We returned home in high spirits, but everything changed in an instant. Ema lay motionless on the dining room floor. Shocked and desperate, we did everything to revive her and called 911, but it was too late.
LONGCHAMPS, Argentina — Two months ago, my daughter Ema ended her life. I have been fighting to find a way forward ever since. The abruptness of the loss still echoes in my mind. One evening, we excitedly planned our year-end vacation; two days later, she was gone.
Only 15 years old, Ema fell victim to digital harassment. A video of her with a boy her age spread like wildfire, and the cruel stares and endless accusations became too much for her to bear. The devastation felt like a bomb obliterating our family. Now, I am left trying to rebuild a life torn apart overnight.
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On Thursday, August 22, 2024, we enjoyed dinner as usual—Ema, her younger brother, my husband, and I. We excitedly discussed our vacation plans, debating destinations. My husband, son, and I argued for the mountains, while Ema wanted the beach. We shared laughter and anticipation. None of us had any inkling of the heartbreak that would soon follow.
On Friday morning, Ema wore a new shirt she bought specifically for her end-of-the-year school photo. She looked beautiful and was in a great mood. Although starting at the school had been difficult for her, she recently found a close group of friends who made her happy. I left her at the door and went to work.
At noon, the school secretary called and, as she spoke, disbelief and confusion washed over me. She explained a video of my daughter and a boy having sex circulated at the school. She expressed her concerns as more and more students saw the video, and Ema faced harassment because of it. I felt unprepared to hear something so devastating. Completely lost, I was uncertain how to respond or what to do next.
When Ema finished school, she messaged me, asking if anyone contacted me. I replied, confirming we needed to have a serious conversation at home, privately. I felt angry and upset that she allowed an unfamiliar boy into our home. It seemed reckless and irresponsible. At that moment, I failed to grasp the magnitude of the situation. I focused on her privacy, underestimating the severe impact of the video and the pain caused by the cruel comments and harassment she endured.
Our family always remained open about discussing any topic. My children received comprehensive sexual education and knew the importance of self-care and respect in relationships. Sex was not a taboo in our home, and Ema always knew she could come to us. Yet, despite those conversations, the outside world influenced her with forces beyond our control.
When I got home that afternoon, with my husband and son already there, It became difficult to have a private conversation with Ema. After everything she went through at school, she did not want to discuss it in front of her brother or my husband. The tension in the air felt heavy, and I struggled to find a way to give her the support she desperately needed.
On Saturday morning, I finally found time to talk to Ema alone. Still confused and angry, I scolded her for bringing someone unfamiliar into our home. She looked distraught about the video, but I dismissed her concerns, saying, “In three days no one will remember.” I promised to visit the school on Monday to speak with the principal and insisted on meeting the boy from the video. The conversation wandered off, and we decided to continue later. I left the house, unaware of the deeper pain she felt.
My husband and I went out to run errands, the cold softened by the sunshine, and we laughed as we discussed our vacation plans. We returned home in high spirits, but everything changed in an instant. Ema lay motionless on the dining room floor. Shocked and desperate, we did everything to revive her and called 911, but it was too late. My worst nightmare came true. Ema was gone, and suddenly, the world felt senseless and cruel, shattered in a way I could not comprehend.
The police arrived first, followed by the forensic team, who took photographs before leaving a lone officer stationed at our door. Friends and family gathered on the sidewalk. Inside, only my husband and I remained, trapped in an unending nightmare. Administrative delays meant we had to endure nine harrowing hours with Ema’s body. The person responsible for authorizing her transfer to the morgue remained out of reach. Watching my daughter’s body grow cold and change color, the overwhelming anguish felt suffocating. I endured a living nightmare I could not escape.
My son stayed at a friend’s house the night before Ema died and chose not to return afterward, even declining to come home for her funeral on Wednesday. “I cannot,” he told me. “That place is Ema.” Realizing we could not live in our house anymore, we laid Ema to rest and, with the support of friends, began searching for a new home. Ema’s room stayed closed until moving day. When I finally opened it to pack her belongings, seeing her things—reminders of a life cut short—shattered my heart all over again.
In the days after Ema’s death, word spread rapidly. A mother of another student at Ema’s school shared the story on social media, which quickly caught the media’s attention. Many outlets ran the story, often misrepresenting crucial details. In an attempt to clarify the situation, I agreed to a few interviews. However, I felt crushed to see comments blaming Ema and me for the tragedy. Those who violated her privacy inflicted the real damage, not anything we had or had not done.
When I accessed Ema’s Instagram, the messages she sent broke me. She pleaded with people to stop spreading the video, and I could feel her disbelief at the cruelty, especially from girls she thought would share her values of feminism and solidarity. Ema held onto principles that made her thoughtful and compassionate, and she had so many dreams and projects. I feel devastated thinking she is now primarily remembered for her final act. My daughter was so much more than that; she was a wonderful, thoughtful person.
Each day, I think of Ema, but recalling her with a smile still feels impossible. Even now, speaking for this interview, I stand at the cemetery gate where we buried her. I miss her every second; she was my companion, my joy. Now, I am stuck in limbo, unsure how to move forward, knowing life will never be the same. The emotional bomb that hit us shattered everything including my heart and my sense of normalcy. It left my world fragmented and broken, mirroring the emptiness I carry inside.