Nearly a Year Later, Victim's Family Speaks Out

Layla Salazar loved to move her body, whether she was swimming in the river, dancing in her own TikToks or sprinting around a track with her dark ringlets waving behind her. The 11-year-old was ready for middle school and wanted to start wearing dangly earrings and transform her bedroom into a "teenager room."

She was her mom Melinda Alejandro's shadow, her mini-BFF. Brother Nicholas, 19, calls her "kind, crazy, and charismatic." Her father, Vincent Salazar, tells PEOPLE, "She was just so much fun," adding, "She was a ball of energy. No matter what, she had to be a part of everything."

But on May 24, 2022, Layla was killed along with 18 fourth-grade classmates and two teachers at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas, in the nation's third-deadliest school shooting ever. Despite a law enforcement presence of nearly 400 local, state, and federal officers, the shooter continued his rampage inside the halls largely unimpeded for more than an hour.

That day, a Tuesday, had started like any other for the Salazar family. It was the second-to-last day at school and it would be an easy day, with celebrations and awards given out.

Layla settled into the car with her dad for the short drive to campus, listening, as usual, to their playlist of '80s and '90s classic-rock jams. "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns N' Roses, one of Layla's favorites, was playing as she hopped out of the car at school.

About four hours later, at around 11:40 a.m., Vinnie, a supermarket sanitation worker, received a text about a lockdown at the school. Another text announced an active shooter. By the time Vinnie got to Robb Elementary School, "people were screaming and running everywhere. I couldn't wrap my head around it. It was like the end of the world," he says.

Directed to go to the city's civic center, Vinnie was joined by Melinda, and the couple waited with other terrified families for news. At a certain point, he says they were told, "If you're in here and you don't have your child, we do not have your child, and we don't know where your child is."

Says Vinnie, "That's basically saying 'because your child is dead.' Everybody in the room knew that. People just broke down. I've never seen anything like it before."

For more on how Layla Salazar's family is advocating for change, subscribe now to PEOPLE or pick up this week's issue, on newsstands Friday.

The days and weeks that followed melded into a haze of sleepless nights characterized by confusion, pain, guilt and anger.

"I would always tell Layla that nothing's ever happening to my baby, because I'm here," says Vinnie. "But something did happen to her and I wasn't there. I know these kids were scared. I try not to think about it. That's what bothers me too, is thinking about how scared they were. And then nobody was coming to save them. I thought that somebody was going to, but it just didn't happen."

Want to keep up with the latest crime coverage? Sign up for PEOPLE's free True Crime newsletter for breaking crime news, ongoing trial coverage and details of intriguing unsolved cases.

Layla's oldest brother, Julian, 27, a pharmaceutical worker who lives in Illinois, watched news reports of the recent school shooting in Nashville's Covenant School on March 27. "When I saw what happened there when police went in quickly and shot the shooter, I just kept wondering, 'Why didn't that happen at my sister's school?'"

Younger brother Nicholas feels the void left in the house without his rambunctious little sister. "We were always talking and stuff, just messing with each other," he says. "Well mainly it was me messing with her--and then she'd get mad at me."

"We were as close as siblings can get," says Nicholas. "Now it's so quiet. I have no one to talk to, really."

The Salazars have joined other Uvalde families to support new legislation in Texas that would have raised the age limit to 21 to legally buy semi-automatic weapons. But the bill has stalled in the legislature. "We're also advocating for more funding for mental health resources in the state," Vinnie says.

"You have to stay busy, you have to stay focused on something," he says. "Right now for us, it's just advocating for change so that this doesn't happen to somebody else. This is the last thing you want is to be where we are, in our shoes, advocating after something already happened to your child."

To mark one year without Layla, the family will gather at midnight on May 23 at her gravesite, which is heavily adorned with lights and decorations and lovingly tended by Melinda. They'll reflect, say some prayers, "and just be with her," says Vinnie. "I never thought we'd be spending our time here in a cemetery. Yet here we are. This is our life now."

Sometimes Melinda closes her eyes and can see her only daughter looking back at her. "Just looking at me, like saying 'Everything's gonna be okay.'"

ncG1vNJzZmiolaS9rbGNnKamZ5Ontq6xjq6tmqSUmnqurdKsZKygn6TBqrrGZq2im6Seum64wLKjmmWjlrmixsCrZJ%2BZnZ65unnSqZyao6NivLbAjg%3D%3D