Chapter LXXII: Momento Temporis
Liz rushes through the sterile white hallway, the smell of antiseptic and flowers strangely mixing in the air. Her heart pounds—not from fear this time, but from hope. From longing. From something she's held back for far too long. Her hospital gown flutters behind her as she ignores the shouts of a nurse and the distant call of her grandmother. She doesn’t stop. She won’t stop.
She reaches a door at the end of the corridor, half-open, where sunlight spills in like liquid gold. The warmth pulls her forward.
And there—seated in the middle of the hospital garden—is a figure bathed in that very light. A silhouette. Calm. Still.
As he turns his head, Liz’s breath catches.
It’s Bennett.
He smiles softly, gently, like he’s been waiting for her all this time.
“Someone just woke up,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Without a second thought, Liz dashes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. She sobs against him, holding him tightly, and kisses him—once, twice, then again—like it’s the only language she knows. Bennett wraps his arms around her, warm and strong. His own tears slip down his cheek as he kisses her back.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
“I never left,” he says.
As their foreheads press together, he asks softly, “How are you doing?”
Liz chuckles weakly, still crying. “I’m… I’m doing fine. Happy. Grateful. Alive.”
Bennett’s smile doesn’t waver, but there’s a question in his eyes. Liz sees it.
“I have a confession to make,” she whispers, pulling back slightly.
From the hospital door, her grandmother, Dolores, and Dominga peer in quietly. None of them say a word. They don’t need to. This is Liz’s moment.
Bennett tilts his head. “What is it?”
Tears roll down Liz’s cheeks again. Her voice cracks, raw and honest.
“I’m sorry. For everything. For the times I ignored you. For every moment I pushed you away. For the times I mocked you, doubted you, treated you like you weren’t enough. I was selfish. I was blind. I thought I was protecting myself, but I was just… hurting the one person who believed in me.”
Bennett’s eyes glisten as she continues.
“I didn’t know how much you meant to me until it was almost too late. When I saw what could’ve happened—when I saw that version of me who lost you forever—I realized how lucky I am to still have you. I don’t deserve you, Bennett, but… if you let me, I’ll make it up to you. Every single day.”
She breaks down, burying her face in her hands.
Bennett gently reaches out, his fingers warm against her cheeks as he wipes her tears away.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” he says quietly. “That night, in that dream... the one where we sat under the stars. I saw your heart. Even then, it was already healing.”
Liz blinks at him.
“You’ve already made it up to me,” he continues. “When you stood by me. When you faced darkness with courage. When you chose faith over fear. That’s all I ever hoped for.”
He places a hand over hers.
“You are more than your mistakes, Liz. You are grace in motion. And I will never stop being proud of you.”
She sobs again, but this time, it's from relief. From healing. She leans forward, and they hug once more, tighter than before—no regrets between them now, only love and the promise of moving forward.
A voice interrupts gently, “Ahem. Hope we’re not interrupting too much?”
Dolores grins as she steps out into the garden with Dominga.
Liz pulls away, laughing through her tears.
“Dominga? Dolores?” Bennett says with a chuckle.
“Hey, you!” Dominga waves. “Good to see you back in the land of the living!”
“You gave us a heart attack,” Dolores adds playfully, hugging him.
Bennett smiles warmly. “I’m glad to see you both again.”
Liz’s grandma walks closer, her eyes teary but glowing. “Bennett… thank you.”
Before he can respond, a new voice speaks behind them.
“It’s good to see you again, Bennett.”
They all turn.
Standing by the door is a woman, elegant and composed despite her long flight. Her eyes shine with pride and gratitude. It’s Liz’s mother.
Bennett stands politely. “Tia Alegria…”
“No need for formalities,” she says, approaching him. She touches his shoulder gently. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for my daughter. For protecting her. Guiding her. Standing with her when she needed it most.”
She looks at Liz, then back at Bennett.
“I’ve already settled all your hospital bills. Yours, Adrian’s, and Wyn’s. That’s the least I can do for the heroes who saved not just my daughter… but countless others.”
Bennett bows slightly. “Muchas Gracias, Tia.”
“We’re all very proud of you,” she adds, voice soft. “All of us.”
Liz’s grandma nods beside her. “He truly is a blessing.”
Liz smiles through her tears, her heart full.
Then she turns to him again. “How about your parents, Bennett? Did they…?”
Bennett places his hand gently over hers again. “I’ll be the one going there. It’s time they knew everything. About what happened… and about me.”
There’s something resolute in his voice. A strength that’s calm, not forceful. Liz squeezes his hand, nodding.
“You won’t be alone,” she whispers. “Not anymore.”
He smiles.
“I know.”
The afternoon sun casts a golden hue over the quiet neighborhood of Esperanza as Bennett and Liz step out of the tricycle. The wind carries the scent of flowers and soil, familiar and comforting. The house in front of them is small but homey—paint slightly chipped, the roof rusted in spots—but to Bennett, it’s sacred ground. It's the home he left behind… and the one he’s finally ready to return to.
They walk up to the door. Liz feels her heart pounding again, but it’s a different kind of fear this time—not of monsters or darkness, but of judgment, of the pain she caused long ago.
Bennett raises his hand and knocks.
There’s a clatter from inside. Then a gruff, irritated voice.
“If it's the HomeCredit company again, we've already paid off our due dates and—”
The door swings open mid-rant.
And she stops. Time freezes.
A tired-looking woman, apron still on, hair pinned up in a messy bun. Bennett’s mom.
Bennett gives a soft, sheepish smile.
“I’m home, Mom.”
Her eyes widen. Her lips quiver. And without a word, she drops her broom and throws her arms around him, bursting into tears. Her cries are not silent—they're loud and heaving, a release of worry buried for too long.
“My boy… My baby…”
Hearing the noise, Bennett’s father rushes to the door.
The moment he sees his son, his knees almost buckle. He’s silent for a moment—then steps forward and embraces him, his tears falling onto Bennett’s shoulder.
“What happened to you?” his mother sobs. “Where have you been?!”
“Why didn’t you call?” his father adds. “We thought—God, we thought we lost you!”
Bennett lets out a breath and replies gently, “Well… long story short, I couldn’t have done it without—”
He steps aside, revealing Liz standing behind him.
The crying stops.
Both parents stare at her.
Their brows slowly furrow.
“This better be good…” his mom starts.
“Or else—” his dad adds, arms folded.
Bennett chuckles nervously, holding Liz’s hand and leading her inside.
They sit in the small living room, the couch cushions slightly sunken from years of use. Liz looks around—pictures of Bennett as a boy, family trips, graduation day… all reminders of the love that built this home.
Over cups of lukewarm tea, Bennett starts talking. He explains everything—the secret chapel, the dark manuscript, the possessed servers, the danger they faced, and the miracles that followed. Liz fills in the gaps, and his parents sit quietly, listening, occasionally gasping, sometimes shaking their heads in disbelief.
By the end of the story, the room is silent again.
Liz stands.
Her heart races.
She turns toward Bennett’s parents, who now sit on the couch, both still staring at her—less harshly now, but guarded.
She takes a deep breath.
“Tio, Tia… I know I may be the last person you’d expect to stand in front of you and ask for your time. But please, if you’d allow me—hear me out.”
She pauses, her hands trembling.
“I want to apologize. From the deepest part of my heart. I know that in the past, I’ve treated your son in ways he never deserved. I pushed him away. I mocked him. I hurt him with words and with silence. I was immature, defensive, scared—and Bennett, he... he was always kind, always patient. I took that for granted. Again and again.”
Her voice cracks.
“I used to think love meant having control. That the one who loves less wins. But your son? He shattered all of that. He didn’t care about winning. He just loved… selflessly. Patiently. Faithfully. Even when I was at my worst.”
Tears spill down her cheeks.
“I realized all of that too late. Too many scars, too many apologies he never got to hear. And I don't expect you to forget all that instantly. But today, I’m not standing here to erase the past—I’m here to honor it. To learn from it.”
She kneels in front of them.
“I promise you, starting now, I will never treat your son with anything less than the love and respect he deserves. I will stand by him. Lift him when he’s weak. Believe in him the way he’s always believed in me. And I will never again be the reason he feels unworthy of the love he’s always given so freely.”
She bows her head.
“I am truly, deeply sorry.”
The room falls into silence again.
Then, Bennett’s mother stands.
She approaches Liz slowly.
And then—she kneels with her.
“Stand up, Hija,” she says, her voice shaky. “You don’t need to kneel to be heard.”
Liz rises slowly, trembling.
Bennett’s mother holds her hands.
“You made mistakes,” she says. “But so did we. We judged you too quickly. We saw how hurt our son was and blamed you for everything, thinking you were just another heartless girl playing with his feelings.”
Her voice softens.
“But what you just said… and the things you’ve done for him… for others… it takes a special kind of strength to face yourself and choose to change. To choose love. And I see that now.”
She pulls Liz into a hug.
“You’re not banned from this home anymore.”
Liz gasps, stunned.
Bennett’s father chuckles, wiping his own eyes.
“In fact,” he adds, walking over, “you’re welcome here. Anytime.”
Liz breaks into sobs, burying her face in his mother’s shoulder. Bennett steps forward and wraps his arms around all of them.
There’s warmth in the room now—not just from the sun shining through the window, but from something stronger.
Love. Reconciliation. Family.
And hope.
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and then Add to home screen.