40

The sound of clattering blocks and raised voices echoed through the villa on a late Sunday afternoon — the kind of hour when peace usually settled, but not today.

It started small, as most storms do. Lea was in the bedroom finishing a call, and Rafael was reading in the study when he heard his son's sharp voice — followed by Ellie's, louder, sharper still.

By the time he stepped into the hallway, the air already vibrated with heat.

"Where's Ate Gracie?"

Liam's tone was firm, curious but edged. He stood by the stairs, small arms crossed, chin tilted in that familiar way that looked too much like his father's.

Ellie, seated on the couch scrolling through her phone, didn't look up. "She's not coming here anymore, Liam."

"Why?"

"Because she's busy."

"You're lying."

"Excuse me?" Ellie's head snapped up, her patience fraying. "Don't talk to me like that."

"I'm not a baby," Liam shot back, eyes narrowing. "You always tell me to tell the truth, so you should too."

Ellie blinked, stunned for a heartbeat. "You don't understand, Liam. This isn't about you—"

"Then who's it about?!" he demanded. "Because you've been crying every night and Mama says people only cry like that when they miss someone."

"Liam, enough!" Ellie stood, voice rising. "You're six! You don't know anything about—"

Her words cut off as Liam's voice changed — quieter now, lower, measured. The same tone Rafael used when he was angry, not from temper but from hurt.

"Don't call me a kid like that," he said quietly.

Ellie blinked, her breath catching.

"I may be little," Liam went on, "but I'm not silly. I see things. I hear things. I just don't talk all the time." He took a step closer, eyes glassy but steady. "I know what hurt looks like. I see it when Papa gets tired but smiles anyway. I see it when Mama hides her sad face behind her coffee cup. And now I see it on you."

Ellie's lips parted, but nothing came out.

Liam's voice trembled slightly. "You think because you're grown-up that you know pain better. But I know it too. I just don't shout it."

The words landed heavy, cutting through the silence that followed.

From the hallway, Lea froze halfway down the steps. Her instinct was to step in — to defend, to soothe, to stop this collision before it broke something deeper.

But Rafael's hand found her wrist. He shook his head once, quietly.

"Let them," he whispered. "He's not wrong."

Lea looked at him in disbelief. "He's six, Paeng—"

"And she's twenty-eight, and still healing," he murmured, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. "He's reminding her what she's forgotten — that love doesn't stop existing just because it hurts."

Ellie knelt down then, her breath uneven. "Liam," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."

Liam crossed his arms again, defiant but trembling. "Then stop treating me like I'm too small to care."

Her face crumpled. "You're right," she whispered. "You're not too small. You care too much. Just like Papa."

At that, Rafael's hand on Lea's tightened — pride and ache threading through his chest all at once.

Ellie exhaled shakily. "I miss Gracie, okay? I miss her so much it makes me angry. And I didn't want to talk about it because if I say her name, I'll start crying again."

Liam's expression softened. He took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to reach her hand. "Then cry," he said simply. "Mama says it helps."

That broke her. Ellie pulled him into her arms, tears spilling freely as Liam held her like a tiny guardian — one arm around her neck, the other patting her shoulder in small, rhythmic comfort.

Lea pressed her lips together, tears pricking her eyes. Rafael quietly led her back toward the study, his voice low.

"He's got her heart," Lea whispered.

Rafael nodded. "And your compassion."

Lea smiled faintly through her tears. "And your temper."

He chuckled softly. "God help us all."

In the living room, Ellie and Liam sat on the couch — the storm passing, replaced by the quiet hum of forgiveness.

Liam leaned against her shoulder, whispering, "You'll be okay, Ate."

Ellie smiled weakly through her tears. "How do you know?"

He looked up, eyes bright and unflinching. "Because Papa says our family always fixes what's broken. We just take turns being the glue."