Whitestown, Indiana – November 8, 2025
In a heartbreaking incident that has sent shockwaves through a quiet suburban neighborhood, 32-year-old Maria Florinda Ríos Pérez de Velásquez, a devoted mother of four and recent immigrant from Guatemala, was fatally shot on the front porch of a home in Whitestown, Indiana, after mistakenly arriving at the wrong address for a scheduled cleaning job. Her husband, Mauricio Velázquez, who witnessed the entire ordeal, is now left to care for their young children while demanding accountability from authorities in a case complicated by the state's self-defense laws.
The devastating event unfolded just before 7 a.m. on Wednesday, November 5, in the upscale Heritage subdivision on Maize Lane, a serene community of new two-story homes approximately 20 miles northwest of Indianapolis. Whitestown, a rapidly growing suburb with a population of around 10,000, is known for its family-friendly atmosphere and low crime rates, making the shooting all the more jarring to residents. Pérez and Velázquez, who had been self-employed as house cleaners for about seven months, believed they were at the correct location for a routine job with a new client.
Velázquez, speaking through a translator in interviews with local media, described the morning's routine preparations that turned nightmarish in an instant. The couple, who had relocated to Indianapolis from Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, about a year earlier in search of better opportunities, left their home early to beat rush-hour traffic. "We checked the address twice on our phones and even drove around the neighborhood once to make sure," Velázquez recounted to the Indianapolis Star. Armed with a ring of keys provided by the client, they approached the stately home under the dim pre-dawn light, the quiet street still cloaked in early morning fog.
As they reached the front porch, Velázquez fumbled with the keys, prompting a lighthearted moment from his wife. "She jokingly said I was losing my sight and took the keys from me to try herself," he said, his voice breaking during a subsequent interview with ABC News affiliate WRTV. Pérez had barely touched the door handle when a single gunshot rang out from inside the home, striking her in the head. "She didn't even put the key in when I heard the shot," Velázquez told reporters, reliving the horror. "I saw her step back twice, then the keys dropped. She fell, and I caught her in my arms. I tried to console her, telling her everything would be okay, but the blood was everywhere."
In the chaos, Velázquez cradled his dying wife on the porch, desperately calling 911 as she gasped for breath. Responding officers from the Whitestown Metropolitan Police Department arrived within minutes to a scene of unimaginable tragedy: Pérez lay motionless, her husband sobbing beside her, covered in her blood. The 911 call had come from inside the home, reporting a suspected "home invasion" by unknown intruders. Paramedics pronounced Pérez dead at the scene, and the Boone County Coroner's Office later confirmed the cause of death as a single gunshot wound to the head, ruling it a homicide.
Whitestown Police Chief Scott Rolston addressed the media the following day, emphasizing that investigators quickly ruled out any criminal intent on the part of the couple. "The facts gathered do not support that a residential entry occurred or that this was an attempted break-in," the department stated in an official release. Detectives determined that Pérez and Velázquez were legitimate cleaning professionals who had simply inputted the wrong address into their GPS, a mix-up exacerbated by the uniformity of homes in the new development. The police have canvassed the neighborhood for witnesses and reviewed available doorbell camera footage, but no video has captured the shooter or additional context.
The case has thrust Indiana's controversial "Stand Your Ground" and Castle Doctrine laws into the spotlight. Under Indiana Code 35-41-3-2, homeowners have no duty to retreat and may use deadly force if they reasonably believe it is necessary to prevent an unlawful entry into their dwelling. Boone County Prosecutor Kent Eastwood, whose office is reviewing the evidence, noted in a statement that the law prioritizes the right to defend one's home but requires a thorough assessment of reasonableness. "This is a complex and delicate matter," Eastwood said. "We must weigh the homeowner's perception against the objective facts." As of Friday, no arrests have been made, and the identity of the homeowner remains undisclosed to protect the ongoing investigation.
For Velázquez and their family, the legal nuances offer little solace amid profound grief. The couple, who met and fell in love in Guatemala, had dreamed of building a stable life in the U.S. for their children: 17-year-old Sayda, 10-year-old Gricelda, 8-year-old Greysi, and 11-month-old Yonathan, who is set to celebrate his first birthday later this month. Pérez's brother, Rudy Ríos Pérez, who spoke to The New York Times from Guatemala, described his sister as the family's pillar. "She came here thinking she'd give her kids a better future, but it turned out the opposite," he said tearfully. "She was always smiling, always putting others first."
In the days since the shooting, Velázquez has been seen at a makeshift altar in their Indianapolis home, surrounded by flickering prayer candles and photos of his wife beaming with their children. "She was the love of my life, a good wife and an incredible mother," he told NBC News, clutching a framed picture of the family during a recent interview. The loss has left him grappling with single parenthood while navigating bureaucratic hurdles to repatriate Pérez's body to Quetzaltenango for burial, a process complicated by immigration status and costs estimated at over $10,000. A GoFundMe campaign launched by relatives has raised more than $25,000 in the first 48 hours, with donors from across the country expressing outrage and support.
The incident has ignited broader discussions on gun laws and immigrant vulnerabilities. Advocacy groups like the Indiana Coalition Against Domestic Violence and the ACLU of Indiana have called for a reevaluation of self-defense statutes in light of similar tragedies, citing cases where fear led to irreversible violence. "This wasn't a threat; it was a simple human error," said María González, director of a local Latino community center, in comments to USA Today. "How many more families must suffer before we prioritize de-escalation over deadly force?"
Velázquez, undeterred by the potential legal protections for the shooter, vows to fight for justice. "I need answers. Why did they have to shoot? She was just trying to work," he told FOX59, his voice resolute despite the exhaustion etched on his face. As the Boone County Prosecutor's Office continues its review—expected to conclude by mid-next week—the community rallies around the Velázquez family. Vigil candles now line the porch where Pérez took her last steps, a somber reminder of a life cut short by a fatal mistake.
Whitestown officials have urged residents to remain vigilant but emphasized that such incidents are rare. "Our hearts go out to the family during this unimaginable time," Chief Rolston said. For now, Velázquez focuses on his children's immediate needs, reading bedtime stories to his daughters and rocking Yonathan to sleep—tasks once shared with the woman who held their world together.
Pérez's story, though tragic, underscores the fragility of the American dream for immigrant families toiling in essential but often invisible roles. As investigations proceed, her memory endures not just in grief, but in calls for change that could prevent another porch from becoming a gravesite.
