Many of you saw my post last week about our dear friend Sunny Sun—the radiant, beautiful soul whose life was so cruelly and unjustly taken from us in Maine.

Many of you saw my post last week about our dear friend Sunny Sun—the radiant, beautiful soul whose life was so cruelly and unjustly taken from us in Maine. I know this is hard to read, and it’s even harder to write, but I need you to take a moment. Please look at this. Please share it. And if you or anyone you know has any information—no matter how small or seemingly insignificant—please, please come forward. We owe Sunny that much. We owe her everything. And if there was ever a person in this world who didn’t deserve what happened to her, it was Sunny.

For those who didn’t know her, Sunny was light. Not just in name, but in energy, in laughter, in presence. She had this way of making everyone feel seen. Her smile was the kind that made you pause—like you were suddenly in the sun after a long winter. She was kind without trying, funny without effort, and strong in the most graceful, unassuming ways.

We met Sunny over 15 years ago, during a different time in our lives. We were all living on the tiny island of St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands—a close-knit, fiercely loving community full of wild characters and beautiful, raw friendships. Sunny worked at the Beach Bar, just steps away from the shore and right next to our home. It quickly became more than just a place to grab a drink. It was her bar. Our place. And she was the heartbeat of it. Everyone knew her. Everyone adored her. Tourists came and went, but Sunny was a constant—like the sunset or the surf. She became our friend, our family. She held our babies. She brought us soup when we were sick. She gave hugs that made everything okay.

Sunny lived her life with grace and grit. She moved with the seasons, made friends across state lines and oceans, and never lost her free spirit. She brought laughter into rooms that desperately needed it, and comfort to people who didn’t know how to ask for it. She made people feel like they belonged—wherever they were, whoever they were. Her compassion was limitless. Her loyalty ran deep. She believed in second chances and fresh starts, and she offered both freely, never asking for anything in return.

And that is why this hurts so deeply. Because her story—her life—should never have ended like this. She did not deserve to be taken in such a violent, senseless way. We’ve been left with a cavernous ache in our hearts, and a fury that someone could do this to her. To Sunny. It feels surreal, wrong, and unbearably heavy.

But in the midst of this grief, we are determined not to let her light go out in silence. We are raising our voices. We are telling her story. We are demanding justice. Because Sunny would have done the same for any one of us.

So I’m asking again: please share this. Please talk about Sunny. If you know anything—anything—please reach out to the local authorities or the tip lines that have been set up. We cannot bring her back, but we can bring her justice. We can make sure her name echoes louder than the cruelty that took her. We can wrap her family in the love she gave all of us so freely.

Sunny Sun was a daughter, a friend, a sister, a beacon. She deserved more time. She deserved peace. She deserved to grow old laughing with friends, dancing barefoot in the sand, watching the waves roll in.

Let’s honor her the best way we can—by not forgetting. By speaking up. By remembering the love she gave us, and refusing to let it fade.

We love you forever, Sunny. Your light is still with us. And we will not rest until the world knows what it lost.