Chapter XXIV: Mother's Love
Liz finds herself drifting into another dream. The air is calm, yet she senses something peculiar. A soft voice whispers,
"Prayer is powerful beyond limits when we turn to the Immaculada who is Queen even of God's heart."
Before her, an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary emerges, radiating an aura of serenity and grace. Liz stares, mesmerized, before the scene fades, transporting her into a new vision.
She stands in front of the school restroom. Confused, she turns around, and to her surprise, Bennett is there, his kind eyes filled with concern.
"Are you okay?" he asks gently.
Liz blinks. Am I still just a spectator? She raises her hand, moves her fingers—no, she isn't. She is truly present.
Bennett offers his hand.
"Come on, let’s go have lunch. But first, let’s visit the Cathedral."
Liz nods. Together, they walk to the Cathedral, the air filled with the faint scent of burning candles. As they step inside, Liz gazes up at the Retablo Mayor, and there, she sees the same statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary from earlier. A strange warmth fills her heart.
They kneel in silent prayer, and for the first time in a long time, Liz feels at peace. When they finish, they quietly leave the Cathedral and head to a small restaurant nearby.
As they eat, Bennett asks,
"How's your mother? Still working abroad?"
Liz instinctively nods.
"Yeah, she's fine," she replies. But then, something strange happens—her own mouth betrays her thoughts. Without meaning to, she begins speaking bitterly. "She’s worthless. She barely gives me what I want. It’s like she doesn’t even care."
Bennett stops mid-bite, his expression darkening.
"Liz, why are you saying that?"
Liz's heart clenches. She wants to stop, to take back her words, but she realizes something chilling—this isn't just a dream. This is a memory she had long forgotten. She watches helplessly as her past self continues her tirade, speaking in harsh tones, defending her anger with selfish arguments.
Her tears well up.
“Why did I say those things? What was wrong with me?”
Bennett sighs and puts down his spoon.
"Liz, listen to me." His tone is firm but patient. "A mother's care is beyond compare. They are the beacon of one's life, the foundation of a home. Your mother may be far away, but everything she does is for you. She sacrifices her time, her happiness, just to provide for you. Do you think that’s easy?"
Liz watches as her past self looks away, refusing to acknowledge his words. But Bennett presses on.
"Think about the Blessed Virgin Mary. She watched her own son suffer, yet she stood strong, believing in His purpose. She was a mother in every sense—loving, selfless, unwavering. Our mothers, though not perfect, share that same devotion. They love us even when we don't see it. They understand even when we don’t speak. They forgive even when we don’t ask."
Liz’s past self hesitates. The argument dies in her throat as Bennett places a dessert in front of her.
"Eat," he says softly. "And reflect."
Spectator Liz feels her chest tighten. She wants to reach out, to hold his hand and tell him he was right. Oh, how she wishes she had listened then.
The scene shifts again. Now, they are back in the Cathedral. Bennett is serving at the altar, his face illuminated by the candlelight. In the pews, his mother sits with quiet pride, always supporting him. Liz sees her past self seated beside her.
Bennett’s mother turns to her younger self and smiles.
"Do you know how much we sacrifice for our children?" she asks softly. "When Bennett was younger, I worked long hours to support him. I missed birthdays, school events. But I never stopped loving him. And he never stopped understanding."
Liz, standing as a spectator, gasps. How could she have been so blind? She had once dismissed Bennett’s parents, saying they had no worth. Yet here they were, supporting not just him—but her, too.
The realization hits her like a wave. All this time, she had been blinded by her own anger, unable to see the love that surrounded her.
As she stands there, trembling, the dream begins to fade.
Back in the waking world, Liz lies in bed, silent tears streaming down her face.
Outside her room, Dolores and Dominga stand at the door, watching with pity.
"Poor girl," Dolores whispers. "She cries in her sleep."
Dominga sighs.
"She’s remembering. And sometimes, remembering is the hardest part of healing."
Liz remains in deep slumber, but her dream intensifies. The voice of Bennett's mother echoes in her ears, every word cutting through her heart like a blade of regret. She watches the memory unfold before her, a younger version of herself dismissing the sacrifices of the people who have cared for her. Her heart aches once more.
But amidst the sorrow, a distant memory resurfaces. Liz recalls a conversation she once had with Bennett, a conversation about motherhood. She had asked him,
"What if someday, I become a mother?" They had talked about it deeply, yet over time, she had let that thought slip away. Now, it returns to her with a heavy weight, as if urging her to reflect on its significance.
Suddenly, the whisper returns, sending shivers down her spine.
“What do thou see?” it asks, the voice both familiar and haunting. Liz gasps and jolts awake, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her breath is uneven, and her vision is blurred, but the first thing she does is reach for Bennett’s picture on her nightstand. She clutches it tightly, sobbing into the frame as if she could feel his presence through it.
Dolores and Dominga, standing by the doorway, watch her with concern. Liz notices them and, without hesitation, rushes towards them, wrapping her arms around them in a desperate embrace.
"Call Bennett," she pleads, her voice shaky and urgent. "Please, I need to talk to him. I miss him so much. Just one call. A video call."
Dolores and Dominga exchange a worried glance but nod. They reach for Liz's phone and dial Bennett’s number. The call connects, but there is no response. They try again. Nothing. The line remains flat, as if he no longer exists in the digital world. Liz's heart clenches.
"He’s still missing," she whispers, her hands trembling. "Where are you, Bennett?"
Feeling powerless, she makes her way to her grandmother's room, her mind clouded with thoughts. When she enters, she sees her grandmother seated before a small altar, beads slipping through her fingers as she prepares to pray the rosary. The sight brings an unfamiliar comfort to Liz’s heart.
Without a word, she kneels beside her grandmother.
"May I join you?" she asks softly.
Her grandmother turns to her, surprised, but a gentle smile spreads across her face.
"Of course, dear."
They pray together, Liz absorbing the serenity that the prayer offers. As she prays, her heart feels lighter, as if she is no longer alone in her sorrow. When they finish, Liz glances at her grandmother with newfound admiration.
Then, her grandmother picks up the phone and dials Liz’s mother.
"It’s been a while since you talked to your mom," her grandmother says, handing Liz the phone.
Liz hesitates, but then, as the screen lights up with an incoming video call, she finds herself gripping the device tightly. When her mother answers, there is visible surprise on her face.
"Liz?" her mother says, blinking in astonishment. "What’s going on?"
Liz swallows hard before speaking, her voice raw with emotion.
"Mama, I miss you. How have you been?"
Her mother’s expression softens instantly, her eyes glistening with tears.
"I’m doing fine, sweetheart. But what about you? Are you okay?"
Liz nods, though tears well in her own eyes.
"I’m sorry, Mom. For everything. For being so selfish, for not appreciating you enough. I understand now."
Her mother smiles gently, her gaze full of warmth.
"Liz, you don’t have to apologize. I love you, no matter what."
They talk for a long time, catching up on things they had never taken the time to discuss before. Liz wishes she could do the same with Bennett, but he remains unreachable. Still, she holds onto the hope that one day, she will be able to tell him everything.
As dinner approaches, Liz joins Dolores, Dominga, and her grandmother at the table. It is the first time in a while that she eats with them at the same time, truly present in the moment. The warmth of family fills the air, an unfamiliar yet comforting sensation.
As they eat, her grandmother sets down her spoon and looks at Liz intently.
"Something has changed in you, Hija. What happened?"
Liz takes a deep breath, her fingers clutching the fabric of her sleeve.
"I realized something important," she begins, her voice steady yet filled with emotion.
"For so long, I was blinded by my own selfish desires. I took for granted the people who loved me, the people who stood by me no matter what. I treated Bennett poorly, even though he was always there for me. I resented my mother for things she couldn’t control. But now... I understand. Love is about appreciation, about gratitude. My mother sacrificed so much for me, and I was too stubborn to see it. Bennett... he always tried to guide me, to help me become better, and yet I pushed him away."
She pauses, her voice trembling.
"I don’t want to be that person anymore. I want to be better. For my family. For Bennett. And most of all, for myself."
The room falls silent. Then, Dolores, Dominga, and her grandmother smile, their eyes filled with pride and relief.
"We are happy for you, Liz," her grandmother says warmly. "Growth is not easy, but you are taking the right steps."
That night, Liz sits by her desk, a pen in hand and a notebook open before her. She writes to Bennett once again, pouring out her heart onto the paper.
Bennett,
I don’t know where you are, and I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I need to say it anyway. I miss you. I miss your voice, your guidance, your unwavering patience. I am sorry, Bennett. For all the times I hurt you, for all the times I ignored your kindness. I regret every harsh word, every moment I took you for granted. You deserved better. I wish I could turn back time and change everything, but I know that isn’t possible. What I can do now is make up for it, in the only way I know how. I promise to be better, to live with kindness and gratitude, just as you always wanted me to. Please, wherever you are, forgive me. I will keep praying for you. And I will keep hoping that one day, I can tell you all of this in person.
With a heavy but determined heart, she sets her pen down, pressing a gentle kiss against Bennett’s picture.
Before turning off the light, she gazes at the image of the Immaculate Conception and whispers,
"Thank you. Thank you for guiding me."
With that, Liz closes her eyes, allowing sleep to take her, her heart lighter than it has ever been.
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