After All

The soft glow of the television flickered across the dimly lit living room of the Marino Mansion. Karl Marino, seated comfortably in his leather armchair, was engrossed in the screen. On TV, the action-packed antics of Chinese Angels—a remake of the classic Charlie's Angels but with an all-Chinese cast—played out in rapid succession. The fast-paced martial arts choreography and daring escapades provided a brief escape for Karl from the weight of his responsibilities.

As the episode ended, the channel switched to a familiar newscast, 25/Oras, where the day's events were recapped in a quick, polished segment. But even as the news anchor spoke of business deals, political moves, and social unrest, Karl's mind drifted back to the ever-growing complexity of his family.

The sound of footsteps on the marble floor drew his attention, and he turned his head just as Monica walked in, her shoulders slumped, her usual confident demeanor replaced with exhaustion. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her expression betrayed a deep inner turmoil.

"Monica," Karl said gently, his voice carrying the weight of both authority and concern. "You look like you've been through something. Come, sit with me."

Monica sighed heavily, nodding as she crossed the room to sit on the couch opposite her grandfather. She sank into the cushions, feeling the fatigue settle into her bones. For a moment, she simply closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts. The night had been long, and the encounter with Brian still lingered in her mind, heavy and unresolved.

Karl turned off the TV, the silence between them thick with unspoken questions. He watched her closely, his sharp eyes noticing the subtle tension in her posture, the way she rubbed her temples as if trying to soothe an invisible ache.

"What happened out there?" Karl asked softly. "You look more than just tired."

Monica hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor. She wasn't sure how to explain what she was feeling—how to balance the whirlwind of emotions she had been trying to suppress. But she knew her grandfather would see right through any attempt to deflect the conversation.

"I... ran into Brian," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karl leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing. He had heard the name before—Brian, the man from Monica's past, the one she had loved before the Marino name had reshaped her life. "Brian," he repeated, his voice steady. "And what happened?"

Monica took a deep breath, her hands clasping together in her lap as she fought to put her thoughts into words. "He stopped me on the road... we talked. He still loves me, Grandpa. And he told me I'm still the same girl he fell in love with, even though I'm a Marino now."

Karl watched her carefully, saying nothing as she continued, her words spilling out like a confession. "I told him I couldn't be with him. That the situation is different now. I'm not Marie Rafara anymore. I'm Monica Marino. And being a Marino... it changes everything."

Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, the weight of her own words pressing down on her. "I turned him away because I'm part of this family, because I didn't want to drag him into this world. I didn't want to put him in danger."

Karl was silent for a moment, absorbing what she had said. He could hear the pain in her voice, the conflict she had tried so hard to suppress. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but firm.

"Monica," he began, "do you love him?"

The question hung in the air between them, and Monica looked up, her eyes meeting her grandfather's. She hadn't expected him to ask that so directly, but she knew she couldn't lie—not to Karl.