“I love you too.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Mum’s houseis about thirty minutes from Grandad’s.
The drive is quiet, and I spend most of it thinking about Charlotte. About us. About how any of this is supposed to work now. How we take what we are and fit it into a world that has no place for it. How we make it work out here.
I don’t come up with any answers.
The car slows in the driveway, and the front door opens before we’ve fully stopped.
I expect Mum to come out alone, but her husband steps outside with her. He’s in his fifties. Maybe sixty. Solidly built. Two girls crowd around them, both trying to get past. One is being held back by Mum, the other by him.
As soon as I step out of the car, he starts down the steps. He stops a few feet in front of me and just looks.
Whatever is on his face is too much for a first meeting. Too much emotion, too quickly. Then he gets it back under control.
“Marcus Shepherd,” he says. His voice is tight, like he’s forcing it to stay steady. He holds out his hand.
I take it.
His grip is firm, and he hangs on a second longer than necessary. When he lets go, that same look is still there.
“I’m sorry. It’s just—” He shakes his head. “We thought you were dead for so many years. Seeing you standing here—” He exhales. “It’s a lot.”
“It’s fine.”
He studies me for another moment before stepping aside.
I file it away. The reaction. The intensity of it.
It fits.
And it doesn’t.
Then Mum reaches me, and my attention shifts to the girls behind her.
One looks about eleven or twelve and has Mum’s coloring. She’s watching me carefully, taking everything in. The other is younger, maybe nine or ten, and has already pushed her way to the front without a trace of hesitation.
“Dane,” Mum says, resting a hand on the older girl’s shoulder. “These are your sisters. Isla and Zara.”
“You’re famous,” Zara announces.
“Zara—” Mum starts.
“He is,” she says, like it should be obvious.
I look at Mum.
“The story after the rescue… it’s everywhere. Both of you are.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re all over social media,” Isla says.
“I remember it. Sort of. But it’s been a long time.”
“People post things,” Zara says. “Other people share them, and then more people share them.”
