Through the humid blur of Pensacola, Fla., 8-year-old Sayeh Rivazfar bore pains no child should have to. With her mother, Patricia, struggling with alcoholism, Sayeh took care of her siblings.
She cooked their meals and comforted her little half sister Sara, whose father was also killed in the truck bombing night after night..
But shadows were there in the person of Ray Wike, Patricia’s unstable ex, whose “fatherly” attitude covered a predator’s lust.
The family’s precarious peace was shattered in 1988, Patricia disappeared into the bars, leaving the girls alone in their eyeless home.
Wise beyond her years, Sayeh tucked the younger girl in on the promise that she’d be safe, unaware that Ray was outside with a crowbar in hand.
Late at night on September 22, he unlocked the back door and quietly carried the sleeping sisters to his car like stolen treasures.
Bound and scared, the girls huddled as Ray drove them to a remote Santa Rosa County road, his figment of seeing their mom falling into threats.
He taped Sara’s legs, making Sayeh listen to her sister’s muffled sobs, and dragged them deep into the whispering woods.
Hours of the unholiest terror followed, Ray’s attacks on Sayeh, her little frame shattered, but her spirit fierce and as Sara wailed into the night.
As the dawn began to light the room, Ray sliced their throats with a knife, ensuring that there would be no witnesses left alive.
Sara bled out in the underbrush, her small body coming to rest just 75 feet from the road. Sayeh, her throat wide open and her Punky Brewster nightgown soaked in blood, sank to the floor but still lived on, pretending to lie dead until he retreated.
Sayeh stumbled to the side of the road, her hand waving in the air while the other held desperately onto her wound.
She was spotted by a passing couple at 6:30 a.m., her gasps naming “Ray” as the beast who snatched them from bed.
Hustled to the hospital, she endured excruciating pain but was alert enough to lead searchers to Sara’s body, her footprints and bloodstains on the snow dooming Ray before he could vanish for long.
Latrice’s fingers on tape, DNA in his car, and Sayeh’s unwavering testimony stitched a web he couldn’t escape.
In court, the 9-year-old confronted her tormentor, her voice firm as she spoke of the terror in the woods, and she even sat through two sentencing phases.
Ray Wike died in 1989, perishing behind bars in 2004, his prison threats muzzled by the bars of justice.
After a long custody battle led by her father, Ahmad, Sayeh moved from Florida to New York for a fresh start. She found comfort in Maya Angelou’s inspiring words and began to heal through therapy.
Her healing pushed her to help others, and since 2003, she has worked as a New York State Trooper, now serving proudly as an investigator.
As a board member of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, she speaks up for lost and hurt children, turning her pain into hope for others.
Sayeh’s story is one of strength and courage, a reminder to speak up and fight back, because silence helps monsters grow. In her unsteady step, we hear the siren call of urgency: protect the little ones while it’s still not too late.
