She was named Serenity — a word that means peace, calm, and light.
But for five-year-old Serenity Arrington from Chicago, peace was something she rarely knew.
From the moment she was born, the world around her was fragile.
Her laughter was bright, her curls bounced when she ran, and she loved coloring pictures of the sun and rainbows.
She would tell her grandmother that when she grew up, she wanted to be a teacher — “so everyone can be happy.”
Her grandmother often said that Serenity had an old soul.
“She loved to dance, to sing, to hug people even when they were sad,” she recalled.
But beneath that joy was a home filled with tension — one that neighbors said often echoed with shouting, crying, and slammed doors.
On the morning of September 26, 2020, the day started like any other.
Serenity and her eight-year-old sister were playing together, giggling as they tried to make breakfast.
In their tiny apartment on Chicago’s West Side, they accidentally spilled eggs onto the porch floor — a simple, innocent mistake.
But that mistake would become the spark of a tragedy that would haunt everyone who loved them.
A Moment That Changed Everything
Their mother, 27-year-old Simone Austin, had been struggling.
Friends and neighbors described her as withdrawn, moody, and sometimes paranoid.
She would sometimes speak about stress, about feeling trapped, about things “not being right in her head.”
The Illinois Department of Children and Family Services had visited the home before — but whatever happened inside those walls, Serenity and her sister were too young to understand.
That morning, something inside Simone seemed to snap.
The older girl was in the bedroom when Simone told her to step outside.
She obeyed, confused but quiet.
Then, through the narrow gap of the door, she saw what no child should ever see.
Her mother reached under a pillow, pulled out a knife, and turned toward Serenity.
The older sister froze, her heart pounding.
She wanted to scream, but the sound stuck in her throat.
Simone began stabbing.
The small room filled with chaos — the sound of movement, of struggle, of a little girl’s voice calling, “Mommy, stop!”
Then came silence.
The older sister ran forward, grabbing her mother’s hair, trying desperately to pull her away.
“Stop! Please stop!” she cried, but the moment was already lost.
Panicking, she ran outside, barefoot, screaming for help — screaming words no one could believe.
“My mom killed my sister!”
The Street Fell Silent
Neighbors rushed out.
One man, a father himself, ran toward the apartment, thinking it must be a mistake.
But when Simone came out moments later, carrying Serenity’s small, lifeless body in her arms — covered in blood, naked, and still — the world seemed to stop.
“I did it,” Simone said softly, her voice shaking.
“I’m so sorry.”
Police and paramedics arrived within minutes, but it was already too late.
Serenity was pronounced dead at the scene.
Her little body showed multiple stab wounds and a deep cut across her throat.
Officers led Simone away in handcuffs as she kept whispering apologies, tears streaking her face.
The eight-year-old sister was taken into protective care, her eyes vacant, clutching a pink blanket that had once belonged to Serenity.
Reporters would later call her “the girl who saw too much.”
A Community in Mourning
The news spread quickly through Chicago.
At the corner of their street, people began leaving flowers, teddy bears, candles — all glowing beneath a photo of Serenity smiling in her kindergarten dress.
Her classmates brought crayon drawings that said “We love you Serenity” and “Fly high, angel.”
Pastor Williams from the local church held a vigil.
He said softly, “She was five years old. She should’ve been learning to read, not becoming a headline.”
Parents from nearby schools wept as they held their children close.
Many spoke about how they had seen Serenity walking to the corner store with her grandmother, always polite, always smiling.
“She was a light,” one neighbor said.
“And now that light’s gone.”
The community asked hard questions: How could this happen?
Why wasn’t help given sooner?
Why did a child with such a gentle heart have to die in such a violent way?
Behind the Closed Door
Court records revealed that the family had been on the radar of child services before.
But as is often the case, the visits and follow-ups were not enough.
The details of those earlier interventions were never made public, but many suspected that mental illness and lack of support played a devastating role.
Simone Austin was charged with first-degree murder.
In her first court appearance, she appeared quiet, distant, and trembling.
Her public defender said she had been evaluated for mental health treatment.
Prosecutors described the attack as deliberate and brutal.
It was not a sudden accident — she had planned, she had chosen the knife, she had carried out the act in front of her own child.
The court heard the chilling account of the eight-year-old’s eyewitness testimony.
Even seasoned officers were said to have wept as they read the transcript.
The Little Girl Who Believed in Happiness
In the weeks that followed, Serenity’s grandmother — the woman who had helped raise her — spoke to the press.
“She was my heart,” she said, tears filling her eyes.
“She used to climb into my lap and tell me, ‘Grandma, when I grow up, I’m gonna build you a rainbow house.’”
At Serenity’s funeral, her tiny white coffin was surrounded by flowers and pink ribbons.
Children from her kindergarten class released balloons into the air.
One of them whispered, “Bye, Serenity.”
It was a moment of unbearable beauty and pain — innocence meeting the incomprehensible.
For those who attended, it was a reminder that behind every tragic headline is a child who once laughed, dreamed, and loved.
A Question Without Answers
Months later, the case remained in court.
Simone was found unfit to stand trial initially and was ordered to undergo psychiatric evaluation.
Some said she had begged for help before but was ignored.
Others argued that no excuse could ever justify what she did.
There were no easy answers.
There never are.
But Serenity’s name — meaning peace — became a rallying cry for child advocates across Illinois.
Community organizations began calling for more mental health support for struggling parents, more protection for children at risk, and better communication between schools and welfare services.
Her grandmother, still grieving, said softly:
“If anything good can come from this, let it be that no other little girl is failed like my Serenity was.”
The Memory That Remains
In the years since, her story continues to echo.
People still visit the small memorial by the apartment building — the candles have long melted, but someone always brings new ones.
On Serenity’s birthday, her sister, now older, sometimes leaves a single pink rose and a handmade card that says, “I miss you every day.”
In the quiet of that Chicago street, her spirit lingers — not as a ghost of tragedy, but as a reminder of love that was too short, of innocence that deserved protection, and of a name that meant peace in a world that gave her none.
Serenity Arrington.
Five years old.
A little girl whose smile could light up a room — and whose story now lights a fire in the hearts of all who vow never to let another child be forgotten.
