Three children stood motionless before an open white casket, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating their tear-streaked faces. Joshua, 17, placed a trembling hand on the satin lining. Salote, 14, clutched a framed photo of their smiling mother. Rupeni, just 12, stared in disbelief at the woman who had promised them a joyful New Year reunion.

“Mum said we’d be getting ready for the New Year… I’ve been waiting,” Joshua whispered, voice breaking. “Mum, please wake up.”

The words, captured on video by a grieving relative, spread like wildfire across social media and news outlets in Australia and Fiji. Within hours, the heartbreaking clip had been viewed millions of times, becoming one of the most painful viral moments of early 2026.

Anaseini Nai Waqavuki, 38, a dedicated Fijian-born aged care nurse, was allegedly stabbed to death in the early hours of December 28, 2025, inside her home on Illabo Street, Quakers Hill, Sydney. Police discovered her body in the kitchen with multiple stab wounds. Outside on the footpath lay Epi Naitini, 30, a friend who had been visiting that night; he too had been fatally stabbed and later died in hospital.

Anare Vunitabua, 47 — Anaseini’s former partner of six years — was arrested shortly afterward and charged with two counts of murder. Detectives classified the double homicide as domestic violence-related, the latest in a grim tally of femicides that continue to plague Australia.

Anaseini had left her three children behind in Fiji in 2018 when she migrated to Australia on a skilled worker visa. Like many Pacific Islander women, she took on demanding night shifts in aged care so she could send money home for school fees, uniforms, groceries, and dreams of a better future. Every evening, without fail, she video-called her children. She spoke constantly about bringing them to Australia once she secured permanent residency — better schools, safer neighborhoods, a family finally living under one roof.

“She was the backbone,” her niece Georgina Bulewa told reporters outside the Perth funeral home. “Even when things were hard, she never let the children see her cry. She always said, ‘Just a little longer, then we’ll all be together.’”

But “a little longer” turned into years. The relationship with Vunitabua, according to family and close friends, had grown increasingly controlling and violent. Anaseini tried to leave several times. Each time, promises of change — or threats — pulled her back. Two months before her death, she finally walked away for good. She told friends she was done, that she was focusing on her children and her career.

On the night of December 27–28, Anaseini hosted a small kava (grog) session at home — a common cultural gathering among Fijians in the diaspora. Epi Naitini, a happily married friend from the community, was among the guests. Neighbors reported hearing screams shortly before 5 a.m. When police arrived, they found a scene of unimaginable horror.

Back in Fiji, the children were still asleep when the news arrived. Grandmother Saini Rokoiwaca, 65, said the house fell into a stunned silence before erupting in anguished wails. Salote had sent her mother a goodnight message around 10 p.m. the previous evening — their final exchange.

The logistics of grief were overwhelming. Passports for the children had to be expedited. Visas for Australia were fast-tracked. Flights, funeral expenses, and temporary accommodation in Perth were covered through a GoFundMe campaign that quickly surpassed A$180,000, with donations coming from strangers in Australia, New Zealand, the UK, the United States, and every corner of Fiji.

The funeral itself was a powerful fusion of Fijian tradition and quiet dignity. Traditional masi (tapa cloth) mats covered the floor. Frangipani and hibiscus leis — flown in fresh from Nakini village — draped the casket. Fijian hymns filled the chapel, interspersed with English prayers.

When the lid was opened for the final viewing, the children approached together. Joshua went first. He had just received news that he passed his Fiji Year 12 Certificate exams — the results his mother had been eagerly awaiting. Instead of celebrating together, he was saying goodbye forever.

Salote laid a handwritten letter beside her mother’s hands. Rupeni, too young to fully comprehend the permanence of death, kept asking why Mum was sleeping in such a beautiful box and why she wouldn’t wake up to hug him.

Family members gently guided the boy, explaining in soft Fijian that Mum had gone to heaven, that she would always watch over them. But no explanation could stop the sobs that echoed through the room.

Outside the chapel, hundreds gathered — members of the Fijian-Australian community, colleagues from the aged care facility, advocates from domestic violence organizations, even people who had never met Anaseini but had been moved by her story.

The RED HEART Movement, a national coalition against gender-based violence, issued a statement calling Anaseini’s death “another preventable tragedy in Australia’s ongoing femicide crisis.” They pointed to systemic failures: long waiting lists for emergency accommodation, cultural stigma around speaking out, financial dependence on partners, and the particular vulnerabilities faced by migrant women.

Friends have pushed back against early online rumors of a “love triangle,” insisting Epi was simply a friend and fellow community member. The violence, they say, stemmed from Anaseini’s decision to finally leave an abusive relationship — a decision that tragically cost her life.

After the service, the procession moved to the cemetery under a blazing Western Australian summer sky. Joshua placed one last lei around his mother’s neck. Salote tucked in the letter she had written. Rupeni kissed her forehead, whispering, “I love you, Mum. Come back soon.”

The casket was lowered. Earth covered the grave. And just like that, the woman who had given everything for her children was gone.

The three siblings will soon return to Fiji, to a house that will forever feel empty. They face upcoming school terms, exams, birthdays, graduations — all milestones their mother had dreamed of sharing.

Yet they carry her dreams forward.

Joshua has already spoken of studying nursing, like his mother. Salote wants to become a teacher. Rupeni still dreams of being a pilot — a childhood wish Anaseini always encouraged.

The New Year promise that was meant to bring celebration instead became a date of mourning. But in the tears at the casket, in the global wave of support, in the stories people continue to share, Anaseini’s love refuses to fade.

She may never prepare for another New Year with her children. But her sacrifice, her strength, and her unbreakable devotion have alrea