Tammy Rogers sits with a photo album open on her lap, flipping through images of two boys who were inseparable. One is her son Max; the other is Leo Ross, the 12-year-old schoolboy whose life ended abruptly on a familiar path home from school. The pictures capture laughter, shared adventures, and the kind of easy friendship that comes from genuine connection. Now those moments exist only in memory, and Tammy’s voice cracks as she speaks about the boy she calls “a beautiful, beautiful boy.”

Leo was murdered in a random knife attack on January 21, 2025, while walking the short route from Christ Church C of E Secondary Academy in Yardley Wood, Birmingham. He had been on the phone with a friend—Max—arranging to meet near a tree in Trittiford Mill Park. Those ordinary plans never came to fruition. A 14-year-old attacker, acting without motive or prior connection, stabbed Leo once in the stomach. Despite the efforts of passersby and emergency services, Leo died later that evening at hospital. The loss has left an enormous hole in the lives of everyone who knew him.

Tammy, speaking to ITV News, describes Leo as someone who stood out for his depth and warmth. “He was very inquisitive, he loved everything and he was so intellectual,” she says. At an age when many children are caught up in fleeting trends, Leo pursued knowledge with genuine passion. He asked questions that showed real curiosity about the world, listened intently to answers, and remembered details others might forget. Tammy recalls how he would engage adults in conversations far beyond his years, always polite, always thoughtful. “He was caring,” she emphasizes, “always putting others before himself.” That caring nature extended to his friends—especially Max, whom he treated like a brother.

The tribute comes at a time when the community is still processing the senselessness of the crime. The killer, now 15, pleaded guilty to murder at Birmingham Crown Court on January 29, 2026, along with related assaults on three elderly women in the preceding days. He admitted enjoying the act of hurting people and watching the resulting chaos. His behavior at the scene—lingering, feigning concern as a passerby while police arrived—added a layer of calculated cruelty that has deepened the public’s horror. Yet for those who loved Leo, the focus remains on who he was, not the brutality that took him.

Leo’s foster family echoed similar sentiments in their statements. They described him as “the sweetest, kindest boy who put others before himself,” loved by everyone he met, young or old. He made friends effortlessly, bringing light wherever he went. His birth mother, Rachel Fisher, spoke of a son without “a bad bone in his body,” the sweetest and most kind-hearted child imaginable. These words paint a portrait of a boy whose innocence and empathy defined him, making his violent end all the more incomprehensible.

At school, Leo left a lasting impression. Acting head teacher Tim Boyes remembered him as “quirky, lovable, bright, unusual”—a child with a naivety and simplicity that charmed those around him. Unlike many of his peers obsessed with sports, Leo was passionate about fossils, collecting them and sharing facts with infectious enthusiasm. His death sent shockwaves through the staff and pupils, who struggled to comprehend how someone so full of life could be gone in an instant.

The randomness of the attack has amplified the grief. Leo’s walk home was routine, a path taken daily without fear. He should have arrived at that tree, met his friend, continued his day filled with questions and laughter. Instead, a single, unprovoked act erased all of that. The community has responded with vigils, floral tributes at the scene, and an outpouring of messages online. People who never knew him personally have been moved by stories of his gentle nature, his intellectual curiosity, his unwavering kindness.

Tammy’s interview highlights the personal toll. She speaks of the “massive void” left behind—not just for Max, who lost his best friend, but for the entire circle that orbited Leo’s warmth. Max arrived at the meeting spot only to face the devastating reality that Leo would never come. The friendship that once brought daily joy now carries daily pain. Tammy calls Leo a “credit” to his family, a boy who embodied the best qualities one could hope for in a child.

Broader reflections emerge from this tragedy. Leo’s story forces questions about safety on everyday journeys, the vulnerability of children in public spaces, and the need for earlier intervention when warning signs appear in young people. Yet amid calls for change, the most powerful element remains the human one: remembering a boy who was loved deeply and deserved so much more time to grow, learn, and care.

As sentencing approaches on February 10, 2026, Leo’s loved ones continue to honor him by sharing who he truly was. Not a victim defined solely by tragedy, but a caring, inquisitive, beautiful boy whose light touched everyone around him. Tammy’s words serve as both eulogy and reminder: lives like Leo’s are irreplaceable, and their loss demands we hold tighter to kindness in a world that too often forgets it.

The photos Tammy shares show two boys smiling, arms around each other, full of promise. That promise was stolen, but the memory of Leo’s spirit endures—in every question left unasked, every act of care inspired by his example, every heart that breaks remembering a beautiful boy gone too soon.