Thirty years earlier, Amelia had married David Monroe.
David’s family owned an old estate outside Fredericksburg.
The marriage was happy.
At least according to Alexander.
They had one child.
Me.
Sofia Amelia Monroe.
I had been three years and two months old when the fire happened.
The family had gathered for a weekend.
Late that night, the house caught fire.
Official cause.
Electrical failure.
Eight people escaped.
Five died.
Amelia.
David.
Two household employees.
And a family friend.
Everyone believed I died too.
But my body was never definitively identified.
That part had always bothered Alexander.
He hired investigators.
Private detectives.
Former law enforcement.
Missing-child specialists.
Years passed.
Nothing.
Eventually, people convinced him grief was creating false hope.
He stopped searching publicly.
Never emotionally.
