Two shootings. Two sons. One summer of heartbreak in Fort Wayne that’s left a mother reeling, a city shaken, and a growing number of young people either wounded, buried — or both.

Fort Wayne’s summer has been anything but quiet. Families are in mourning. Kids are afraid. And mothers like Chasity Molargik are stuck trying to make sense of senseless violence that tore through her life — twice in just weeks.

“I saw blood and just started screaming”

It started inside their own home.

Molargik’s 7-year-old son, Kalil, was asleep in bed. One minute he was dreaming, the next he was crying in the hallway, bleeding.

“I ran down the steps,” she recalled. “My 7-year-old was in the hallway. He said he fell and he couldn’t walk.”

She saw the blood. Everything froze. Then came the screaming.

Kalil had been shot.

There was no warning, no fight, no gang beef. Just a bullet through the wall that found its way into the body of a sleeping child.

He lived. But living now means recovery. Physical pain. Mental trauma. And therapy that still hasn’t even started.

Molargik says she’s trying to get help for her son, but it’s hard. “Kalil has a long road ahead of him,” she said. “Therapy — I’m going to try to get for him.”

A celebration turned to chaos

Just when she thought the worst might be behind her, the unthinkable happened.

July 4. Fireworks lit up the sky. Downtown was buzzing. At Promenade Park, families gathered. Teenagers laughed. It should have been a good night.

But it turned into a horror scene. Four teens were shot. The chaos left sneakers and blood on the pavement.

One of the kids who didn’t make it home that night was Molargik’s 16-year-old son, Si’Montre.

She said he was a quiet teen. He boxed. Worked. Played his video games. Didn’t hang out in the streets.

He just wanted to enjoy the holiday.

And then he was gone.

“Think about your mama before you pick up that gun”

What do you even say to a city after losing one son and nearly losing another?

Molargik’s voice is tired, but clear.

“If you’re thinking about picking up a gun,” she says, “think about y’all moms. Your family. Because it can go either way — either dead, or the rest of your life in prison.”

It’s not just words. It’s a plea.

She’s not the only one grieving. According to Fort Wayne UNITED, five people under 21 have been killed by gunfire this summer alone.

That’s five empty bedrooms. Five unfinished dreams. Five families like Molargik’s — broken, confused, scared.

A city on edge, and a community program on pause

Fort Wayne UNITED, a city-led initiative meant to support young men of color and reduce violence, was paused earlier this year.

Leaders of the program say the pause came at a cost. Some believe the uptick in youth shootings is linked directly to the absence of structured support for kids.

Here’s a quick snapshot of what’s been lost this summer:

• 5 youth fatalities due to gun violence

• Multiple non-fatal shootings involving minors

• Increase in youth firearm possession charges

The numbers are grim. But they’re also incomplete — because there’s no way to count the emotional toll.

Some residents say they’ve lost faith. Others are calling for the program to return, bigger and stronger.

Still, no timeline has been set for its full restart.

Looking beyond the headlines: The human toll

To some, it might just be another story on the news. Another shooting. Another face.

But for Molargik, and for every parent like her, it’s real life. The kind that doesn’t just move on after a news cycle ends.

She’s now a mother living with one child in recovery and another buried under dirt.

And the truth? She’s not okay.

Table: Fort Wayne Youth Gun Violence Summer 2025

Some days she’s holding back tears. Others she’s not holding them back at all. But every day, she’s got to be there for Kalil.

She said he asks about Si’Montre. He’s still processing. They both are.

What now? Grief, fundraising, and survival

A GoFundMe has been set up to help the family with expenses — funeral costs, therapy, day-to-day survival.

People are donating. Strangers, friends, neighbors.

But money doesn’t fix it.

What the family needs most is space to heal. And a city that doesn’t let what happened to them become just another sad story.

Chasity Molargik still speaks because she knows silence helps no one.

“I just want people to stop,” she says. “Put the guns down. Think.”

She repeats that. Think.