Denise Fergus stood in the quiet of her Liverpool home, tears streaming down her face as the news sank in: Jon Venables, one of the two boys who murdered her toddler son James Bulger, had been denied parole yet again. “Finally, justice,” she whispered, her voice breaking with decades of pent-up emotion. “This is the best thing to happen in 30 years. For once, the system has done the right thing. I can finally breathe knowing he won’t harm another innocent child.” The Parole Board’s decision in December 2025 to keep Venables incarcerated marked a rare moment of triumph for a mother who has spent over three decades fighting for her little boy’s memory. In a case that shocked the world and redefined debates on childhood evil, juvenile justice, and victim rights, Denise’s words resonate as a powerful testament to endurance—one that offers solace not just to her, but to every parent haunted by loss.

February 12, 1993, remains etched in Britain’s collective memory as the day innocence died twice. At the New Strand Shopping Centre in Bootle, Merseyside, two-year-old James Bulger toddled alongside his mother Denise during a routine errand. In a heartbreaking instant—while Denise glanced away at a butcher’s counter—10-year-old Jon Venables and Robert Thompson approached the trusting toddler. Grainy CCTV footage, replayed endlessly in the media, showed the boys coaxing James by the hand, leading him out of the mall like older brothers on an adventure. What no one knew then was that this was the beginning of a journey into unimaginable horror.

The boys wandered with James for over two miles through Liverpool’s streets, passing dozens of people who noticed the child’s distress but did nothing. They arrived at a deserted railway line in Walton, where the unspeakable unfolded. James was battered with bricks, stones, and a 22-pound iron bar. Paint was poured into his eyes. Batteries were forced into his mouth and anus. His trousers were removed, suggesting sexual elements to the attack. Finally, the boys laid his tiny body across the tracks, partially covering it with rubble, hoping a train would mask their crime. When James was found two days later, severed in half by a passing freight train, the postmortem counted 42 separate injuries—any of which could have killed him. The pathologist described it as “the most horrific case of child abuse” he had ever seen.

The discovery ignited national outrage. Venables and Thompson, both from troubled homes marked by neglect and abuse, became the youngest convicted murderers in modern British history. Their November 1993 trial at Preston Crown Court was unprecedented: the boys sat in specially raised docks, often shielded from view, as graphic evidence was presented. Denise attended every session, confronting the details of her son’s torture head-on. The jury took just hours to convict them of abduction and murder. Mr. Justice Morland’s sentencing remarks captured the nation’s horror: “The killing was an act of unparalleled evil and barbarity.” Initially detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure, they faced a minimum tariff that was later increased to 15 years by public demand and political intervention.

Public fury was ferocious. Tabloids dubbed them “freaks of nature,” and petitions with hundreds of thousands of signatures demanded they never be released. Yet, the justice system’s focus on rehabilitation for child offenders prevailed. Housed in secure units—Venables at Red Bank, Thompson at Barton Moss—they received education, therapy, and privileges. In 2001, after eight years, the Parole Board released them on lifelong licenses with new identities, protected by one of the strictest injunctions in legal history. Revealing their names, appearances, or locations became a criminal offense, punishable by jail. The cost of their protection and monitoring? Millions to taxpayers.

Denise Fergus never accepted the release. “They stole my baby’s life—how can eight years be enough?” she asked in countless interviews. Rebuilding shattered, she married Stuart Fergus, had three more sons, and channeled her grief into advocacy, founding the James Bulger Memorial Trust to aid bereaved families and victims of crime. But peace eluded her, especially as Venables’ post-release life unraveled.

While Robert Thompson reportedly integrated quietly into society without reoffending, Venables descended into darkness. In 2010, at age 27, he was recalled to prison after child pornography was discovered on his computer—over 100 images, some of the most severe category. Denise’s warnings proved prophetic: “I always knew he’d do it again.” Released in 2013 with a third identity, he lasted just four years before arrest in 2017. Police found over 1,000 indecent images, including videos of infants being abused, plus a manual on evading detection. Venables admitted the offenses, claiming curiosity, and was sentenced to 40 months.

Parole battles intensified. Denials in 2020 and 2023 cited his ongoing risk, lack of remorse, and reliance on pornography as a crutch. Denise submitted victim statements each time, her words a dagger: “He is a predator who will never change.” The 2025 hearing, announced in September, promised confrontation—Denise, Stuart, and James’ father Ralph Bulger fought for the right to face Venables in person. Reports claimed he refused to attend if they were present, branding him a “coward” in Denise’s eyes.

The December 2025 hearing lasted two days. Experts testified to Venables’ deceitfulness, his fantasies, and persistent danger to children. Absent from proceedings, he allegedly complained of being the victim. The board disagreed emphatically, denying release and imposing a two-year wait before the next application. Reasons included high risk of serious harm and insufficient progress.

Denise’s response was raw and cathartic. Tearfully addressing the media, she declared: “Finally, justice. This moment feels like a small but powerful victory—for James, and for every parent still seeking justice.” On social media and in interviews, she elaborated: “I can finally breathe. After all these years of fighting, the system listened.” Supporters flooded her with messages; #JusticeForJames trended anew.

Ralph Bulger shared her relief: “Venables belongs behind bars forever.” The decision reignited calls for reform—public parole hearings, revocation of anonymity for child killers, mandatory life without parole for the worst offenses. Critics of rehabilitation argued Venables’ recidivism proved its limits in extreme cases.

The Bulger murder reshaped Britain. It prompted soul-searching on youth crime, leading to changes in trial procedures after a 1999 European ruling deemed the original unfair. Debates on lowering the age of responsibility raged, though it stayed at 10. Denise’s campaigns influenced victim rights laws, giving families greater voice in parole processes.

Now 58, Denise visits James’ grave regularly, tending it with love. “He was my everything—a cheeky, happy boy taken too soon,” she says. Photos of the toddler evoke stolen futures: birthdays missed, milestones absent. Venables, at 43, remains in isolation for his safety, his life a cycle of failure.

This denial offers Denise rare peace, but she vows vigilance: “I’ll fight until my dying breath to keep him locked up.” As 2026 begins, her triumph stands as a beacon—proof that one mother’s love can move mountains, even against a system often criticized for leniency.

The James Bulger case endures as a cautionary tale of evil’s origins, justice’s complexities, and grief’s unyielding power. In Denise Fergus’ tears of relief, we see not just victory, but the enduring spirit of a mother who refused to let her son’s light fade.