34. Dane Gallagher
Dane Gallagher
My mum’s house is still something I’m getting used to—the noise, the way everything overlaps, the feeling of stepping into a world that kept moving while I was gone.
The girls move through the rooms at full speed, talking over each other and leaving half-finished conversations in their wake. Isla and Zara orbit each other constantly, all restless energy with nowhere in particular to go.
Marcus is sitting in an armchair he’s clearly claimed as his, watching me with an attention that still puzzles me. It’s been months. At some point, the novelty of a man coming back from the dead should wear off.
Apparently, it hasn’t.
Zara still has that easy, childlike innocence. She wants to show me everything—songs on her phone, drawings she’s done, videos of dogs doing something ridiculous. I watch all of it. Every single thing.
I’m glad she’s still at an age where the world hasn’t complicated itself yet, where excitement comes easily, and happiness can be found in something as simple as a funny video. There’s something comforting about that. Something that makes this place feel a little more normal.
Isla I’m less sure about. She’s twelve—old enough to be online, old enough to know more than adults think she does—and she looks at me like she knows something she shouldn’t.
Could be normal.
Or it could be something else.
I don’t ask. I just let it be.
Mum moves through it all the way she always has—feeding people, directing traffic, keeping everything running without ever seeming to stop. It’s the kind of competence you don’t notice when you’ve always had it. I haven’t. Not like this.
And I’m about to ask her to turn some of that competence somewhere else.
I wait for a break in the rhythm. When it comes, I catch her eye.
“Can I grab you for a minute? Somewhere private?”
She reads my face straight away—whatever it is mothers pick up on—and nods, leading me down the hall to the back room she’s claimed as her private reading room. Books line the shelves, and a chair sits by the window. The noise of the house softens the moment the door closes.
She sits and looks at me, waiting.
“Charlotte and I are going to spend some time apart. With everything going on, my lawyer’s advised me not to leave Brisbane right now. So she will.”
Something flickers across her face—relief, I think—but she smooths it away almost as soon as it appears.
“I think that’s sensible. A bit of space might help things settle.”
“I need you to go with her.”
Her brows draw together. “Go with her?”
“She’s never done any of this by herself—traveling, setting up somewhere new, dealing with everything that comes with it.”
I can’t read what she’s thinking, so I keep going.
“I’ve always taken care of her. Just because I can’t be there for a few months doesn’t mean I’m going to leave her to figure everything out on her own.”
It’s hard to switch off a role you’ve lived in for most of your life.
“She could manage. I know she could. But she shouldn’t have to. Not after everything.”
Mum doesn’t answer straight away. She just watches me, something shifting behind her eyes.
“You want me to take care of the daughter of the woman who—”
I cut her off before she can finish.
“Don’t. I’m not listening to that anymore. We both know Tara isn't to blame for what happened between you and Dad.”
She goes very still, surprise flashing across her face before she can hide it.
“I can see you and Mitchell have been talking.”
“Yes.” I hold her gaze. “Are you going to deny it?”
The silence stretches between us.
She looks down at her hands for a moment, then back at me.
“No,” she says quietly. “I’m not going to deny it.”
There’s no soft way to say this, so I don’t try.
“You made me believe Tara destroyed our family. I was a kid. I trusted you. So when you told me that, I believed it.”
A beat.
“I hated her. I hated Dad.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“And worse, I took it out on Charlotte. For years.”
I catch myself getting louder and pull it back before it carries.
“She was just a kid, and I treated her as though she’d done something wrong. Like she was guilty by association. She was Tara’s daughter, and that made her part of it in my head. And you were happy to let me believe that.”
Still, she doesn’t defend herself. Because how can she?
“You were wrong. I was a child, and you let me carry it. Worse, you let me carry it for you.”
No matter how I treated Tara and Dad, they never gave it back. They never turned on me. Never said a word against Mum. They just took it. All of it.
Mum looks down again.
This time, the silence feels different.
“You’re right,” she says. No defensiveness. “It was wrong of me to involve you. And wrong of me to lie to you.”
“I didn’t get to be a kid. I was too busy taking your side in something I didn’t understand.”
For a second, I don't trust myself to speak.
“I’m sorry for putting you in that, Dane. For all of it.”
I nod. “I’ve apologized to Charlotte—more than once—and I think you owe her something too.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “You’re right. I owe her an apology.”
“You owe her more than that.”
She holds my gaze. “What can I do, son?”
“Go with her in my place. Make sure she’s not doing this alone. Help her get settled somewhere new.” A small pause. “It doesn’t fix what you did, but it’s a start.”
“How long would she need me?”
“Only long enough to help her find a place and get settled. It’s a lot. I know. I’m asking you to leave your family... so you can help take care of mine.”
That lands. I can see it.
I’m not sure how she takes that. Maybe she hears what I mean. Maybe she doesn’t.
Either way, it’s the truth.
Charlotte is my family. My life. My heart.
She isn’t going anywhere.
“I’ll need you to put everything in your name. The lease, utilities—anything that leaves a trail. Keep her off it. I don’t want her easy to find. She needs to stay out of the public eye.”
“Does Charlotte know you’re asking this?”
“Not yet.”
A brief pause.
“And when she pushes back?”
“I’ll handle Charlotte.”
That almost earns a smile—something familiar flickering across her face before it fades again.
“All right,” she says. “I’ll go with her and stay as long as she needs me.”
Relief loosens something in my chest.
“Thank you, Mum.”
I get to my feet and pull her into a hug.
“When?”
“I need you to go as soon as possible,” I say when I step back. “I want her out of here.”
She nods. “Understood. I’ll start getting things in place.”
Now, when I picture Charlotte leaving, the image isn’t quite as bleak as it was before.
We head back to the others. The noise hits immediately. Zara’s on me at once, phone already in hand, another dog video queued up. I sit, watch it with her, and react the way I’m supposed to.
But I’m not really there.
I’m already working through routes, logistics, what Charlotte will need, everything that could go wrong.
Charlotte’s the strongest person I know. I don’t say that lightly. I mean it in the only way that counts—built over fourteen years of having no choice but to be.
She’ll be fine anywhere. She could land in the middle of nowhere and make it work.
I know that, but it doesn’t change anything.
She’s done enough hard things on her own.
This doesn’t have to be one of them.