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Sarah later recalled that those first few days felt too perfect, almost cinematic in their harmony. “We didn’t argue once,” she told a journalist years later. “There were no tantrums, no fights, nothing but joy. I kept thinking, ‘This is the kind of trip we’ll talk about when they’re teenagers.’ I didn’t realize it would be the last memory I’d ever have of them all together.”
A Day Etched in Memory
On the morning of July 16, the Thompsons planned what was supposed to be a routine outing. The children had begged to return to a local beachside park they had visited earlier in the week. The park wasn’t large, just a small play area with swings, a slide, and picnic benches shaded by palms. It sat just a few yards from the sand, close enough that the roar of the waves never quite left your ears.
The triplets, clad in matching blue swim trunks (a decision Sarah had made for easier visibility in crowds), were buzzing with excitement. They tugged at their parents’ hands, eager to run ahead, but Sarah, as always, insisted on holding on. “Stay close. We don’t want anyone getting lost,” she reminded them.
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