I was 12 when my father murdered my mother but tried to frame me – he said he saw me holding a knife over her dead body

HAYLEE Cole, now 31, was just 12 when her mother Tami, 41, was killed by her father Brad Reay, 47.

He then tried to blame his only son for the stabbing.

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Here, Haylee exclusively tells her story and how she became a victims’ rights activist

Waking up and finding Mom nowhere in sight, I felt a deep sense of discomfort when Dad told me she had run off with another man and might be gone for days.

I knew something was terribly wrong, because there was no way she would have left me.

Dad walked me to school, which he never did, and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone your mom is missing, it’s personal.”

I agreed, but I had no idea that on that cold February morning in 2006, at just 12 years old, I was about to lose my parents and my life would become a nightmare.

When I was a child, Dad never spent much time with me.

He only cared about work and fishing, and we didn’t have much of a relationship.

Meanwhile, Mom and I were extremely close – as an only child, I didn’t know how I would live without her.

A week before Mom’s murder, my parents talked to me and Mom told me they were getting divorced.

She said it was her decision and that it seemed fine, but Dad was upset and in shock.

I couldn’t stop crying because I had no idea what was coming.

Dad started acting strangely, sitting in bed all day without eating or sleeping.

He took me for a walk, where he tried to turn me against Mom, saying it was all her fault that our family was falling apart.

I felt sorry for him, but I realized that divorce was best for Mom.

But now she was gone – and I had no idea what had happened.

That afternoon, I was called to the principal’s office to speak on the phone with my panicked aunt Raquel.

Mom talked to her mother, Bonnie, every morning without fail, but Bonnie couldn’t get a hold of Mom that day and she and Raquel were worried.

I told them that I had last seen her the night before and that her purse and phone were still on the kitchen counter.

My aunt explained that they had a feeling something was wrong and called the supermarket where Mom worked and found out she wasn’t there.

After speaking to her manager, Brian, and saying they were concerned, he called the police.

Already sick with worry, I began to panic.

I was taken to an orphanage overnight, and the next morning a detective sat me down at the orphanage and told me that they had started an investigation into Mom’s disappearance and that Dad had been arrested on suspicion of murder, stabbing her 37 times. in a horrible attack.

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A police helicopter found her naked body dumped in a remote location.

I went into shock, unable to process what was happening.

Since my father was taken into custody, I never had the chance to confront him.

Within 24 hours, my grandfather Don drove nine hours to pick me up from our family home in South Dakota and I began living with Mom’s parents in Wyoming, more than 500 miles away.

I only had one suitcase of clothes to my name.

I was completely perplexed by how my father could have killed my kind and caring mother after 13 years of marriage – I had never seen him be violent before, but I later discovered that he was coercively controlling her.

My grandfather told me that Dad was obsessed with her and, when he wasn’t working long hours at Walmart, he was “like plastic wrap” on her, almost as if he was attached to his wife.

Mom’s funeral was the hardest day of my life

His entire family was completely devastated. but my grandparents tried to be brave and strong for me.

Losing my mother in this way was incredibly traumatic, but with the support of my grandparents and aunts and my mother – I had no contact with my father’s family – I was determined to become the person I knew my mother wanted me to be. if I was.

Dad denied killing Mom, and the case took almost a year to come to trial.

In January 2007, I walked into court, supported by my grandparents and aunts, where my lawyer explained to us that my father was blaming me for my mother’s murder.

In the trial’s opening statement, his defense team claimed they saw me in a trance-like state holding a knife next to Mom’s bed after I was upset about the divorce.

He said he dumped her body and covered up the murder to protect me.

I was stunned.

I felt used and very angry, but everyone said all I needed to do was tell the truth – so that’s what I did.

When I testified, Dad was sitting in his orange jumpsuit, taking notes and watching me, trying to intimidate me.

Her lawyer kept asking me difficult questions, trying to twist my answers, but even though I was scared, I remained strong, determined to get justice for Mom.

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During the trial I also discovered that she was having an affair with her co-worker Brian and that my father knew about it, which really shocked and surprised me.

Fortunately, the jury saw through Dad’s lies and he was found guilty of murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole.

When his sentence was read in court, my family and I cried and hugged the prosecutors

He later tried to appeal several times but was unsuccessful.

When his sentence was read in court, my family and I cried and hugged the prosecutors.

I was relieved that everything we went through was worth it to get justice for Mom.

But I knew I would never forgive him.

I didn’t want to see or speak to him ever again – court was the last time I saw him.

Instead, I focused on rebuilding my life and returning to a sense of normalcy.

About a year after the trial, my father’s father and brother got in touch and we still talk to this day, although they can’t talk about what my father did because it is so painful.

‘I know mom would have loved to be my son’s grandmother’

When I was 15, I gave a talk to my school about what I had been through and was overwhelmed by the support from my peers, who had no idea what had happened.

It inspired me to become a victims’ rights activist and public speaker, giving voice to my mother and others whose lives were cruelly cut short.

I met my wonderful husband, James, in 2012, working at McDonald’s, and we had a son, now six.

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Mom would have loved him, and it breaks my heart that she never got to meet him and see me become a mother.

He knows he had a grandmother, but when he asks where she is, I change the subject, unable to tell him how she died.

In February, 17 years after my father’s sentence, I received a phone call from his prison, which I assumed was to tell me that he was appealing his sentence again.

So when they told me he had died, it was a shock.

I actually felt sad because he lived such a wasted life.

Now, alongside my work in administration, I train law enforcement professionals to deal with children experiencing traumas similar to mine, teaching them that they can make a real difference in their future.

If it weren’t for my grandparents, I don’t know where I would be today.

I will always be grateful.

My grandfather continues to play an important role in my life and adores my son.

I often think about my grandmother, who died at age 80 in December.

If I could talk to Mom again, I hope she would be proud of what I did to tell her story.