“I could have saved her.”

Those five words have become a heavy burden for Gabryel Ayers’ brother — a sentence he repeats through tears as he relives the final moments he shared with his 26-year-old sister.

Gabryel Ayers was shot and killed in a brazen daytime attack in Chicago, a horrifying act of violence that unfolded in front of her young child. The tragedy alone stunned the community. But now, new details about her last phone call have added an even more heartbreaking layer to an already devastating story.

According to her brother, Gabryel called him shortly before the shooting. It wasn’t an ordinary check-in. He says there was something different in her voice — something tense. She sounded worried. Uneasy. As if she sensed something wasn’t right.

During that call, she reportedly made a plea that continues to haunt him.

He has not shared every detail publicly, but he described her words as fearful and urgent — the kind of words that replay in your mind at night when the world goes quiet. He remembers telling her to stay calm. He remembers trying to reassure her. And he remembers the crushing realization that the call would be their last.

Minutes later, gunfire erupted.

Gabryel was killed in front of her child, who miraculously survived physically unharmed. But for her family, there is no such protection from the emotional devastation left behind. Her brother says the weight of that phone call has changed him forever.

He keeps asking himself the same questions:
What if I had driven to her?
What if I had told her to leave immediately?
What if I had recognized the danger sooner?

Grief often comes tangled with guilt, and for him, the two are inseparable.

Family members describe Gabryel as loving, hardworking, and fiercely devoted to her child. She was someone who showed up for the people she cared about. Now, they are the ones trying to show up for her memory — demanding answers, demanding justice.

As investigators continue to search for those responsible, her brother’s emotional revelation has reignited public attention on the case. It has shifted the narrative from statistics and headlines to something painfully human: a sister reaching out in fear, a brother trying to help, and a tragedy that unfolded too quickly to stop.

“I could have saved her,” he says — not as a statement of fact, but as a cry of heartbreak.

For the Ayers family, the pain is still raw. The questions are still unanswered. And the memory of that final phone call remains a wound that may never fully heal.

What stays now is not just the violence of that day — but the echo of a voice on the other end of the line, asking for help that never came in time.