The heartbreak in Frisco, Texas, deepened irreversibly on January 28, 2026, when 16-year-old Grace “Gracie” Brito succumbed to her injuries days after a terrifying sledding crash that claimed her best friend Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle in an instant. What began as innocent, exhilarating fun in a rare blanket of North Texas snow ended in silence beneath an oak tree on a quiet suburban street. The girls—sophomores at Frisco Wakeland High School, inseparable soulmates since childhood—were laughing and clinging to each other on a sled towed by a Jeep Wrangler when one deadly mistake turned joy into every parent’s worst nightmare.
The accident occurred shortly before 2:30 p.m. on Sunday, January 25, in the Majestic Gardens neighborhood near Majestic Gardens Drive and Killian Court. A freak winter storm had delivered several inches of heavy, wet snow—an event so unusual in the Dallas-Fort Worth area that it felt like a gift from the sky to teenagers who rarely experience real winter play. Streets that normally see dry pavement and traffic became slick playgrounds. Sleds of every kind appeared: plastic discs, inflatable tubes, old cafeteria trays repurposed for speed. In one group of friends, excitement escalated to towing a sled behind a vehicle—a common thrill in snowy regions but fraught with danger on untreated Texas roads.
A 16-year-old boy drove the Jeep Wrangler. Gracie and Lizzie climbed onto the sled together, arms linked, faces alight with pure exhilaration. Witnesses described the scene as joyful at first: the Jeep gaining speed down the snowy street, the girls screaming with delight as wind rushed past, holding on tight to each other and the sled. Then the driver attempted a sharp turn. The sled whipped violently sideways, struck the curb with crushing force, and propelled the girls forward into the trunk of a mature oak tree just off the roadway.
The impact was catastrophic. First responders from Frisco Police and Fire Departments arrived within minutes of the 2:26 p.m. 911 call. What they found would haunt them: two 16-year-old girls lying in the snow, bodies still entwined in a desperate embrace, clinging to one another even as life slipped away. “They were holding on to each other,” the phrase from police and paramedic accounts spread across every news outlet, social media feed, and family conversation. Those six words captured the unbreakable bond, the instinctive loyalty, the final act of friendship in the face of unimaginable force.
Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle was pronounced dead shortly after arrival at the hospital. The trauma proved unsurvivable; she never regained consciousness. Gracie Brito, critically injured with life-threatening wounds, was rushed to a trauma center and placed on mechanical life support. For three excruciating days, her family—mother Tracy Brito, father, siblings, extended relatives, and a tight circle of friends—lived in the sterile glow of hospital waiting rooms. They prayed, held hands, whispered encouragements, and clung to every tiny sign of response from monitors and doctors.
On January 28, with no path to meaningful recovery, the Brito family made the most gut-wrenching decision imaginable. Surrounded by love, they withdrew life support. Gracie passed peacefully. Yet even in that darkest moment, her legacy shifted from tragedy to hope. Just two months earlier, thrilled after earning her driver’s license, Gracie had registered as an organ donor with genuine excitement. “She was thrilled,” Tracy Brito told reporters. “She wanted to help anyone in need. That was Grace.” In accordance with her wish, Gracie’s heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and other viable organs and tissues were donated—potentially saving or dramatically improving multiple lives. In a region where organ waiting lists stretch long and families wait in quiet desperation, her selflessness offers renewed light amid profound darkness.
Gracie Brito was the girl who “always wanted to make others smile.” A cheerleader with Express Cheer & Dance in Frisco, she brought infectious energy, warmth, and compassion to every practice, pep rally, and game. Friends described her as a “kind and generous soul,” full of love, empathy, and an uncanny ability to sense when someone needed support. She was the friend who sent late-night texts to check in, organized group outings, and lifted spirits without seeking credit. Becoming an organ donor felt natural to her—a quiet extension of a life dedicated to giving.
Elizabeth “Lizzie” Angle shone just as brightly on the soccer field at Wakeland High. A rising standout, she played with determination, speed, and heart—celebrating every goal as a team victory and encouraging teammates through every tough moment. Off the pitch, she was gentle, kind-spirited, the friend who noticed withdrawn classmates and drew them back with quiet kindness. Her parents, Megan and Brian Angle, remembered her as a “bright light,” a girl whose presence made everything better.
The two had been best friends for years—sharing classes, lockers, secrets, playlists, sleepovers, and endless dreams. They finished sentences, laughed at the same absurd things, planned future adventures, and promised to stay close through college and beyond. That promise ended far too soon, but their bond proved unbreakable. In those final seconds on the sled, holding on wasn’t merely physical—it was everything: loyalty, love, history, future stolen in an instant.
Frisco’s response has been overwhelming and raw. A makeshift memorial at the crash site grows daily: soccer balls from teammates rest beside cheer bows in purple and white, flowers pile high and are replaced as they wilt, candles in glass jars burn through the night. Handwritten notes cling to the tree: “Together forever,” “Best friends reunited,” “Forever in our hearts.” Vigils draw hundreds—candles lighting faces streaked with tears, voices rising in song and shared memories. At Wakeland High, a basketball game became a tribute: players wore ribbons, the crowd rose in silence when the girls’ names were read, fans held signs bearing their photos.
GoFundMe campaigns for both families surpassed goals quickly—funds supporting funerals, sibling care, scholarships, and memorials. The Angle family plans the Elizabeth Angle Foundation to honor Lizzie through youth sports, kindness programs, and safety awareness. Gracie’s organ donation already multiplies her impact, touching lives she’ll never meet.
The Frisco Police Department, with Denton County DA support, continues investigating. Preliminary findings confirm the 16-year-old driver operated the Jeep. No charges announced publicly as of January 31, but questions remain: speed on slick roads, experience with winter conditions, the risks of vehicle-towed sledding on public streets. Experts stress the dangers—loss of control, high-impact collisions, no protection for riders. North Texas hospitals saw dozens of sledding injuries during the storm; Frisco’s case stands out for its devastation.
The driver, grieving his friends, faces lifelong guilt alongside possible legal consequences. Community voices urge compassion, acknowledging three young lives forever changed.
As snow melts and streets return to normal, Frisco grapples with permanence. Parents watch children more closely, conversations about risk replace casual hellos. Every soccer practice, cheer routine, school hallway carries absence.
Yet amid sorrow, glimmers persist: lives saved through Gracie’s gift, legacies rising from grief, a community bound tighter by shared loss. Lizzie and Gracie held on laughing, then in terror. Now their story holds on—as warning, as reminder, as testament to love that endures.
This isn’t just a story. It’s a plea: cherish every moment, talk about safety, hold your kids close. Because one split-second can change everything forever.
