The case of Sudiksha Konanki should have ignited a nationwide reckoning.

Instead, it’s being quietly erased.

She vanished while staying at a resort in the Dominican Republic. No body. No real search. No answers. And now, within just months, she’s been declared legally dead at the request of her own family. Not because her remains were found. Not because the investigation led to irrefutable conclusions. But because the system made it possible.

We need to sit with that.

A missing woman – no body, no crime scene, no confirmed death – was granted a death certificate. And many are telling us to leave it alone. That we should “respect the family’s wishes.” That it’s time to “move on.”

But since when did emotional surrender become legal fact?

Let’s be clear: this isn’t about casting blame on grieving parents. Grief is personal, and pain makes people do things others may never understand. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us have to co-sign a precedent that’s not just deeply wrong – it’s dangerous.

Because if this becomes normal, we’re opening a door we won’t be able to close.

We’re telling the world that closure is more important than truth. That disappearance can be resolved with a signature instead of evidence. That families, under unbearable pressure, can make the final call on whether or not we continue to look for someone. And once that call is made, the case is closed. Just like that.

What message does this send to traffickers? To predators? To anyone hiding in the cracks of a system that already struggles to investigate missing women – especially women of color?

It tells them this:

Don’t worry.

If no one finds her fast enough, if the trail goes cold, someone will eventually make it easy for you. The media will forget. The case will stall. And maybe her own loved ones will sign off on her absence. Because people don’t have the stamina for uncertainty. They want neat endings. Even when the truth is still missing.

We have to say it plainly: you cannot declare someone dead without evidence and expect that not to be abused.

That’s not how justice works. That’s not how truth works. And it’s certainly not how human lives should be treated.

This moment is bigger than Sudiksha. It’s about every missing person whose case is slowed, ignored, or quietly closed. It’s about every system that says, “We did all we could,” when they never really tried. It’s about the idea that a signed paper can stand in for a real answer.

And it should terrify all of us.

Because if society begins normalizing legal death without proof, what happens to the next girl who disappears? Or the next boy? Or the next woman trafficked across borders, whose name doesn’t trend, whose case isn’t neat?

We lose them.

Twice.

Once in reality.

And once again when we choose comfort over truth.

So no – we won’t move on.

We won’t “leave it alone.”

Not until we have facts. Not until we have answers.

Not until we stop mistaking legal closure for justice.

And certainly not while girls are still disappearing and we’re being told to call it peace.