CHAPTER 3 — The Fire They Never Talked About
CHAPTER 3 — The Fire They Never Talked About
Andrew’s breath slowed.
The sound of the room disappeared behind his ears.
He remembered the fire.
Three years ago.
The hospital chaos.
The evacuation.
The body identified too quickly.
A ring found in the ashes.
A report signed before he was ready to see it.
“Where did you get that scar?” he asked.
The maid looked down at her wrist.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”
The woman in blue stepped forward again.
“Andrew, stop this. You’re grieving. This is what grief does—it makes patterns out of coincidence.”
But Andrew raised a hand.
And she stopped.
Because his face had changed again.
Now it wasn’t grief.
It was disbelief fighting its way into hope.
“You said you were in a fire?” he asked the maid softly.
She nodded.
“When I was a child. I don’t remember much before it. After that, I was placed in an orphanage.”
The room tilted.
Andrew stepped back slightly.
“No…” he whispered.
The boys looked between them, confused.
The younger one tugged the maid’s sleeve.
“Are you leaving?”
The maid broke instantly.
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said.
That was the moment Andrew made his decision.
He crouched down in front of her.
Not as a man of wealth.
Not as a grieving husband.
But as someone terrified of being wrong—and even more terrified of being right.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“Evelyn,” she said quietly.
Andrew closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again, tears were there.
Because that name—
May you like
Was the one his wife said she would name their daughter if she ever survived.
The daughter they were told died in the fire.
