listening for her daughter’s footsteps in the kitchen. Ethan Chapin’s parents, Stacy and Jim, read letters Ethan had sent home from college—letters now framed and stained with tears. Each family spoke not only of loss but of the lives their children were building: Kaylee’s love of animals and plans to become a veterinarian, Xana’s infectious laugh and dream of opening a bakery, Ethan’s easy smile and plans to propose to Xana after graduation.

When the last speaker finished, Judge Steven Hippler addressed Kohberger before delivering the sentence.

“You have heard the voices of those left behind,” the judge said. “You have taken four young lives full of promise and caused pain that will never heal. The law provides only one sentence for these crimes. That sentence is death.”

Kohberger showed no visible reaction. He had been found guilty on all counts in September 2025 after a five-month trial marked by intense legal battles over DNA evidence, cell-phone data, and the knife sheath found at the scene. The jury deliberated less than nine hours before returning guilty verdicts. Sentencing had been delayed multiple times due to defense motions, but today the chapter closed: death by lethal injection at the Idaho Maximum Security Institution.

Outside the courthouse, the families gathered briefly with supporters. Steve Goncalves embraced Ben Mogen. Stacy Mogen held a framed photo of Madison smiling among sunflowers. Reporters kept a respectful distance as the families released a joint statement:

“Today was not about closure. There is no closure when your child is murdered. Today was about making sure the world remembers who Maddie, Kaylee, Xana, and Ethan really were—not just victims in headlines, but daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, friends. We spoke their names. We said we love them. And we will keep saying it forever.”

The case had held the nation’s attention for years. Kohberger’s arrest in Pennsylvania in December 2022—six weeks after the murders—came after an exhaustive investigation involving genetic genealogy, surveillance video, cell-tower records, and DNA from a knife sheath left beside one victim. The trial itself was emotionally charged, featuring graphic crime-scene testimony, fierce battles over forensic evidence, and tearful accounts from the surviving roommates who had been in the house that night.

For the families, sentencing marked the end of one long fight and the beginning of another. They have vowed to continue advocating for victims’ rights, campus safety improvements, and mental health resources for college students. Several have established scholarship funds in their children’s names—ensuring Maddie’s dream of teaching, Kaylee’s passion for animals, Xana’s warmth, and Ethan’s bright spirit live on through others.

As the families left the courthouse together—holding photos, holding each other—the words Steve Goncalves spoke lingered long after the courtroom emptied: “I love you, Maddie. Wish you were still here.”

They were words spoken not just to a daughter gone, but to a world that must never be allowed to forget.