I remember Rhonda’s laugh, but not Donnie’s. I remember the sound of my parents’ and my brothers’ voices, but not hers. Not his. And that kind of forgetting hurts in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s the small things that cut the deepest.

I never set out to write their story. My family had found a way to live with the loss. We had accepted what happened as best we could, and I never felt the need to dig deeper. I knew enough to survive it, and that was all I ever asked of myself.

But then everything changed. The man convicted of murdering my sister and nephew — sentenced to two life terms without parole, plus special circumstances — was suddenly being pardoned after thirty-nine years. They said two old slides found in a lab proved he wasn’t the killer. They said someone else must have done it. And that’s when the confusion and the questions began.

What troubled me most was the amount of evidence that convicted him in 1980. It wasn’t just two pieces of fabric, but nearly 300 pieces of evidence, plus his testimony. This proof was destroyed in the late 1980s, not because of a bad cop or conspiracies of being framed and evidence planted, but by a court order. It was completely within the law. The case was closed, the convicted man sent to prison for two life sentences, and all appeals had been denied. They do not do this with homicide cases today, but that’s of little comfort with what unfolded nearly forty years later.

And then came something I never expected: reading interviews where the convicted man and the man the media dubbed his “hero” told cruel, baseless lies about Rhonda—lies meant to demean her character and shift blame onto a young mother who could no longer defend herself, coming from the man who claims to have loved her, loved Donnie. The media repeated their words because that’s what interviews do, but the lies themselves came from those two men. Seeing them twist her memory like that was devastating. It was one of the most painful parts of this entire journey.

I was furious. I wrote letters. I gave interviews. I started a blog. I tried everything I could to bring the truth back into the light. Slowly, people began to listen. And then, out of nowhere, the opportunity to write a book appeared. I knew I couldn’t do it alone, so I looked for help—and God led me straight to an extraordinary woman. A woman He handpicked for me, for Rhonda, for Donnie, and for The Forsaken: Alicia Doyle. She had already authored two extraordinary books, Fighting Chance and The Oath. She was exactly who this story needed, and working with her has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.

And instead of breaking me, something unexpected happened — I felt a release. A kind of healing I didn’t know I needed.

It wasn’t easy. It was emotional, painful, and overwhelming at times. But I discovered something about myself: when I needed to protect the people I love, I stepped out of my shell. I’ve always been an introvert, a quiet observer, someone who avoids the spotlight. But when it came to defending Rhonda and Donnie, I found a strength I didn’t know I had. My mother — outspoken, fearless, and full of fire — would be proud. She probably always knew it was in me.

If you choose to read The Forsaken, I hope you’ll remember the journey behind it. I don’t know if anyone ever fully heals from this kind of loss, but I do believe we can learn to carry it differently. If at times I sound detached or matter‑of‑fact, please know it’s not because I don’t feel. I feel everything. I’ve just learned how to step outside myself when I need to, so I can tell their story with clarity and truth.

How do I feel now? I feel honored. I feel blessed. I feel guided. I believe God placed this path in front of me so I could finally speak the truth out loud — for Rhonda, for Donnie, and for anyone who has ever been silenced.

As I look back on this journey — the grief, the searching, the anger, the revelations, and the unexpected healing — I see now that every step had a purpose. I didn’t choose this path; it unfolded beneath my feet, one painful truth at a time, until I understood that telling Rhonda and Donnie’s story wasn’t just something I could do, but something I was meant to do. This book became more than a project. It became a calling, a responsibility, and ultimately, a source of strength I never knew I had. And with that understanding came the deepest lesson of all: God doesn’t always spare us from pain, but He strengthens us to confront it — and sometimes healing begins the moment we realize that courage is simply love refusing to stay quiet.

The wait is nearly over. The Forsaken is coming soon, and the truth at the heart of this story is finally ready to be told. Subscribe for updates, or return here anytime to follow the countdown.