It was a Saturday evening, a day that seemed like any other, yet one that would change our lives forever. Lorraine and I were going through our usual routine, with one exception: our Ashleah had gone to take a few girls she barely knew to a dance in Lubbock, TX, to celebrate one of their birthdays.

The events of that day are ones I play over and over in my mind. It all started that morning, a typical Saturday for our family. Ashleah and Kassandra always looked forward to our ritual family breakfast at Mi Mexico, our favorite little Mexican spot. I remember hearing Ashleah’s voice from her room around 9 a.m., “Daddy, what time are we going?” She didn’t need to explain; I knew she was ready for our breakfast tradition. “As soon as you’re ready, baby,” I replied. “Everyone else will be ready in 15 minutes.” Less than five minutes later, Ash was walking into our room, eager and ready. It always amazed me how quickly she could get ready for these breakfasts when, for anything else, it would take her hours.

After breakfast, as we sat around the table, Ashleah asked, “What are we doing today?” We were always together on Saturdays. The girls and their friends preferred to be at our house rather than out. We mentioned we had to go to Lubbock to return the rental car from my business trip to Canada, and she suggested, “How about after I get off work at 5, we meet in Lubbock for dinner and a movie?” It sounded perfect, and we all agreed.

At 10:50 a.m., Ashleah stood up from the table, announcing she needed to get ready for work. “I’ll call you, Mommy, after a while and see where y’all are at,” she said. She made her rounds, giving everyone kisses, saving mine for last. I stood to hug her, and she kissed me on the lips, playfully pinching my sides as she whispered, “I wove you, Daddy.” Then she turned to leave. But just before she walked out, she paused, held the door, and smiled at us—her beautiful smile. She waved. That was the last time we saw our baby girl alive.

Later that afternoon, at 4 p.m., Lorraine and I headed to Lubbock to drop off the rental car. As we left, Lorraine texted Ashleah, letting her know. She replied, “Okay, Mommy, I’ll meet y’all there after work.” But soon after, Lorraine received another text from Ashleah, saying, “Mom, Erica just asked me to drive her car to take three other girls to a birthday dance in Lubbock.” Lorraine called her, concerned. “Why do you need to drive them?” she asked. Ashleah explained they needed a designated driver.

Lorraine reminded her of our rules—no driving after midnight. Just a month before, Ashleah herself had come to us, worried about her friends who stayed out late, telling us she didn’t feel right about it. But after a long conversation, Lorraine trusted her judgment, telling her, “We don’t want you to go, but we trust you to make the right decision.”

Ashleah called me shortly after, “Daddy, I know you and Mom don’t want me to do this, and I understand. I really wanted to spend the evening with you, but something is telling me I need to take them. I’d feel responsible if something happened to them.” I told her, “Baby, we trust you. We don’t want you to go, but we know you’ll make the right choice.” That was the last time I heard her voice. She said, “Thanks, Daddy… my big papa… I wove you.” “I love you too, baby girl,” I replied. “See you when you get home.” That was it. “Bye, Daddy.” “Bye, baby.”

Later that night, Ashleah texted Lorraine to say they’d made it to the dance. Lorraine reminded her to call or text when they left to come home. We went to bed, but neither of us could sleep. Around 3 a.m., Ashleah texted Lorraine saying they were stopping at Whataburger for food before heading home. At 3:25, she texted again to say they were on their way, and would be home in 40 minutes.

By 3:55, Lorraine texted Ashleah again, asking if she was okay. Five minutes passed with no reply. Suddenly, Lorraine’s phone rang. It was one of the girls in the car. “Miss Richards, Ashleah has been in an accident. You need to come now.”

I was already getting dressed when the call came. Lorraine kept asking, “Is she okay?” But all the girl could say was, “I don’t know, you need to come now.” We jumped in the car, racing toward Lubbock. Lorraine handed the phone to me, and I asked if the girl could get to Ashleah. “I’m holding her hand,” she said. I asked her to put the phone to Ashleah’s ear. I spoke to my baby girl, telling her how much we loved her, hoping, praying for a response. But all I heard was silence.

When we crested the hill and saw the flashing emergency lights, my heart sank. I knew. I just knew. We pulled up, and a DPS officer, who knew us from church, waved us in. I rolled down the window and asked, “Is my baby okay?” He shook his head. No.

We parked, and I saw Ashleah’s car—a mangled pile of metal. One of the girls was still standing there, holding her hand. I ran to Ashleah, and there she was—lying there, eyes closed. I held her, begging her to wake up, to open her eyes. Lorraine climbed in from the passenger side, praying over her. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As I held her, my heart broke in ways I didn’t know it could.

Kasandra and Micah soon arrived. I went to Kasandra and told her, “Baby, Ashleah is gone.” I didn’t let her see Ashleah, fearing she would go into labor. Lorraine comforted her as I returned to Ashleah’s side, pleading with her to come back. And then, amidst all the chaos, I felt an indescribable peace. I knew, deep down, that Ashleah had entered her eternal home.

Pastor Steve and Lorraine came to me and said, “It’s time to go.” I didn’t want to leave her, but I knew I had to. I kissed her, over and over, whispering for God to never let me forget this moment. As we drove away, all I could think was, “What’s next? How can life go on?”