Villalobos, 19, last saw her daughter, Dia, on Oct. 12, 2014, several hours before she and two other people were gunned down in a parking lot off of the northwest corner of West and March lanes in Stockton.

The young mom anticipated the worst and left her sleeping 18-month-old toddler in the care of her older sister, Chavella Burrell. Villalobos and Dia’s father, Charles Richardson, dropped off Dia about 10 p.m. after Richardson told Burrell he had been in an altercation with a man and the person had shot at Villalobos’ windshield while Dia slept in the back.

Villalobos was only supposed to drop off Richardson and come right back, Burrell said.

About 3:30 a.m., Villalobos, 19-year-old Joshua Aquino and 23-year-old Dallas Bidwell were found dead in her car in the parking lot of the Calaveras Square shopping center in north Stockton. Richardson was shot eight times, but survived.

“I expected her to return to get her baby, and she didn’t,” Burrell said.

Burrell, who is Dia’s legal guardian, is contemplating adopting her niece. The only reservation, she said, is she wants Richardson to be held accountable for child support since “he’s the reason my sister is not here.”

“When my sister was alive, she’d say (Richardson) will take care of (Dia), but she couldn’t see he was no good,” said Burrell, who has a 12-year-old daughter.

Jones faults Richardson’s unwillingness to cooperate with authorities for the sentence her daughter’s shooter, DazJohn Dao, received. Dao, now 25, was sentenced to 16 years and 8 months in prison, but to Jones, it’s not nearly enough time for someone who took three lives.

Dia lives in East Palo Alto and has been in the care of Burrell since her mother’s homicide. And while Dia didn’t get to know her mom, Villalobos’ family attempts to give little Dia memories through the dozens of photos that hang on the walls of Jones’ home and sharing anecdotes of the little girl’s mother.

The 5-year-old also will always have a piece of her mom: Burrell took her sister’s ashes to a Seattle-based company where they made a crystal heart with aqua-blue, navy and silver swirls, and included some of Villalobos’ ashes.

Dia, on the day she was promoted at school, held her mommy’s crystal heart in her little hands and gave it a kiss.

“The person who has suffered the ultimate loss is Dia,” said Burrell, who has a tattoo that reads “My sister’s keeper” on her chest. “She had her mother for 18 months. She’s been robbed ultimately. I have memories with my sister … Dia won’t have memories.”

When children at school talk about their moms, she wants hers, Burrell said. She always will miss a part of her.

Dia talks about her mom regularly, Jones said. She dreams about her and picks her flowers. She also cries because she misses her. At times, Jones wishes her granddaughter didn’t think about her mom at all so she won’t feel the pain of being without her.

“It’s hard to hold back your own tears when you’re comforting a child that wants her mom,” she said. “It gets no worse than having to bury a child, no worse. And no worse to see your grandchild cry her eyes out for her mom who’s never coming home.”

Every day without Villalobos is still difficult for her family. Villalobos’ older brothers — Anthony and Isaiah — don’t talk about their younger sister much. Villalobos’ would have turned 23 this year.

“We miss Carlitha, we really miss her,” Jones said sobbing. “I just don’t understand sometimes how did this happen to my child. She is the first and only homicide victim in the entire history of our family. So this is new for us.

“She deserves so much more than to be slain like that in the middle of a parking lot.”

At times, Jones and Burrell feel like they can’t move past Villalobos’ death because her daughter is a constant reminder. But, Dia is also what gives them strength and joy.

“She was my baby sister,” Burrell said. “The only thing (helping) me move on is being able to see her spirit through her child.”

Contact reporter Almendra Carpizo at (209) 5468264 or acarpizo@recordnet.com. Follow her on Twitter @AlmendraCarpizo.