The next morning, Danielle glanced around the kitchen, noting the sparse shelves and dwindling supplies.
"Pa, Ma," she said, tying her hair back, "paki balik naman tayo sa SM. Kailangan natin panghanda for tonight's noche buena."
Her dad nodded without hesitation, grabbing his cap.
Full swing — that's the only way to describe the scene around Danielle. SM was bursting at the seams with frantic last-minute shoppers, carts overflowing, kids tugging at parents, and the air thick with the scent of popcorn, perfume, and panic. Christmas Eve in the Philippines was a battle of wills and wallets.
Danielle walked just a few steps ahead of her dad and Leo, blending in yet still somehow standing out.
She wasn't the type to turn heads for extravagance — but there was something about her. She stood no taller than 4'11", still on the chubby side, in worn denim shorts and black sandals that had seen better days. Her long black hair was tied in a messy low ponytail, a few strands sticking to her cheeks from the heat. No foundation, no gloss — just barefaced as always, a swipe of mascara enough to open up her amber eyes, the kind of eyes that looked at people like they were glass windows. Her naturally sleek brows framed a face too expressive to lie, cheeks flushed pink not from makeup, but from years of walking through life with her chin up.
She wasn't girly. Never was. And she didn't buy anything for herself.
Everything in the cart was for them — her family.
A pair of classic Hush Puppies for her dad, just like the ones he used to rock back when he still worked abroad. Uniqlo AIRism tees and polos — yes, the cooling ones that wick sweat even under the brutal Philippine sun — in every neutral color available. A new set of Charles & Keith bags for her mom, because why not? Sosyal na kung sosyal. She had the money. What kind of daughter would she be if she didn't spend it?
Her mom's skincare, from toner to night cream, replaced and upgraded. New sandals, house slippers, and a pair of comfortable wedge heels she knew her mom would insist were "too nice for the palengke."
For Leo — everything she pointed at ended up in the cart. Jogging pants in all colors, dresses with dinosaurs instead of flowers, a new set of watercolor pens, and two boxes of Lego sets: one Jurassic World, the other a Minecraft collab. A few Roblox toys snuck in when Dan wasn't looking.
Tucked between rows of Lego sets and action figures, Danielle stood quietly in the diecast aisle. The chaos of holiday shopping faded behind her as she ran her fingers across the boxes—Monster Jam trucks, fire engines, sleek Lambos. But her eyes were locked on a particular one, boxed in clear plastic, with bold red lettering that read:
Takara Tomy #80 – Jeep Wrangler, 1:65 scale.
She picked it up gently, turning the box over as if the weight of her dreams was tucked inside.
Someday, she thought. Something like this, maybe matte black, roof rack, big tires, not for show, but real use—pang-hatak, pang-akyat, pang-hatak ulit. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
She glanced at the price—nothing too crazy. Most people would brush it off as a toy for their kid. In fact, that's what she'd tell everyone it was for. Leo would even believe it, especially if it landed beside her Minecraft loot.
But this?
This was hers.
A reminder. A quiet push. A 329-peso proof of the life she wanted, the one she's inching toward between 3AM meetings and fires she put out with cold coffee and sheer stubbornness.
No offense to the Bronco, of course.
It was a beast—tough, loud, Horizon-owned. A power statement.
But it wasn't hers.
Not yet.
This little scale model though?
Ito muna.
Manifesting.
One deadline, one deliverable at a time.
She walked toward the cashier, diecast in hand, heart quiet but steady.
She tapped her dad's arm gently and nodded toward a food stall. "Pa, kain muna kayo ni Leo. I'll pay at the counter."
He nodded and steered Leo toward the direction of fresh lumpia and lumpiang shanghai.
At the cashier, Dan handed over her own debit card. The Horizon card stayed buried in her wallet — untouched.
She still had pride. Still wanted to feel like this was her doing. Not Axel's. Not the Familia's.
What she didn't know was that she wasn't the only one keeping tabs.
Unseen and silent, two pairs of eyes followed her through the crowd. Not threatening, not close — but watchful. Horizon's shadows. Her shadows now. She didn't ask for protection. They didn't ask for permission. Orders from the very top.
Dan stepped out with three full paper bags in each hand. Charles & Keith, Uniqlo, Toys "R" Us, Bench, Watsons, National Bookstore — all for everyone else. Not a single purchase with her name on it.
"Ma! They have spicy squid balls!" Leo ran toward her, face lit up.
"Eh di kumuha ka anak, lakad mo si Lolo mo, wag ka na mahiya."
Dan smiled, her eyes softening. It was never about the gifts. It was about the joy — the kind that couldn't be boxed or bagged.
And though she carried everyone else's happiness in her arms…
…she didn't mind the weight.
Outside the SM exit, the automatic glass doors parted to reveal Danielle… dwarfed by a mountain of shopping bags.
She had insisted on carrying them all — at first. But even with determination burning in her amber eyes, physics wasn't going to cut her a break. Your girl's strong, but come on… she's 4'11" and still on the chubby side. This wasn't a CrossFit episode.
Two SM personal shoppers flanked her, each with arms full of the bounty she had gathered. Charles & Keith. Toys "R" Us. Watsons. Uniqlo. Bench. National. It looked like she bought half the mall — and yet somehow, not a single thing for herself.
Leo was still with her grandparents on the ground floor, happily munching on chicken tikka and garlic naan from the little Indian food stall tucked between the escalators. Her dad chatted with the vendor in a mix of English and Tagalog, while her mom shook her head at how easily Leo took to the spicy sauce.
Dan dumped half the bags into the back of the Bronco with a relieved sigh, sweat dotting her forehead. The personal shoppers nodded politely, gave her a cheerful "Happy holidays, Ma'am!" and retreated back into the stream of mall chaos.
Damn, these bags are heavier than my childhood trauma.
She laughed to herself and wiped her brow. The air smelled like roasting chestnuts and worn-out patience.
Before the two SM personal shoppers turned to leave, Danielle fished two crisp five-hundred peso bills from her wallet and handed one to each of them.
"Salamat ha. Pang-merienda niyo."
The women lit up like Christmas lights.
"Ay, Ma'am, thank you po! Happy holidays!"
She just nodded, brushing it off like it wasn't a big deal, because to her — kindness should never feel like a transaction.
But as she closed the Bronco's tailgate and turned to head back inside for Leo and her folks, she clutched a tiny SM bag close to her chest. Not designer. Not skincare. Not even from a high-end toy store.
Just a small plastic box, barely the size of her palm.
Inside it: a Takara Tomy #80 1/65 Jeep Wrangler scale model.
It wasn't pink. It wasn't sparkly. It wasn't Leo's taste at all.
But Danielle always pretended the growing shelf of die-cast trucks and cars in their apartment was just "for Leo."
"She likes cars."
Yeah, right.
This one — the Wrangler — was for her.
Another quiet manifestation of the life she was slowly building. A whispered promise to herself: "We'll get there. For real, one day."
She tucked it into her tote bag and headed inside, just in time to catch Leo offering her Lolo a bite of samosa. Dan ushered her family to the truck and made their way home.
The Reyes home buzzed with warm, festive energy.
The dining table groaned under the weight of pansit, kaldereta, lechon, hamon, and steaming trays of garlic rice. Twinkling fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a soft glow over the room, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bibingka and puto bumbong.
Danielle stood by the kitchen counter, wiping her hands on a towel as Leo eagerly helped her dad carve the hamon. Her mom arranged plates with a practiced hand, humming a traditional Christmas carol. Tammy, the ever loyal friend of her dad, diligently waiting for a slice of everything!
"Eat up, anak," her mom said, sliding a plate toward Danielle with a smile.
Danielle settled into her seat, eyes scanning the room — her parents chatting animatedly, Leo laughing at a silly story her dad told, the soft clinking of silverware, the warmth of family wrapped around them like a cozy blanket.
Outside, the stars blinked quietly, as if watching over their little celebration.
For a moment, Danielle allowed herself to breathe fully — surrounded by love, tradition, and the promise of new beginnings.
This was home.
The stars blinked lazily overhead as Dan and her father walked the quiet yard, mugs of hot coffee warming their hands. The night had settled deep into Bulacan, but the air still hummed with the last laughter of Noche Buena.
DANIELLE:
Tay… I've been meaning to talk to you.
MANUEL:
"About what? You look like you're about to sell me insurance."
He chuckled, taking a long sip from his mug.
DANIELLE:
"We're moving. For good. To Antipolo."
He didn't answer right away, just looked out at the line of trees marking the edge of their land.
DANIELLE:
"It's colder there. The air's cleaner. The roads are wider. And it's closer to Laguna and Quezon—plenty of lakes, beaches, water stuff for Leo."
"It's farther from here, I know. From where we've always been. But…"
She paused.
"It's where I want to build a real home."
They walked in silence, gravel crunching softly beneath their slippers. Manuel took another sip, his face unreadable in the moonlight.
MANUEL:
"So… you're uprooting us."
DANIELLE:
"I'm planting us somewhere we can grow again."
Please say yes, she thought. Please trust me on this one.
DANIELLE:
"Also… I found land. Bigger than this. Good soil. Gentle slope. Easier to fence in case you want goats again."
MANUEL:
"Are you bribing me?"
DANIELLE:
(grinning)
"Absolutely."
He chuckled, a quiet sound that carried more weight than his words.
MANUEL:
"Alright. Let's do it."
Dan stopped walking.
DANIELLE:
"Wait, seriously?"
MANUEL:
"You're the most hard-headed of all my children. If you say Antipolo is home, then that's where we go. Your nanay will complain about her orchids, but she'll manage."
Relief swept through her, so sudden it nearly made her laugh.
DANIELLE:
"Thank you, Tay. Pero… diba ako lang anak mo???"
MANUEL:
(grinning)
"Exactly. Imagine if I had more. I'd be bald."
DANIELLE:
(laughing)
"You're already bald."
MANUEL:
"That's on you, hija. Every single strand."
They kept walking through the yard, the quiet night wrapping around them like a promise.
-
A ping echoed in Axel's inbox — quiet, almost dismissible.
But he never missed those.
A photo attachment, timestamped. Encrypted.
It was Danielle, snapped mid-smile in the toy section. Her long black hair pulled into a messy bun, dressed simply in denim shorts and a plain white tee. Sandals. Barefaced. Her cheeks flushed from the heat, her laughter evident even through the photo.
In her hand — the small Takara Tomy Jeep Wrangler, nothing flashy, just a scaled-down model of a car she clearly liked.
Not a luxury bag, not an indulgent splurge. Just a simple, personal thing.
Axel's eyes flicked to the second attachment — the financial report from Horizon. His thumb slid across the screen, reading.
Account: Danielle Reyes
Time: 13:47
Location: SM Bulacan
Transaction: 1x Family Combo Meal – 4 pax
Amount: ₱3,742.00 (~USD 68)
Note: Paid via Horizon corporate card
Additional purchases: none.
There it was. One meal. No shopping spree, no reckless swiping. Not even a soda. Just a meal for her family.
Axel couldn't help but feel a quiet respect.
Smart. Focused. Practical.
She had made it clear, even in the smallest of gestures, that she wasn't going to waste anything — not the company's resources, not the life she was building.
No unnecessary indulgences. No selfish spending. Except when she was testing the local cards a few weeks ago but then she also called Nadia to pay for them. Nadia did ask me, I waived it but Nadia wanted to let Dan keep her stance. So Naida insisted to convert the money to Dan's End of the year bonus. A 250,000 Peso bonus.
He stared at the image of her with the toy, half-formed thoughts swirling. She's not buying into the fantasy. She's playing the long game.
He saved the photo, not for the formal database but in a separate folder. There was something about this woman that caught his attention more than he wanted to admit.
A quiet nod to herself, no matter how many eyes were on her.
And he'd been watching her for months now, perhaps longer than she realized. But it was only a matter of time before she'd prove she could handle what was coming her way.
No romance. No affection. Not yet.
Just... admiration.