Actor and filmmaker Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner, were found dead inside their Brentwood, California, home on Sunday afternoon, according to multiple law enforcement sources. The longtime couple, married for more than three decades, were discovered with apparent stab wounds after police were called to the residence. Reiner was 78, and Michele was 68. As investigators continue working the scene, new details are emerging about who found them, the timeline leading up to their deaths, and the family members now at the center of the case — turning a beloved Hollywood story into a tragedy that has left the entertainment world stunned.(to be continued…)

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Actor and filmmaker Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner, were found dead inside their Brentwood, California, home on Sunday afternoon, according to multiple law enforcement sources. The longtime couple, married for more than three decades, were discovered with apparent stab wounds after police were called to the residence. Reiner was 78, and Michele was 68. As investigators continue working the scene, new details are emerging about who found them, the timeline leading up to their deaths, and the family members now at the center of the case — turning a beloved Hollywood story into a tragedy that has left the entertainment world stunned.(to be continued…)

2025/12/15 Report

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Tragedy in Brentwood

LOS ANGELES — Legendary filmmaker Rob Reiner, 78, and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner, 68, were found dead inside their Brentwood, Los Angeles home Sunday afternoon in what Los Angeles Police Department officials are investigating as an apparent homicide.

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First responders were called just after 3:30 p.m. local time.

Scene of the Investigation

Police sealed off the block surrounding the Reiners’ estate on Chadbourne Avenue Sunday evening as forensic teams moved through the property.

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I thought I finally understood grief the day I knelt at my daughter’s grave — but the night I returned home, a trembling voice outside my window whispered, “Dad… please don’t let them find me,” and every truth I had mourned shattered in an instant. For months I had accepted the version of events everyone fed me: the fire, the “remains,” the gentle assurances that I needed to rest, to stop asking questions, to let the dead stay buried. My wife’s nightly tea. My brother’s morning pills. Their soft voices telling me I was slipping, that I was seeing things, that sorrow was making me fragile. But grief doesn’t knock. Grief doesn’t shiver in the moonlight. Grief doesn’t look up at you with your child’s eyes. The moment I pulled back the curtain and saw that small, dirt-streaked figure pressed against the glass, everything inside me went still — not with fear, but with recognition. And when she whispered, “Dad… please, they can’t know I’m here,” I realized the most devastating part of losing her wasn’t the loss itself… It was discovering who had needed me to believe she was gone. Full story in the first comment 👇👇👇

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