The New Yorker:

Patrick Clancy’s wife killed their children during a postpartum mental-health crisis. Prosecutors describe a clear-headed scheme, but Clancy says, “I wasn’t married to a monster—I was married to someone who got sick.”

By Eren Orbey

Patrick Clancy’s new apartment, in midtown Manhattan, looks much like any other tidy bachelor pad. There’s little on the living-room walls besides a mounted acoustic guitar and a sailing trophy. He has held on to a few keepsakes from his former life in the coastal suburb of Duxbury, Massachusetts, with his wife, Lindsay, and their three small children. A pink blanket printed with rainbows is draped over the couch, beside throw pillows stitched with scraps of kids’ clothing. A toy helicopter, his middle child’s last Christmas gift, sits on a sharp-cornered media console that would have needed babyproofing in the family home.

Cora was five, Dawson was three, and Callan was eight months old. Pat loves to talk about them and dreads having to explain what happened. On January 24, 2023, he stepped out of the house in Duxbury to pick up children’s medicine and a takeout dinner order. When he returned, less than an hour later, Lindsay lay semiconscious in the back yard, having cut her neck and wrists and thrown herself from their bedroom window. She’d left the children strangled in the basement. Cora and Dawson were pronounced dead that night; Callan was airlifted to a hospital, where he died a few days later. “I have three kids,” Pat sometimes still says, out of habit, before adding, “They are deceased.”

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