70

A week after the delivery, the house felt both too quiet and too full.

Ellie was home, pale but healing, wrapped in an oversized cardigan Lea had forced her to wear. Soleil, however, remained in the NICU. Her tiny body was strong, the doctors said, but she needed time — weeks, maybe more. Every afternoon, Rafael and Lea took turns driving to St. Luke's, sitting behind the glass, watching the little girl breathe beneath her web of tubes and light.

The villa's hallways echoed with an emptiness that mocked them. Lea would pass by the nursery — Soleil's room, freshly painted and filled with unopened gifts — and linger at the doorway longer than she meant to. It wasn't the silence that hurt; it was the absence of small sounds. The house should have been full of cries and lullabies, but all she could hear was the soft hum of air-conditioning and her own heartbeat.

Then the headlines hit.

"De Torres Lose Another Child? History Repeats Itself for the Power Couple." "Tragedy Strikes Again: Lea and Rafael Relives Grief of Losing a Child Through Ellie." "A Family Cursed? The De Torre Heirs and Their Unspoken Sorrows."

Lea froze when she first saw them. The bold letters screamed from every online article, every entertainment show teaser, every morning talk show. Someone had caught wind of Soleil's prolonged stay in NICU and twisted the truth into something cruel.

By evening, it had spread like wildfire. The media speculated that Soleil had not survived. That Ellie had miscarried. That the De Torre family was cursed.

The world loved their success — but it adored their tragedy.

Rafael was furious but calm in appearance. He had learned long ago that his rage could level companies, and now he chose his words the way a surgeon handles a scalpel. He instructed Legal to send notices to every outlet spreading the rumors. But inside the house, he acted as if everything was fine.

So did Lea.

They smiled at dinner, laughing at Liam's antics. Ellie tried to stay strong, saying she didn't care what people wrote. But Lea knew better. She saw the dark circles under her daughter's eyes, the way she stared at her phone screen before turning it face down on the table.

"People will talk, anak," Lea said gently. "What matters is we know the truth."

Ellie nodded, but her silence spoke louder than any reassurance.

After dinner, after Liam was tucked in, after Ellie retreated to her room, Lea and Rafael found themselves in the sanctuary of their bedroom — the only place they could let the façade fall.

Rafael was still in his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loose. He was reviewing yet another statement drafted by PR when he realized Lea hadn't said a word in minutes. She was sitting at her vanity, still, her reflection staring back with the glassy, unfocused look of someone who wasn't in the room anymore.

"Love," he said softly, setting his papers down. "What is it?"

Lea didn't answer right away. Her voice, when it came, was thin. "It's Raymond again."

Rafael's chest tightened. "Lea—"

Her hand trembled as she reached for her face, smudging her mascara. "He keeps coming back, Paeng. Every time they run out of stories, they bring him up. Our baby. They drag him out of his peace just to feed the gossip cycle."

She laughed bitterly through her tears. "And they write as if they knew him. As if he was just another headline. We didn't even get to hold him."

Rafael crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hands finding hers. "Hey. Look at me."

But she didn't. Her tears kept falling, and her words came faster now, tumbling over themselves, too long restrained.

"I thought they'd stopped," she said. "After you shut down that media outlet years ago. I thought they'd learned to leave him alone. But they won't. They won't stop using him. They say Soleil's gone — just like Raymond — as if both children are convenient stories to recycle."

Her voice cracked into a sob. "They use him, Rafael. They use my grief like it's public property."

He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath uneven. "I know. I know, love. They're cruel because it sells. But you and I—"

She pulled away, standing abruptly. "Don't tell me to calm down!"

Rafael froze.

Lea was shaking now, every muscle trembling with the weight of her fury. "I've calmed down for eight years! I've kept quiet. I've smiled through interviews, I've given them grace, I've buried that pain a hundred times over — and still they dig it up. Still they take him from me."

She turned to him, eyes blazing. "Do you know what it's like to lose a child twice? First his heartbeat, then his memory?"

Rafael stood slowly, his face pale. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do."

That silenced her for a heartbeat. He stepped closer, voice low, firm. "I held you when you collapsed on the floor that night. I buried my son too. I kept his things in boxes because you couldn't bear to see them. Don't tell me I don't know."

Lea's lip trembled. "Then why does it still feel like I'm alone in this?"

Rafael reached for her, but she turned away.

"I'm angry, Paeng," she whispered. "Not at you. Not even at the world. I'm angry at myself. Because every time I see Liam smile, I wonder if Raymond would have looked the same. And now... Soleil's premature, and the headlines—" Her voice broke. "It's like losing him all over again."

She sank into the edge of the bed, sobbing into her hands. "I can't do this again. I can't bury another child."

Rafael sat beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. She resisted at first, hitting his chest weakly, but he didn't let go. He held her until the fight left her body.

"She's strong," he murmured into her hair. "Our granddaughter is strong. She's fighting in that NICU with every breath. Just like Ellie did. Just like you always did."

Lea's sobs quieted, but the tremors stayed. She buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled. "I hate that they can still hurt us."

"They can't," he said, though he wasn't sure he believed it. "Not where it matters. They don't get to define us."

Lea looked up at him, her eyes red and raw. "Then promise me, Paeng. Promise me we'll never let Raymond be used like this again."

Rafael cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "I promise. I'll have every article pulled. Every mention. They'll think twice before using his name again."

Lea nodded weakly, but the fire in her eyes dimmed into something more fragile. "It won't bring him back."

"No," Rafael said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "But it might let him rest."

The room went quiet again — the kind of quiet that comes after the storm.

Rafael rose and drew the curtains closed, shutting out the faint glow of paparazzi cameras that lingered beyond the villa's walls. Lea was watching him as she sat on the edge of their bed, her voice breaking, fragile.

"Paeng," she whispered. "Hold me."

He blinked, unsure if he heard right.

"Hold me," she repeated, eyes glistening. "Please. Take it away. Just for a little while. I can't— I can't carry it anymore tonight."

He immediately crossed the distance between them, and gathered her into his arms. Lea pressed herself against his chest, her fists gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself to the only thing still real.

Her tears soaked his collar. "I hate feeling like this," she whispered. "Every headline, every lie — it rips me apart. And Raymond—" Her voice cracked again. "I keep thinking about him. About how I didn't get to hold him. About how I never got to sing to him."

Rafael cupped her face gently. "You did hold him, maybe not physically but here," he said softly tapping his own chest. "You gave him everything you could. And if love counted for time, he lived a lifetime with you."

She shook her head. "Then why does it still hurt like the first day?"

"Because you're his mother."

Something in her broke open at that. She kissed him then — desperately, painfully — the kind of kiss that tasted of tears and years of unspoken ache. Rafael froze for half a second, then responded, deepening it, his hand slipping to the back of her neck.

"Please," she breathed between kisses, her voice trembling. "Make it stop, Paeng. Take it away. Just for tonight."

He didn't answer in words. Instead, he kissed her harder, pouring everything — his guilt, his love, his helplessness — into every touch. It wasn't lust. It was survival. The way they had always known how to speak when words fell short.

Lea clung to him, kissing him like she was afraid he would vanish too, her tears mixing with his breath. Every movement was raw, unguarded — a desperate plea for comfort, for grounding, for proof that life was still here, still breathing with her.

Rafael whispered against her ear, "I've got you."

"I know," she whispered back. "Don't let go."

He didn't.

They moved together, slow at first, then with rising urgency, as if the pain itself demanded to be exorcised through skin and touch. Lea's sobs quieted, replaced by soft cries that were half grief, half release. She clung to him, calling his name again and again, each time breaking a little more until the ache dulled and the trembling in her body finally stilled.

When it was over, Rafael held her against him, her cheek pressed to his heartbeat. His hand stroked her hair, gentle, rhythmic, the way he used to when they were young and broken in different ways.

"Did it help?" he whispered.

Lea nodded faintly, her voice muffled against his chest. "For now. I just needed to feel something that wasn't pain."

He kissed the crown of her head. "Then that's enough."

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the air-conditioning and the steady rhythm of their breaths syncing back together.

Lea's fingers traced circles over his chest absentmindedly, her tone softer now. "We'll visit Raymond tomorrow?"

"Yes," Rafael murmured. "And Soleil, too."

She nodded, her eyes closing, exhaustion finally pulling her under.

As Rafael lay awake, holding her close, he realized that this was what survival looked like for them — not the absence of pain, but the decision to face it together, over and over again, no matter how many times the world tried to reopen old wounds.

In the quiet of their bedroom, where grief had once drowned them and love now anchored them, Rafael pressed another kiss to Lea's forehead and whispered, "We're still here, love. Still here."

And for that night, that was enough.