60

The morning after Doña Beatriz's "disciplinary visit" left a distinct atmosphere in the De Torre villa — half embarrassment, half reluctant calm. The family had breakfast together for the first time in days without raised voices, though a faint undercurrent of tension lingered in the air like humidity before a storm.

Rafael sat at the end of the table, one hand still bandaged, his posture unusually careful. Lea sat opposite him, watching both her husband and the children with quiet scrutiny. She hadn't said much since the fan incident, but every now and then, a faint, knowing smile would flicker at the corner of her mouth whenever she saw Rafael wince.

Liam, meanwhile, had made it his morning mission to tease his father relentlessly. "So... Papa," he said, spooning cereal into his bowl with exaggerated innocence, "Lola Beatriz hit you again?"

Rafael sighed, his eyes fixed on his coffee. "Yes."

"Good!" the boy said cheerfully. "You're lucky it was her. If Mama hit you, you'd be in the hospital."

Lea almost spat out her drink. "Excuse me?"

Liam blinked at her, all honesty. "You're stronger."

Ellie snorted softly behind her glass of milk, trying and failing to hide her grin. "He's not wrong."

Rafael groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful. Betrayed by my entire household."

Lea's tone was amused but firm. "You earned it, Paeng."

"Apparently," he muttered.

Across the table, Doña Beatriz folded her napkin delicately, her pearls gleaming in the sunlight. "If I hadn't shown up yesterday, this family would be in the headlines again. Do not test my patience, Rafaelito."

"Lola," Rafael said with a long-suffering sigh, "you already made your point. Repeatedly. With the fan."

Beatriz gave a dismissive wave. "And I'll make it again if you need a reminder."

Lea hid her smile behind her cup. "I think he's sufficiently humbled, Lola."

"Good," Beatriz said briskly. "Then perhaps this household can finally act like a family again and not a political scandal waiting to happen."

Rafael exhaled, half amused, half resigned. "You make it sound like I lead a rebellion."

"You do," Lea said under her breath. "Against reason."

That earned her a sharp glare and another round of laughter from Ellie.

But the laughter, for all its lightness, was the medicine the house had needed. The heaviness that had settled after Marco's return and Rafael's outburst began to ease. Even Liam, intuitive as he was, seemed to sense it — leaning comfortably against Ellie's arm as she spoon-fed him bits of her toast.

After breakfast, Rafael followed Beatriz to the veranda overlooking the garden. The sunlight made the air golden, the scent of jasmine from the trellis thick and warm.

Beatriz took her usual seat, fanning herself lightly. "You've been quieter than usual. That's suspicious."

Rafael chuckled faintly, sitting beside her. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

He hesitated. "About everything. Marco. Ellie. Liam." He exhaled. "Myself."

Beatriz regarded him over the rim of her fan. "You're finally learning introspection. I should've hit you years ago."

"Thanks, Lola."

Her tone softened just slightly. "You know, Rafael... anger isn't your curse. It's your inheritance. The De Torres have always believed strength comes from power. You were the first to try and change that."

He looked out toward the garden. "And I failed."

"No," she said firmly. "You faltered. There's a difference."

Rafael turned to her. "How do you always know what to say?"

"I've lived long enough to see every mistake you're about to make," she said dryly. "And I've made half of them myself."

He smiled faintly. "Ellie and Liam deserve better than this version of me."

Beatriz's expression softened again. "Then show them better. Start by talking to them. Especially Liam. That boy's too smart for his own good — and too much like you when you were small."

Rafael nodded, smiling faintly. "He's been giving me looks."

"Oh, I've seen. The guidance counselor glare," Beatriz said, hiding a laugh behind her fan. "I'd be terrified too if I were you."

"I am," Rafael admitted.

Beatriz reached over and patted his uninjured hand. "Good. Fear means you still care. Now go talk to your son. Before he grows up thinking De Torres only say sorry after they break something."

Rafael nodded again, more resolute this time.

Later that afternoon, Rafael found Liam in the garden, sitting cross-legged by the pond, tossing crumbs to the koi. The boy didn't look up when his father approached.

"Hey," Rafael said gently. "Mind if I join you?"

Liam shrugged. "You can."

Rafael sat beside him, the grass cool beneath them. For a moment, they just listened to the water.

"You mad at me?" Rafael asked quietly.

Liam didn't answer right away. Then, after a beat, he said, "A little."

"That's fair."

Liam turned, his brows furrowed in that thoughtful way that made him look older than six. "You always tell me fighting is bad. But you fought."

Rafael nodded slowly. "I did."

"So you lied."

Rafael smiled faintly. "I did something worse. I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"Forgot that being strong doesn't mean hurting people. It means stopping yourself before you do."

Liam blinked, processing. "That's hard."

"It is," Rafael said softly. "Even for grown-ups. Especially for grown-ups."

The boy nodded slowly, looking back at the pond. "Mama said you almost broke your hand."

"I did."

"Then you should say sorry to it."

Rafael laughed quietly. "Maybe I should."

Liam's tone softened. "I'm not mad anymore, Papa. But next time... just tell me when you're mad. I can listen."

Rafael froze — because it was such a simple, pure thing to say, and yet it undid him.

He pulled his son gently into his arms. "I'll remember that, anak."

Liam hugged him back, small arms squeezing tight. "Good. Because I'm your counselor now."

Rafael chuckled into his hair. "I'll book an appointment then."

"You already did," Liam said matter-of-factly. "Mama said you need supervision."

Rafael laughed again, and this time it was full — unguarded, healing.

From the veranda, Lea and Beatriz watched the scene unfold.

"Told you he'd figure it out," Beatriz murmured, sipping her tea.

Lea smiled, resting her chin on her hand. "He always does. Just needs a little push."

"And a good smacking," Beatriz added, flicking her fan open.

Lea laughed. "I'll keep one ready next time."

Beatriz grinned. "You're already part of the bloodline, hija. You'll know when to swing it."

And as the afternoon light warmed the garden, the De Torres finally looked — for the first time in weeks — like a family finding its balance again.