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Justice for Addison Rose, Justice for Addi, Montfort, WI (2026)

10/14/2026

We have spent months sharing pieces of this case as carefully and as responsibly as we know how.

Today, we are sharing audio of LJ telling police not to speak to ACJ. Telling ACJ himself to not speak to police as he walked out the front door… Our family has listened to this more times than we can count. We still don't know how to fully put into words what it does to us every single time.

A 17 year old girl had just died. Our Addison Rose... And in those first raw minutes of ACJ waking up… before detectives had a chance to ask him a single question? Some of the first words spoken were “Do not talk to the police.”

We have watched this footage more times than we can count. We still don't fully know what to do with it. We just know it's there, and it's real, and it happened within the same hours our world ended.

We think about silence a lot. About how much weight it can hold, and how long it can be carried before it finally breaks something open.

We know silence can come from a lot of places. Fear. Instinct. Love, even- twisted into a shape that doesn't actually protect anyone.
We don't know which one this was, we’re not going to pretend we do. But we do know this… silence doesn't heal anything. It doesn't bring anyone back. It just sits there, year after year, getting heavier for everyone who's carrying it, whether they admit that weight or not.

We have carried our own kind of silence for over a year now. Not by choice. We have carried the silence of not knowing. Of asking the same questions into what has so often felt like an empty room. Of watching a calendar turn from October to November to December and into another October, still without the one thing we need most: the truth about what happened to the center of our world… the truth about what happened to Addison Rose.

To anyone who was in that house that night, or who has talked to someone who was: we are asking you, gently, honestly, from the most exhausted and most hopeful place we have left in us: please, help us carry this.

To anyone who has ever been told not to talk about this, or about anything: we understand how hard it is to go against that. We understand fear. We understand loyalty, even when loyalty gets pointed in the wrong direction. We are not asking you to betray anyone. We are asking you to consider that the truth, even now, even over a year later, is still the only thing that actually helps anyone heal. Including the people who are scared to tell it.

And to the public, reading this: if you have heard anything, seen anything, been told anything, even something that felt too small or too uncertain to mention… please say it out loud. To investigators, to us, to anyone who can do something with it. We have learned this year that the smallest detail can be the one that finally makes everything else make sense.

It has been over a year. Three hundred and some days of asking the same question and getting nothing back. Our family still doesn't know what happened to Addi Rose in the last hours of her life. And we believe somewhere someone does.

Addison deserved so much more than a year of silence. She deserved people who loved her to have the truth about how she left this world. She deserved for someone, somewhere, to finally say what happened.

Please. If you know anything. If you've heard anything. If some part of you has been carrying something this whole time — let it go. Let it finally be known.

And to LJ: Tell him to tell the truth. Whatever it is. We don't know what happened in that room any more than anyone else does, and maybe you don't either. But ACJ does. And every year that passes with him saying nothing is another year our family doesn't get to bury this the way we should have been able to a long time ago.

You called a lawyer before anyone asked you a single question. You told him not to talk… We are only asking you to consider whether that was really love… or whether it was fear wearing love's clothes.

It's been over a year. Tell him it's time.
She has waited long enough. We all have.

For Addison. Always.
ANONYMOUS TIP LINE: https://gforms.app/p/jWatWsA

10/08/2026

Someone knows something.

We believe that with our whole hearts… with every fiber of our soul.

Somewhere out there… in Montfort, in Edmund, in Cobb, in Mineral Point, in Platteville, in a town two hours away, in a conversation that happened once and was never brought up again…

somebody has a piece of this story that we don't have. A sentence somebody said when they'd had a little too much to drink. A text they were shown and told not to repeat. A detail that felt too small to matter, or too big to say out loud.

We are asking that person, whoever and wherever you are, to be brave.

We know what we're asking. We know coming forward is not simple. Maybe you're scared of what it means for a friendship. Maybe you're scared of getting pulled into something bigger than you ever wanted to be part of. Maybe you've convinced yourself that what you know probably doesn't matter, that surely someone else has already said it, that it's not your place…

We are asking you to set all of that aside, just for a moment, and think about Addi Rose instead.

She was 17 years old. She had a whole life in front of her- a future, plans, goals, and dreams… and all of it ended in a room in Montfort with no explanation that has ever made sense.

A year has passed. More than a year now.

And the people who were there that night have mostly stayed silent, protecting something- themselves, each other, we don't fully know.

But you don't owe them that same silence. You never did.

Maybe you heard something secondhand. Maybe you were told not to repeat it. Maybe you've carried it this whole time, turning it over, wondering if it's important, wondering if it's your place to say anything at all.

It IS your place. It has always been your place. Anyone who knows anything has a place in this.

You don't have to have the whole story. You don't have to be certain. You don't even have to know what it means or how it fits.

Investigators have told us directly: they will chase every single lead, no matter how small.

But a lead needs someone willing to say it out loud. That is the only thing standing between where this case is right now and where it could be.

Maybe it's something about that night specifically. Maybe it's something someone said weeks or months later, when they thought no one was paying attention, when their guard was down and the truth slipped out for just a second before it got swallowed back up.

We have had people come forward before, but we believe there is more. We believe there are people still sitting on something, still telling themselves it's not enough, still afraid of what speaking up might cost them.

We are asking you to stop weighing that cost against Addison's life. There is no fair trade there. There never was.

You do not have to come to us. You do not have to be public. You do not have to put your name on anything if you don't want to.
You only have to tell someone who can do something with it.

We think about the version of this where someone finally does come forward. Where a phone rings, and on the other end is the detail that finally makes everything else make sense. We have thought about that moment every day for over a year.

We don't know who you are. We don't know what you know. We just know, somewhere out there, you exist… and we are asking you, as plainly and as honestly as we know how, to be brave enough to finally say it.

Addison deserves that bravery from somebody. It might as well be you.

ANONYMOUS TIP LINE: https://gforms.app/p/jWatWsA

10/02/2026

Today is October 1st, 2026.

A year ago, we still had her with us.

A year ago, Addi Rose hugged her mom goodbye in a kitchen full of dirty dishes, said "bye, I love you, see you later" the way she always did, and walked out the door into a night none of us knew to be afraid of.

See you later…Not goodbye. See you later.

Because there was no reason on earth to think there wouldn't be a later.

We have lived inside that sentence for 365 days now. "See you later." We turn it over and over, the way you run your tongue over a broken tooth, unable to stop even though it hurts every single time.

There wasn't a later. There was only this. A year of her name on signs instead of on a graduation cap. A year of memorial candles instead of birthdays. A year of a case file instead of a future. A year of us fighting for answers that still, even now and even today, we do not have.

We don't know how to describe what a year of this feels like to someone who hasn't lived it. It is not a slow healing. It is not a wound that closes a little more each month, the way people promise you it will. It is a door that reopens every single morning, the exact same way, with the exact same force, as if no time has passed at all. We wake up. For one unbearable half-second, the world is normal.

And then we remember, all over again, that she's gone, and we lose her all over again, in that same half-second, every single day.

We miss her in every size there is. We miss the big things: her laugh filling up a whole room, her stubbornness, the way she loved people so hard in the best way. And we miss the impossibly small things too: the specific way she said certain words, the willow tree in the front yard, a shade of pink that stops us in the middle of an ordinary day for no reason anyone else would understand.

We have spent this entire year becoming people we never wanted to be. People who know what "manner of death" means. People who have read autopsy reports and understand chain of custody and know a detective's direct line by heart. We did not choose this version of ourselves. It was chosen for us, the night somebody decided silence was easier than the truth. And so we became this instead: loud, relentless, impossible to ignore… because the only thing worse than carrying this pain would have been carrying it quietly.

It has cost us things this year that we are still grieving separately from grieving her.

Friendships. A version of our family that used to be whole in a different way. Pieces of ourselves we didn't know we'd have to give up just to keep standing. We don't say that for sympathy. We say it because we think it matters for people to know what the last 365 days actually took, underneath all the posts and the timelines and the fight everyone sees from the outside.

And still… we would do every single day of it again. We would do all of it twice over, a hundred times over, if it meant one more day of fighting for her.

Addi: we don't know if you can hear us, but we're going to talk to you anyway, the way we have every single day this year.

We are so sorry. We are sorry we didn't know that goodbye was the last one. We are sorry we were sleeping and unaware while everything was happening to you. We are sorry it has taken a full year and we are still standing here without the whole truth. We are sorry for every birthday you won't have, every ordinary Tuesday that should have just belonged to you, every single thing this last year stole from you that you will never get back.

But we are not sorry for one single thing we have done since. Not the sleepless nights. Not the arguments this fight has cost us. Not the version of ourselves we had to become to keep fighting for you. We would choose this every time, because you are worth every piece of it, and you always will be.

You were loud. You were sassy. You loved with your whole chest and you never apologized for it. You deserved so much more than seventeen years, and you deserved so much more than the way they ended, and we are never going to stop saying that, not this year, not next year, not for the rest of our lives.

One year, Addi Rose. It feels like no time at all and it feels like forever all at once and we don't think that feeling ever goes away.

We love you. We miss you in every single hour of every single day. We are still here. We are still asking. We are still fighting exactly as hard as we were on day one.

See you later. We still believe that. We have to.

10/01/2026

2:35 AM

One year ago, right now, a 911 call went out from that house.

By this moment, everything had already happened. Our entire world had already been shattered, and we had absolutely no idea. We were asleep in our own beds, completely unaware. Three hours had already passed since Addison told HL she'd see him in the morning: three hours that have never been explained to us, not once, not by anyone who was in that house.

We think about that a lot… How you can lose the most important person in your life and not even know it yet… How the world can be irreversibly, permanently different, and you're still just sleeping, still just living in the version of reality where she's fine, where tomorrow is a normal day and nothing more.

Somewhere in the hours between 10:35 and this phone call, we lost her. And somewhere in those same hours, before this call was even placed, decisions were already being made in that house about what would be said, who would be called, what story would be told… all this before a single investigator had even walked through that door.

We think about the J family at this exact hour too... about what it must have looked like inside their house in the minutes before this call was placed. About who was awake, who was moving through those rooms, who already knew something the rest of the world didn't know yet.

We don't know what was said between them in those minutes. We don't know who decided what. But we know that while our family was asleep, completely unaware that our entire lives had just changed forever, theirs was already awake, already making calls, already deciding what the rest of us would eventually be told.

That is a kind of loneliness we don't think we can ever fully explain. Not just losing her… but losing her while the only people who know what actually happened were already, somehow, ahead of us. Already a step into protecting themselves before we even knew there was anything to protect themselves from.

We are not asleep tonight the way we were a year ago. We are awake, at this exact hour, thinking about our Addi Rose in that room, thinking about everyone who was there and still has not told us the whole truth. We have spent 365 days trying to fill in what happened in those hours. We are not going to stop until we can.

One year... It does not feel like it should be possible that it has already been one year, and yet it also feels like the longest year of our entire lives…

We love you, Addi Rose. Tonight, at 2:35, and at every hour before it and every hour after it, for the rest of our lives.

We are still here. We are still fighting. We are never going to stop.

For Addison. Always.

10/01/2026

10:35 PM

One year ago, right now, Addison Rose sent the last message she would ever send.

It seemed so small and so completely ordinary. A Snapchat exchange with HL, confirming he'd come back for her in the morning. Six-thirty, he told her. Okay, she said.

That's it. That is the last thing our Addi ever typed into a phone.

We have read that exchange more times than we could ever count, looking for something, anything, some hint of what was coming.

We know something about this exchange that we cannot stop thinking about…

HL saved some of those messages and he didn't save others.

Think about that for a second. In a conversation this ordinary- a pickup time, an "okay," nothing that should have mattered to anyone… someone made a choice about what to keep and what to let disappear. Why would it matter which parts of a simple goodnight exchange survived, unless some of it mattered in a way we don't understand yet?

We don't know what was in the parts that weren't saved. We may never know. But we know this: somebody decided, at some point, that some of what Addison said that night was worth keeping, and some of it wasn't.

And we have spent a year wondering what was in the part that's gone.

After 10:35, there is nothing else from her. A message comes in a little before eleven. Another closer to midnight. She never opens either one. Addi Rose, a girl who was always on her phone, who never went more than a few minutes without checking it… went completely silent at 10:35 and never came back to it.

This is the last moment we can say for certain she was still just herself. Still just a 17 year old girl, texting about tomorrow morning, with no idea that tomorrow morning was never going to come for her.

We think about her sitting somewhere in that house at 10:35, typing those last words, with no idea they were her last words. We think about her thumbs moving across that screen for the very last time, and we would give anything, absolutely ANYTHING in this entire world to know what she was feeling in that exact moment. Was she tired? Was she already scared? Was she just a normal girl waiting for morning, with no idea at all?

We will never get to ask her. We only get to sit with 10:35 pm, forever, as the last proof we have that she was still here.

10:35, Addi Rose. We remember every second of it. We are never going to stop remembering, and we are never going to stop asking what happened.

10/01/2026

8:00 PM

One year ago, right now, Addison Rose was leaving her home for the last time.

It was such an ordinary evening. Nothing about it felt different from a hundred evenings before it… She said goodbye to her mom the way she always did. Her mom was standing at the sink doing dishes, hands full, and never even saw who pulled up to get her. There was no reason to look twice. There was no reason to think it mattered.

Before she left, she told her sister where she was really going. She said she was going to ACJ’s for a little bit to and would be back. Addi Rose said he had changed- he was better now. Then she said what she always said: bye, I love you, see you later…

See you later. That's what she said. Not goodbye… See you later, like there would obviously be a later, like there was no reason on earth to think otherwise.

That was it. That was the last time any of us saw her alive.

We didn't get a moment where something in us whispered pay attention, this is the last goodbye. We got dishes in the sink, an I love you… and she was gone.

We would give anything… quite literally anything to have that moment back. We want to change it. We want to grab her by the shoulders and tell her to stay. Don't go. Stay home tonight, Addi, please please please… just stay home. We want to be the ones who could read the future… the one who was able to say something, and stop her at the door.

We know we can't go back and we know wanting to doesn't make it possible, but my god… if only.

Tonight, at exactly this hour, one year later, we are sitting with that goodbye. We are thinking about her walking out that door, seventeen years old, with her whole life still in front of her, having absolutely no idea. None of us having any idea what the next hours would take from us.

If you are reading this tonight and you have someone you love within reach, please go hug them. Please don't wait for a special moment to tell them. Addison's goodbye taught us, in the most painful way imaginable, that you never know which one is the last one.

We love you so much, Addi Rose. Tonight we are walking through this whole night with you, hour by hour, the way we have every single day for a year.

09/30/2026

Tomorrow, it will be one year.

One year since Addison Rose walked out the door for the last time. One year since our family's world changed in a way it will never fully change back from. One year of fighting, asking, begging for the truth about what happened to her.

We will gather tomorrow to mark it together.

Vigil for Addison Rose | October 1st, 2026 | 6:00pm | Montfort Park (corner of Park and Fountain Street)

We will light candles. We will say her name out loud, together, in the place that has carried so much weight over this past year…

We will share memories of who she really was: the laugh, the stubbornness, the way she loved people so loudly and so completely.

And we will stand together as a community that has spent 365 days refusing to let her be forgotten.

If you have your LED candle from the benefit, please bring it. Double check the batteries before you head out, most take AA. If you don't have one, that's okay too. Just bring yourself.

We know tomorrow is going to be hard. We have known it was coming for months and we still don't feel ready for it. We don't think we're supposed to feel ready for it…

But we also know we will not be standing in that park alone. A year ago, we didn't know if anyone outside our family would ever say her name. Tomorrow, we will be surrounded by an entire community who has carried her with us, who has shared her story, who has refused, the same way we have refused, to let this go quiet.

Addi Rose deserved a lifetime. She got seventeen years, and a family and a community who have spent the year since fighting for the truth about how those years ended.

We will see you tomorrow. Bring your candle, bring your memories, bring your love for her.

NOTE: if you have a specific memory you would like shared at the vigil, please reach out to this page.

For Addison. Always.

09/29/2026

We are sitting here in the days after Addi’s benefit, completely overwhelmed in the best possible way.

We need to take a minute to say thank you. Really, truly thank you. Because none of Sunday happens without this community.

Thank you to every single person who walked through those doors. Whether you came for an hour or stayed the whole day, whether you bid on something or just came to say hi and give us a hug: you being there meant more than we can put into words. Seeing that room full of people who love Addison, who believe in this fight, who refuse to let her be forgotten? That is a feeling we will carry with us for a long, long time.

Thank you to the incredible people who donated baked goods for our bake sale. Jayden Ballard, Jazzy, and so so many more of you: your kitchens and your time and your hearts went into every single item on that table, and it showed. The bake sale was a HIT because of you!

Thank you to everyone who donated to our silent auction. Autodaycare Detailing. Amazing Creations by Tiff. Beautiful handmade cups by Kristen, handmade blankets, a gorgeous basket by Irene/Main Furniture & Home… I could go on and on about every single amazing item donated! Every single friend and family member who put together a basket, donated an item, or reached out to a business on our behalf: you made that auction something truly special.

Watching people bid, watching the excitement in the room, knowing every single dollar is going straight toward fighting for Addison? That was because of you.

Thank you to everyone who showed up early to help set up, and everyone who stayed late to help tear down. The unglamorous, exhausting work that nobody sees on the flyer… you did it without being asked twice, and it does not go unnoticed. We see you and we are endlessly grateful.

Thank you to everyone who donated, in any amount, in any form. Cash in a jar, a Venmo, a CashApp payment, a card slipped to one of us with a hug…every single dollar matters and every single one of you who gave what you could, however you could, are part of this fight now.

And thank you, thank you, thank you to Crossroads Supper Club for hosting us. For opening your doors, for accommodating everything we needed, for being part of a day that meant the absolute world to this family.

We are so grateful to you.

We say this every time and we mean it more every time: we could not do this without you. Not the fundraiser. Not the page. Not any of it. This entire fight belongs to all of us now, and Sunday proved that in the best way possible.

We don't get much time to catch our breath, because our next event is only three days away. And it is the heaviest one yet.

🕯️ Vigil for Addison Rose October 1st, 2026 | 6:00pm Montfort Park - corner of Park and Fountain Street

Three days from now, it will officially be one year since we lost her.
We will gather together in that park and say her name out loud. We will light candles. We will share memories. And we will stand together as a community that has spent an entire year refusing to let her be forgotten.
Please bring your LED candles if you have them from the benefit. A quick note: most of them take AA batteries, so please check yours before you come to make sure they're ready to go.

We love you all so much. Thank you for this weekend. Thank you for three days from now. Thank you for every single day in between.
For Addison. Always.

09/27/2026

Tomorrow Is The Benefit!

It's almost here! Tomorrow, we finally get to gather in person for Addison.

🌹 Benefit Fundraiser: TOMORROW September 27th, 2026 | 10:00am - 2:00pm Crossroads Supper Club, Arthur, WI $10 per adult / $5 per kid (cash, Venmo, CashApp)

The silent auction is coming together beautifully, and we cannot wait to show it off in person!

Every single bid tomorrow goes directly toward attorney fees, private investigator costs, and the ongoing fight for Addison. On top of the auction, we'll have food, a bake sale, games, and crafts! Come hungry, come ready to bid, and come ready to be part of something that will make a true difference.

We will see so many of you tomorrow. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, for showing up for her.

🕯️ Vigil: Less Than One Week Away!
October 1st, 2026 | 6:00pm Village of Montfort Park

One year. Five days from today, we will stand together in that park and say Addison's name out loud. We'll light candles, share memories, and reaffirm what we have said every single day since we lost her: we are not done, and we are not going anywhere.

Please bring your LED pillar candles from the benefit if you're able. And please, leave alcohol at home. This is a space for remembrance and respect.

Both of these days matter more than we can put into words. One helps fund the fight. One helps us hold onto her.

We hope you'll be there for both. And if you can't make it in person, sharing this post, sending a donation, or simply keeping Addison's name in your prayers means everything to our family.

See you tomorrow. Thank you for standing with us. We could not do this without you.

Justice for Addison Rose

10/14/2026

10/08/2026

10/02/2026

10/01/2026

10/01/2026

10/01/2026

09/30/2026

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