SHE WILL BE LOVED

I DIDN’T IMMEDIATELY FEEL THE ABSENCE of a life when I entered Aracelis Polanco’s home in Yonkers, New York, on an early Friday morning in September. The home wasn’t cloaked in shadows and despair—in fact, the ceiling’s bright fluorescent lights mixed seamlessly with the sunshine emanating through undrawn window curtains. There was a surge of everyday energy stirring among the inhabitants: the hustle and bustle of Polanco’s youngest son, Salomon, shuffling out of the front door to his first job of the day, and the adorably ferocious yips and yaps from the resident terrier, Dercy. I was receiving frantic texts of reassurance from the eldest daughter, Melania Brown, that today was still a good day for a cover shoot despite her morning ritual of dropping her children off at school. These were textbook examples of life going on after tragedy.

I sat on a chair at the glass table in the olive-green kitchen, noticing how the plants and the stacked china dishes covered its surface like a crescent moon. Then, I examined Polanco’s face: her wise, gentle eyes, beaming smile complete with a signature gold crown, and a slicked-up church-worthy hairdo. She was gazing out the window, overlooking a mostly unobscured view of the upper Hudson River.

“This used to be Layleen’s favorite seat—right here in front of the window. She would sit there for hours and just look out,” Polanco says placidly. No doubt, she’s still mourning the loss of her daughter, Layleen Cubilette-Polanco, a 27-year-old transgender AfroLatina who died from an epileptic seizure while held in solitary confinement at New York City’s Rikers Island in June. But in this moment,