- Six-year-old Airlie, who had level-three autism, disappeared from her family’s North Nowra home in March 2025 and was later found deceased in nearby bushland
- In Airlie’s memory, the family established the Airlie Fairy Foundation, a registered charity focused on creating more accessible, sensory-safe public spaces for children with autism
- Through their grief, Airlie’s parents, Corey and Katie, are working with their local council to improve community playgrounds
Here Corey Montgomery, 40, North Nowra, NSW tells his own story in his own words.
Placing down the final piece of toy train track, my daughter Airlie’s face lit up with glee. It was March 2025, and trains were her absolute favourite.
‘Train!’ Airlie, six, cried, as she whizzed it around the metres of track in our living room.
‘It’s so good, Airlie,’ her older sister Arya, eight, encouraged.
With Lawson, one, squirming in my arms, I soaked up the moment.
Working as an engineer in mines six hours away, I missed so much while my fiancée Katie, 39, kept life running at home.
Juggling three kids was hard at the best of times, but even more so with Airlie’s autism diagnosis.
Airlie was two when we realised she wasn’t hitting her milestones.
‘She’s not making eye contact,’ I said to Katie one day in June 2021.
‘Let’s get her checked out,’ she agreed.
Our GP referred us to a paediatrician, but it took 18 months to get an appointment, and longer still to get answers.
While we waited, Airlie’s communication stayed around that of a toddler. She could repeat phrases like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, but never progressed past that. And if we took a different route going to the shops, she’d scream in distress.
In 2022, Airlie, four, was officially diagnosed with stage three autism. It meant she’d require the highest level of support.
‘She’ll need care for life,’ the doctor told us, handing over pamphlets.
It felt like we were on our own.
Still, Katie and I did everything we could to help Airlie thrive.
Speech therapy became part of our routine, and slowly she learned to use single words for things that she needed.
The kids were incredibly close. They loved bouncing on the trampoline and playing outside on our big block together.
Airlie’s favourite thing of all was bubbles.
She’d race around with Arya and Lawson, shrieking with laughter as they tried to pop them.
Her bedroom was purple and decorated with fairies. She was our ‘Airlie Fairy’ – full of mischief and joy.
Then in March 2025, I was away for work when Katie called around 2pm.
‘Airlie’s missing,’ she said, her voice strained with worry.
Katie had been making lunch, Lawson was inside with Arya, and Airlie was playing in the front yard like she often did. Katie had been watching her through the kitchen window, but in a matter of moments, Airlie was gone.
‘I’m sure she’s around,’ I tried to soothe.
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But an hour later, Katie called back, frantic.
‘She’s not here,’ she cried, after searching the whole property and surrounding streets. ‘I’m calling the police.’
I jumped in the car to head home. With a six-hour drive ahead of me, I tried to stay calm, but fear churned in my stomach.
Messages started flooding in as friends volunteered to help search.
Back home, soon helicopters circled overhead.
Please be okay, I prayed, gripping the steering wheel with fear.
Around 6.30pm, Katie called me again. I pulled the car over, but even before she spoke, I knew.
‘They’ve found Airlie’s body at the bush reserve,’ she sobbed.
My world shattered. They believed she’d fallen from a cliff.
‘I’m coming home,’ I choked out, ending the call just before I threw up.
Shock wrapped around me like a heavy blanket.
I could barely breathe.
Then, clear as day, I heard Airlie’s voice.
‘Keep going, Dad,’ she told me.
Somehow, I made it home that night. I held Katie, Arya and Lawson extremely close.
Telling Arya what had happened to her sister was like living a nightmare. I watched her heart break before my eyes.
Lawson was still too young to understand.
That night, I didn’t sleep at all.
The next day, I went to the hospital to identify Airlie’s body.
It was the hardest moment of my life.
Time passed in a blur. Our house was filled with family and friends, while flowers and food were dropped at the door.
The following day, I walked to the reserve, only 800 metres from our home, where Airlie had been found. Retracing her steps, I let my tears fall freely.
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Airlie hadn’t understood the danger. To her, nature was her happy place.
I heard the calming sound of the nearby river, surrounded by 30-metre cliffs, and felt peace for the first time.
‘As much as I want to join you, Fairy, I have to stay here and look after everyone,’ I told her.
Then I heard Airlie’s voice again.
‘I love you, Dad,’ she said. ‘Keep going.’
Three weeks later, the Shoalhaven Entertainment Centre in Nowra was packed with 800 people, all wearing purple, Airlie’s favourite colour, for her funeral.
‘I wish I could just hold her again and show her how much impact her short life has had on us all,’ I said, reading her eulogy.
Afterwards, everyone blew bubbles in a final send off.
In the weeks that followed, Katie and I knew we couldn’t let another family face the same confusion and heartbreak we’d lived through.
On the one-year anniversary of Airlie’s passing, we held a vigil and placed a plaque at the reserve in her memory.
Her voice now found behind closed eyes; in rainbows, stars and butterflies, it reads.
To honour Airlie’s legacy and continue her story, we created The Airlie Fairy Foundation, which aims to fundraise for more accessible, sensory-safe public spaces for children with autism.
The foundation is now a registered charity.
Our first major project is working with Shoalhaven City Council to upgrade our local playground, just a short walk from our house, with accessibility features, sensory activities, and fully fenced access.
Some days are unbearable, but I find strength in keeping Airlie’s memory alive.
Katie and I have held each other up, day after day through it all.
Every night, Lawson, now two, and I look up at the stars. Searching for the brightest one in the sky, he says goodnight to Airlie.
Arya, nine, is thriving at school, but desperately misses her sister.
Airlie may not be here in the way we wish she was, but she is still part of everything we do.
She is in the love we carry, and in every step forward that we take.
I just want to do her proud and keep her magic shining bright.
To support, visit The Airlie Fairy Foundation on Facebook
If you are struggling and need support, contact Lifeline for free 24/7 on 13 11 14 (Aus) or 0800 543 354 (NZ).
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