Nicole Avant on Forgiving Her Mom’s Killer and the Moment She Heard the 81-Year-Old Had Been Shot (Exclusive)

The daughter of Jacqueline Avant is sharing her path to healing in her new book, 'Think You’ll Be Happy: Moving Through Grief with Grit, Grace, and Gratitude'

In the predawn hours of Dec. 1, 2021, Nicole Avant awoke to a nightmare she couldn’t believe was real. Her husband, Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos, called from a business trip and told her, “Your mom’s been shot.” Mere hours earlier, Nicole had said goodnight to her mother, philanthropist Jacqueline Avant, 81, via text. Now Jacqueline was dying in the hospital after a home intruder shot her in the back. As reality set in, Nicole said a prayer: “Oh God, please do not let me hate this man.”

Aariel Maynor, a felon released on parole three months earlier, had broken into her parents’ Beverly Hills home and fled empty-handed, leaving Nicole’s father, Clarence Avant, then 90, wondering why his wife of 54 years was bleeding on their living room floor. (Maynor, 31, is now serving a 150-year prison sentence.)

“It was all-consuming, so heavy. I felt as if a house fell on me,” Nicole, 55, tells PEOPLE in this week's issue. “I had never felt energy like that. Who was I going to call and ask, ‘What did you do when this happened to you?’ I had nothing. The prayer was me saying, ‘I cannot let my frustration and fury take over me. He’s not getting that.’”

Related: Nicole Avant Reveals Cover for Book on Grief and Forgiveness 19 Months After Mom Jacqueline’s Murder (Exclusive)

Instead, Nicole — who was in the middle of writing a self-help book — channeled her energy into honoring her mother’s legacy while helping others process anguish. The result is Think You’ll Be Happy: Moving Through Grief with Grit, Grace, and Gratitude, out Oct. 17.

It was her father, Clarence, a legendary music executive who died this past August, who encouraged Nicole, a former U.S. Ambassador to the Bahamas, to complete it. “My dad was the engine behind this book,” says Nicole, who in the aftermath of her mom’s death cared for Clarence in the L.A. home she shares with her husband, Ted, 59.

“Every day I was like, ‘Daddy, I just can’t write today.’ He said, ‘Nicole, don’t go down this rabbit hole because you’re sinking," she adds. "You’re giving your energy and attention to a tragedy, and I want you to give it to Jacquie.’ ”

For Nicole, celebrating her mom’s life without being overwhelmed by the way the former model died has been key to her healing. Writing Think You’ll Be Happy was part of that process, but so was forgiving the killer by unshackling herself from “anything negative and heavy.”

“I’ve been blessed with a good life, and I want to continue to serve,” she says. “I can do things with a broken heart, but I do want my heart to mend. I just can’t let it sit in my heart and rot.”

Now, nearly two years after her mom’s murder, Nicole is revealing how the family’s nightmare began — from the senseless act that broke their heart and the immeasurable grief that followed to how she forged ahead through healing, prayer and service.

In this exclusive excerpt from Think You’ll Be Happy she recounts what it felt like to hear that her elderly mother had been shot in her own home.

For more on Avant's story, pick up the latest issue of PEOPLE, on newsstands Friday, or subscribe here.

I was home alone on the evening of Tuesday, November 30, 2021. Well after midnight—I’d been asleep for hours by this point—something told me to look at my phone. When I did, I saw something you never want to see in the middle of the night: about a million missed calls from my brother, Alex, and the same from my husband, Ted, who was away on a work retreat. With my heart racing, before I could even work out what was going on, my husband’s name appeared on the screen again. I quickly answered his call and before I was able to say hello, he said something to me that would change my life forever, “Love, you’ve got to get up, get dressed, and get to Cedars—your mom’s been shot.”

Surrounded by the darkness of night, I froze. “This is a dream,” I thought. “This isn’t happening. I just have to wake up. Wake up, Nicole. It’s a nightmare. Wake up.” There are some words that make no sense and will never make any sense. Never, never, never. “What the hell are you talking about?” I said. “Where was she? Was she out with my father? Wait, what time is it?” Yet even as I asked, I realized quickly that there was no time for questions. I needed to go to my mother.

My mother, Jacqueline, was the person in our family who held the pieces together when things were about to fall apart. She never stood on the sidelines. Like the queen of a kingdom, in moments of crisis her instinct was to act. For my entire life I saw her deliberately move through the world with grit, grace, and gratitude. In that moment after I received the call, I left myself. Maybe I became my mother or maybe I became more deeply myself. I am not sure, but what I do know is that my mother needed a woman like her right then.

I had no idea how shattered our lives would be, but I knew that as my mother’s daughter, I had to hold the pieces together. There was no time to wonder, to parse meaning. I learned from both my parents that when there was a challenge, sitting still until a solution wandered by wasn’t good enough. Nothing good ever happens by sitting on a damn couch. So, I brushed my teeth, got dressed. I went downstairs, put some food out for the dogs, and got in the car… calmly. Not shaking. I could feel my mother everywhere; she was guiding me, as she’d always done. I was tremendously grateful for her. I felt her grit filling me. I prayed for grace.

I found myself driving west on Sixth Street toward Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. All the lights were green. When the last light before I had to turn into the hospital started to flicker, I took this as a sign that my mom was trying to connect with me. “Mom,” I said out loud, “I’m on my way to the hospital. I have no real idea what happened, except that you’re eighty-one years old and you’ve been shot. I don’t know by whom, or where, or why, but I’m on my way. And everything is going to be okay, regardless of what happens. Mom, if you can hear me, I don’t know what God’s plan is, but don’t feel that you have to come back and take care of Alex or Dad, because I’ll do that. Mom, you’ve lived a great life. I’ve got it from here.”

She didn’t need to be next to me to hear me. I knew she received my message. I had no idea what state she was in, but I wanted to offer my strong, elegant mother the relief she deserved. I felt the urge to compose myself, not because I was okay. I was not okay. I collected myself because I was raised to believe that love is an action word. Love is not only something we are. Love is something we do. Love, the act of love, like the series of green lights, was moving me forward, telling me to keep going.

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When I arrived at the hospital, the first person I saw was my father. I looked down and noticed that his left sock was stained with blood. I was later told that the slippers he was wearing were brought to him by a neighbor who’d seen my father, in shock, without shoes, being questioned by the police on the street in front of his home.

Of all I witnessed and went through that night, the gesture of those slippers stays in my memory. We must never underestimate the impact of a simple act of care. The next person I saw was my brother, Alex, frantically pacing around the room and on the phone, his girlfriend, Airess, at his side. Soon, Ted arrived and the police told us what they knew about the night.

An intruder had broken into my parents’ home at around 2:25 a.m. and while attempting to rob their home, had shot my mother in the back with an assault rifle. My blood boiled. My heart felt as if it would leap through my chest. My deep sadness and fear was instantly covered with a blanket of anger. Someone hurt my mother? 

I couldn’t comprehend it. How could anyone hurt my mother? A woman who lived with such respect for life. She wouldn’t harm an insect. Believe me, I grew up witnessing my mother releasing various insects from inside her home back outdoors to where they belong. 

Someone hurt my mother?

Hot, painful tears streamed down my face. And then I looked up and saw my father, the man who’d spent his entire life living in the warmth of my mother’s light. A light that was fading fast. I felt myself coming apart, but I couldn’t, for the sake of my family. At least not in this moment. I took a deep breath. And I held the pieces. When the surgeon appeared, I saw the look on his face and knew. We all knew.

From the forthcoming book Think You’ll Be Happy: Moving Through Grief with Grit, Grace, and Gratitude by Nicole Avant. Copyright © 2023 by Nicole Avant. Excerpted by permission of HarperOne, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

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