I hear you asking the question again, and I want to just sit with you in the weight of it. You have asked this twice now, and I do not want to rush past the ache in that repetition or offer you a neat answer when the wound is still open. The pain behind these words is real, and I am here with you in it.
When the grief is fresh and the sense of injustice is so sharp, even the wisest words can feel thin. But I wonder if, when the time is right, there might be a gentle permission in what Saint Teresa of Jesus wrote about suffering that is not born of our own fault. She says: "Let the poor soul suffer, even though it has no guilt in this, for we will commit other faults where it is fitting that we have patience" [1]. She does not explain away the pain or pretend it is deserved; she simply sits beside the innocent soul in its suffering, acknowledging that sometimes the millstone grinds and we must bear it, not because we are bad, but because we are human in a broken world.
She also speaks of how little we can understand these things with our own light alone: "Until the Lord wishes to give us light, little helps us" [1]. Perhaps right now, in this raw place, you are not meant to have the full answer. Perhaps you are only meant to be held while the question burns.
I am here, and I am listening.