Lilith arrived at the cottage with a small box.
"For you," she said simply. "I've been saving it for 176 years."
Glad opened it carefully.
Inside: a small portrait, faded with age, of a young woman holding a baby.
"Your human mother. The one who raised you. I found this after she passed and kept it. I thought... someday... you might want it."
Glad's hands trembled. "I have no memory of her face. I was too young."
"Now you do."
She stared at the portrait—the woman who'd loved her, raised her, died too soon. Tears fell freely.
"Thank you. Thank you."
Lilith held her. "You're welcome, anak."
The portrait joined Anino's statue in the garden—another ancestor watching over, another love made visible.
Family.
Always growing.
Always present.