She was only 31 years old.
A mother of four.
The steady heartbeat of her home — the one her children ran to for comfort, guidance, and love.

In a matter of seconds, everything was stolen.

One burst of gunfire ended her life without warning.
No final hug.

No goodbye. No chance to tell her children how deeply she loved them one last time.

She did not create the violence that took her life.
Yet her children are the ones who must live with its consequences — growing up without her voice, her protection, her warmth. Birthdays without her smile. Nights without her reassurance. Futures shaped by an absence no child should have to know.

This is more than a life lost.
It is four childhoods forever altered.
A family rewritten by grief.

Some tragedies don’t end when a life is taken.
They echo forward — leaving dreams unfinished, love interrupted, and a future forever changed.