The first visitors arrived mid-morning.
Not reporters. Not officials. Just... community members, dropping by with food, stories, gratitude.
"Lola Glad, I made you bibingka!"
"Lola Glad, my baby took her first flight!"
"Lola Glad, remember when you taught me to use a selfie stick?"
Glad laughed, accepting the gifts, listening to the stories, marveling at how full her quiet life had become.
"You said you wanted peace," Ariel teased as the third group departed.
"This IS peace. Connected. Loved. Not leading—just being."
"That's a good definition."
The Watcher watched from the garden, occasionally approached by young creatures who'd grown up with its presence.
They are not afraid of me, it observed. Even the smallest ones.
"Why would they be? You're family."
I was not always.
"You are now. That's what matters."
The Watcher purred—a sound it had perfected over years of practice.
Peace, it decided, was underrated.