As a parent, you want to do your best. You focus on your child, ensuring they're emotionally safe, properly socialized, and academically challenged — anything to set them up for success.

It's hard to fathom a dark outcome: that your child would grow up to assassinate someone, or be accused of doing so.

That's what Luigi Mangione's parents experienced last week, as the 26-year-old accused killer of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson was charged with murder as an act of terrorism. And the parents of 15-year-old Natalie Rupnow, who killed two and injured six others at a Wisconsin school before dying of a self-inflicted gunshot, according to police.

Working with parents who've watched their kids sink into dangerous behavior, family therapist Rachel Goldberg said it's very hard for them to heal. She said parents must strive to find self-compassion and "separate their identity from their child's actions," no matter how challenging.

Parents of shooters experience remorse and confusion

In her 2016 memoir, "A Mother's Reckoning," Sue Klebold, the mother of Columbine shooter Dylan Klebold, wrote about struggling to call her son a "monster" after he killed 13 people in 1999. "When I hear about terrorists in the news, I think, 'That's somebody's kid,'" she wrote in the book.

Peter Rodger, the father of Isla Vista killer Elliot Rodger, wrestled with similar confusion and guilt. He remembers sitting in horror, watching his son's retribution video, which he posted on YouTube before stabbing, shooting, and using a car to hit bystanders in 2014. "Elliot was far from evil," Rodger told ABC that year. "Something happened to him. He was the most beautiful, kind, sweetheart of a boy."

Such an event "forces us as parents to contend with our worst fears," Annie Wright, another family therapist, told Business Insider. "The lack of control, at some level, over who they become."

Mangione's family is wealthy and well-known in their community as the owners of a golf club and philanthropists. He attended the Gilman School, a prestigious private school in Baltimore, where he graduated as valedictorian and was described by his peers as "very social" and "very into sports."

Goldberg said that a parent's imagined worst-case scenario is usually that their child would become a lonely, unemployed adult living in their basement. If a child does the unthinkable, recovering as a parent can feel impossible.

Limits to a parent's control

Kids don't need to be out of the house to be mysteries to their parents. In the wake of the Wisconsin shooting, authorities are combing through Rupnow's online activity in search of a motive, finding a version of her life seemingly concealed from others, like her fascination with the Columbine shooters.

Once a child is over 18 and financially independent, parents' control over their lives becomes even more tenuous. In the Mangiones' case, their son stopped responding to messages for months before he was arrested.

For parents watching their adult kids slip into alarming behavior, their options are legally limited, Goldberg said. Often, their best defense is talking to their kid, but "it really depends how much their adult child is willing to let them in."

Wright said that involving third parties can help. Parents can try family therapy or find licensed professionals who can help manage their child's physical or emotional pain. Parents can also call their local authorities in extreme cases, such as when their child is in immediate danger or endangering someone else.

Goldberg said the best thing parents can do is know their child as well as possible and act when something feels off. "Don't wait until it gets really bad if you can possibly intervene earlier," she said.

Even then, sometimes, intervention falls short.

Rodgers, the Isla Vista shooter, was in therapy from the age of 9. Peter Lanza, the father of Sandy Hook shooter Adam Lanza, said his son had been assessed by mental health professionals multiple times.

Pain a parent can't fix

Loneliness and isolation can often be red flags when analyzing a child's behavior. Still, Mangione, who started a gaming club in college and was part of a fraternity, appeared surrounded by people.

This made it harder for him to disappear fully: In July 2024, when he cut off contact with his family, cousins and friends reached out on social media. In November, his mother filed a missing person's report in San Francisco, where Mangione has some relatives.

Despite his seemingly solid network of friends and family, Mangione had spondylolisthesis, a painful spinal condition. He frequented Reddit communities related to back pain, describing his symptoms as "absolutely brutal" and "life-halting." That can be isolating, Goldberg said.

"It is a very lonely place to be in pain all the time because you can't really be present with people," he added.

In 2022, when Mangione lived in a Hawaiian surf community, he experienced sciatica, debilitating nerve pain, in his leg. R.J. Martin, who owned the co-living space, told The New York Times that Mangione "knew that dating and being physically intimate with his back condition wasn't possible."

While parents can do a lot to relate to a child's pain, such as listening and doing their best to understand the nuances of what their child is going through, "empathy alone can't bridge every gap," Wright said.

Parents can still protect themselves

Goldberg's clients, particularly parents of kids with substance abuse issues, struggle to move past their guilt. Acceptance can take a lifetime.

"They live in fear of getting a phone call from the police or hospital; they question everything they have done," she said. "They often feel incredibly helpless and stuck."

Wright said the resulting grief from something like this can be "extraordinarily complex" and "often includes sorrow, not only for the victims and their families but for the loss of the child they thought they knew."

She suggested therapy and, for those with religious affiliations, seeking spiritual leaders they trust. Parents can feel so many conflicting emotions, and it's important to "allow these emotions to coexist without rushing to tidy them up," she said.

This is especially hard for the parents who felt they tried their best.

Upon learning of Mangione's arrest, his family released a statement contrary to the manifesto found with their son during his arrest. "We offer our prayers to the family of Brian Thompson, and we ask people to pray for all involved," they said. "We are devastated by this news."

Some parents try to find meaning in the tragedy. Klebold wrote her memoir and participated in press interviews. Chin Rodger, mother of Elliot, started speaking at threat assessment trainings. She hopes that people will get better at identifying the red flags of someone going through a mental crisis.

Still, some just wish it never happened. Adam Lanza's father blames himself for overlooking the warning signs. "You can't get any more evil," Lanza told the New Yorker in 2014. "How much do I beat up on myself about the fact that he's my son? A lot."

It used to be that when a killer emerged in America, we found out who the man was before we began to enshroud him in myth. But with Luigi Mangione, the lead suspect in the killing of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson, that process was reversed. The internet assumed it already knew everything about Thompson's killer before a suspect had even been identified, let alone arrested.

Within hours of the shooting, social media was churning out a mythologized version of the masked man. In his anonymity, he became an instant folk hero, portrayed as a crusader for universal healthcare, a martyr willing to risk it all to send a message to America's insurance giants with "the first shots fired in a class war." A Reddit forum offered up dozens of laudatory nicknames to crystalize his mythology: the Readjuster, the Denier, the People's Debt Collector, Modern-Day Robin Hood. "I actually feel safer with him at large," one tweet a day after the shooting said; it received 172,000 likes. A surveillance image of the suspect moved some to comment that he was "too hot to convict" and prompted comparisons to Jake Gyllenhaal and Timothée Chalamet. In New York City, a "CEO-shooter look-alike competition" was held in Washington Square Park. Surely, the internet assumed, the suspect shared left-wing ideas about the cruelties of privatized healthcare.

Then the man himself appeared — and he didn't fit into any of the neat categories that had already been created to describe him. On X, he followed the liberal columnist Ezra Klein and the conservative podcaster Joe Rogan. He respected Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and retweeted a video of Peter Thiel maligning "woke"-ism. He took issue with both Donald Trump and Joe Biden. He played the cartoon video game "Among Us," posted shirtless thirst traps, quoted Charli XCX on Instagram, and had the Goodreads account of an angsty, heterodox-curious teenage boy: self-help, bro-y nonfiction, Ayn Rand, "The Lorax," and "Infinite Jest." Yes, he seemed to admire the Unabomber. But mostly, this guy — a former prep-school valedictorian with an Ivy League education and a spate of tech jobs — was exceedingly centrist and boring. A normie's normie. He wasn't an obvious lefty, but he wasn't steeped in the right-wing manosphere either. His posted beliefs don't fit neatly into any preestablished bucket. In his 261-word manifesto, which surfaced online, he downplayed his own qualifications to critique the system. "I do not pretend," he wrote, "to be the most qualified person to lay out the full argument."

That didn't stop the denizens of social media from pretending to be the most qualified people to lay out exactly who Mangione is. He's "fundamentally anti-capitalist" and "just another leftist nut job." Or he's "a vaguely right-wing ivy league tech bro." Or he was invented by the CIA, or maybe Mossad, as a "psyop." The reality of Mangione — his messy, sometimes contradictory impulses — allowed everyone to cherry-pick the aspects of his personality that confirmed their original suspicions. In the attention economy, patience is a vice.

The rush to romanticize killers is nothing new. A quarter century ago, we cast the Columbine shooters as undone by unfettered access either to guns or to the satanic influences of Marilyn Manson and Rammstein. A decade ago, we debated the glamorization of the Boston Marathon bomber, gussied up like a rock star on the cover of Rolling Stone. But social media has sped up the assumption cycle to the point where we put the killer into a category before police have found the killer. Perhaps there's a "great rewiring" of our brains that has diminished our capacity to understand each other, as the social psychologist Jonathan Haidt suggests in "The Anxious Generation" — a book Mangione had retweeted a glowing review of.

Mythmaking is easier, of course, when it's unencumbered by reality. The less we know about a killer, the more room there is to turn him into something he's not. From what we have learned so far, Mangione is a troubled Gen Zer who won the privilege lottery at birth and ascribed to a mishmash of interests and beliefs. We will surely learn more about him in the coming days, weeks, and months. But now that we know who he is, it will be hard, if not impossible, to let go of our initial assumptions. Instead, we'll selectively focus on the details that fit tidily into the myths we've already created. In the digital-age version of "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance," the legend was already printed by the time the facts came along.

Scott Nover is a freelance writer in Washington, DC. He is a contributing writer at Slate and was previously a staff writer at Quartz and Adweek covering media and technology.

On Wednesday, moments after the news broke that Brian Thompson, the CEO of UnitedHealthcare, had been fatally shot in Midtown Manhattan, social media unleashed a barrage of caustic commentary about his death. In lieu of condolences, Americans from all walks of life shared barbed jokes, grim memes, and personal anecdotes about their own experiences with giant insurers like UnitedHealthcare.

On Facebook, UnitedHealthcare's statement about the murder of its chief executive elicited 46,000 reactions — 41,000 of which employed the laughing emoji. The company quickly turned off comments on the post, but hundreds of users shared it with arch commentary.

"The amount of laugh reacts on the original post speaks volumes lol," one user wrote.

"My thoughts & prayers were out of network," wrote another.

While the motive behind Thompson's murder remains unknown, the internet treated it as an occasion for ghoulish schadenfreude. America's health insurance system is so broken and cruel, people openly declared, that the death of one of its most powerful executives merited nothing but scorn and derision. "He was CEO when he was shot," read one tweet that received more than 120,000 likes. "Preexisting condition. Claim denied."

"The UnitedHealthcare CEO might be the most celebrated death on this app since Henry Kissinger," wrote another user on X.

Given the nature of social media, where the most provocative and emotion-laden commentary is engineered to rise to the top, it's not surprising that platforms from TikTok to Reddit would be filled with hateful invective. What's striking, however, is how the backlash revealed the depth of the bitterness toward health insurers. In the face of a man being gunned down in the street, people didn't keep their feelings toward insurers in check; rather, they seized on it as a moment to vent their rage. Everyone from right-wing influencers to tenured Ivy League professors responded to Thompson's killing by posting about what they saw as the injustices of America's health insurers. Even on LinkedIn, one of the internet's last bastions of civility and professionalism, hundreds of business executives, HR leaders, and tech managers shared deeply personal stories about how they and their loved ones had suffered at the hands of a healthcare bureaucracy that often delays and denies reasonable claims.

In one exchange, a hospital executive acknowledged that many Americans are fed up with health insurers. "As healthcare security professionals, we know that many see healthcare as a target for their anger," he wrote. "Family members who have lost a loved one may feel as though a physician, healthcare facility, or insurer is responsible for that loss."

Jill Christensen, a former vice president at Western Union, responded to the post by forcefully rejecting its wording. "In many instances, it's not feel, it's ARE responsible for that loss," she wrote. "I was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer and UHC denied every claim. While today's event is tragic, it does not come as a surprise to the millions of people — like myself — who pay their OOP costs and premiums, only to be turned away at their greatest time of need."

The joking language of the internet has become a standard way for Americans to process tragic events, whether the September 11, 2001, attacks or the July 2024 assassination attempt on Donald Trump. But Thompson's murder sparked something different: an unparalleled public reckoning with one of the country's largest and most profitable industries. "When you shoot one man in the street it's murder," wrote one user on X. "When you kill thousands of people in hospitals by taking away their ability to get treatment you're an entrepreneur."

To some observers, the outpouring of ire also appeared to have an immediate effect on the industry itself. One day after Thompson's murder, Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield announced that it was rescinding a controversial plan to limit coverage for anesthesia. "When patients become financially responsible because a health plan cuts how much they pay providers, that's what breeds all this anger," Marianne Udow-Phillips, a former Blue Cross executive, told Axios. An Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield spokesperson told Business Insider, "It never was and never will be the policy of Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield to not pay for medically necessary anesthesia services. The proposed update to the policy was only designed to clarify the appropriateness of anesthesia consistent with well-established clinical guidelines."

The storm of invective surrounding Thompson's killing will soon subside, as online malice always does. But it's also possible that the CEO's death will mark an inflection point in the debate over America's privatized system of health insurance. On X, one user drew a direct line between the callousness of the internet's response to Thompon's murder and an industry that makes it hard for many Americans to receive the medical treatment they need.

"All jokes aside," the user tweeted, "it's really fucked up to see so many people on here celebrating murder. No one here is the judge of who deserves to live or die. That's the job of the AI algorithm the insurance company designed to maximise profits on your health."

Scott Nover is a freelance writer based in Washington, DC. He is a contributing writer at Slate and was previously a staff writer at Quartz and Adweek covering media and technology.