On February 14, 2018, a 14-year-old girl walked into Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School and never came home.
Her name was Alyssa Alhadeff.
She was a freshman. She loved soccer — not casually, but fiercely. She trained hard, played with heart, and dreamed big. Teammates remember her speed on the field and her constant encouragement from the sidelines. Coaches saw leadership in her long before she ever wore a captain’s band. Soccer wasn’t just a sport to Alyssa; it was joy, discipline, and belonging.
She also loved music. She loved laughing with friends between classes. She loved her family deeply. At 14, her world was still unfolding — full of plans, sleepovers, school dances, and seasons yet to be played.
That afternoon, seventeen lives were taken inside the halls of her school. Seventeen families were changed forever. What should have been a day of roses and Valentine’s cards became a date etched in grief.
For Alyssa’s family, time did not erase February 14. It transformed it. Birthdays, holidays, and milestones now carry an empty space. Her absence is felt not only in quiet moments at home, but in every soccer field where young girls chase the same dreams she once did.
Her name has become more than part of a list. It is a reminder of who she was — a daughter, a teammate, a friend. A child.
February 14 will never feel the same again. Not in Parkland. Not for the families. Not for those who choose to remember.
Read her name. Say her name. Carry her story forward.
For Alyssa. 💜