The house is quieter now.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet that comes at night, but the hollow kind—the kind that presses in on the chest and refuses to leave. For Lashanna Guines, silence has become the loudest reminder of what was taken from her on a day that should have been ordinary.

Her daughter, Mikiylia Guines, was seven years old.

Seven years old is supposed to be small shoes by the door, laughter spilling from the next room, questions asked just to hear the answer. It is not supposed to be memorial photos, police reports, and a mother learning how to breathe through grief that feels unbearable.

But that is where Lashanna now lives—inside a reality she never chose.

On a day that ended in terror, Daricka Moore, 24, allegedly went on a shooting spree across multiple locations in Mississippi. By the time it ended, six people were dead—including Mikiylia, Moore’s own father, brother, and uncle. Others were wounded. Families were broken beyond repair.

For Lashanna, the horror was not something she heard about later on the news.

She witnessed it.

“I saw my baby die right in front of my other two children,” she said, her voice heavy, cracked, and raw. “That’s something I can’t unsee. Ever.”

Those words alone have sparked fierce debate across the community and online. Some ask how such violence could unfold in front of children. Others ask why warning signs weren’t stopped sooner. Many ask questions that have no answers—and some that people are afraid to ask at all.

Lashanna asks only one.

Why?

“What ever it was,” she said through tears, “even if he would have just took it out on me and not my 7-year-old… why? Why my baby?”

There is no explanation that makes sense of a child’s death. No motive that softens it. No legal charge that fills the space left behind.

In the moments after the shooting, Lashanna says her mind fractured under the weight of what ifs.

“I can’t help but feel like I could have did more,” she said. “I tried to help her. I tried to save them. But I couldn’t.”

That guilt—common among survivors, devastating in its persistence—has become one of her constant companions.

“What if I did this? What if I did that?” she asked. “Would it have been a better outcome? I don’t know. I tried. I tried.”

Psychologists say this kind of self-blame is a natural response to trauma, especially for parents. But knowing that doesn’t make it stop.

“I just want my baby back,” Lashanna said quietly. “And I can’t have her back. Because she’s gone.”

The shooting spree has ignited controversy not only because of the number of victims, but because of how deeply intertwined the families were. Moore allegedly killed relatives—his own blood—before taking the life of a child who shared that same family tree.

That fact alone has left many struggling to understand how violence reached so far inward.

Authorities say Moore now faces a long list of charges: three counts of capital murder, three counts of first-degree murder, attempted murder of a child, attempted sexual battery, burglary of a dwelling, and multiple vehicle-related felonies. If convicted, he could spend the rest of his life in prison—or face even harsher penalties.

But for Mikiylia’s family, justice in court does not equal healing.

The child’s grandfather, Clemmie Guines, has stepped into a role no grandparent should ever have to assume—holding together a family ripped apart by grief.

“We just have to stay prayerful,” he said. “Keep our head in the Lord’s hands. That’s where we gonna get our strength to carry on.”

Faith has become a lifeline for some in the family. For others, it has raised painful questions.

How does faith coexist with this much loss?
How does prayer make sense after a seven-year-old is shot?
How does a community reconcile forgiveness with rage?

These are the questions fueling debate far beyond West Point.

Some community members are calling for deeper conversations about gun access, warning signs, and mental health interventions. Others caution against politicizing tragedy. Online, arguments flare—about responsibility, about accountability, about whether violence like this is preventable or inevitable.

Lashanna listens to none of it.

Her world has narrowed to memories.

She remembers Mikiylia’s smile. Her voice. The way she laughed without restraint. The way she moved through the world believing it was safe.

“She was just a baby,” Lashanna said. “She didn’t deserve none of this.”

Those who knew Mikiylia describe her as gentle, playful, and curious. The kind of child who wanted to be near her siblings, who asked questions, who still believed adults could fix everything.

Now, those siblings must learn to live with what they saw.

Experts warn that children who witness extreme violence—especially the death of a sibling—carry invisible wounds that can last a lifetime. Trauma does not end when the sirens fade.

It settles in.

For Lashanna, the nights are the hardest.

Sleep comes in fragments. Memories intrude without warning. Silence becomes unbearable, then overwhelming.

And yet, she speaks.

She speaks because staying silent feels like losing Mikiylia twice.

“I don’t want nobody else to feel this,” she said. “Nobody.”

That statement, too, has stirred controversy. Some hear it as a call for change. Others hear it as grief searching for meaning. But no one can deny its weight.

Six people are dead.
A family is shattered.
A community is reeling.
A mother is asking why.

And in the center of it all is a seven-year-old girl who should still be alive.

As the legal process moves forward, as charges are read and hearings scheduled, one truth remains unchanged: nothing will bring Mikiylia back.

Not a verdict.
Not a sentence.
Not public outrage.
Not prayers alone.

What remains is a mother learning how to live with unimaginable loss—and a question that may never be answered.

Why wasn’t it stopped?
Why did it reach her child?
Why does grief like this exist at all?

For Lashanna Guines, the world did not just break.

It stopped.

And every day since, she wakes up inside that moment—still reaching for her daughter, still whispering her name, still asking the question no parent should ever have to ask:

“Why my baby?”