Imelda wastes no time coming up with a new family rule: no talking to, talking about, looking for, or interacting with Héctor. And she makes sure that everyone knows that there are no exceptions at all. No one except for her is able to interact with him, and it will only be if she absolutely has to. And if she does interact with him, it will only be to punish him, to show him what he gets for even thinking it's okay to talk to her or to the others.

And for thinking she's ever even going to give him any of her time ever again.

Like the time when she'd informed all of them about the ban on music, no one questions her. No one goes against her ultimatum. She'd controlled them for years, brainwashing them into hating and being uneasy whenever Héctor was mentioned, so there isn't much to detest about the new rule anyways. Why would they care about not being able to interact with someone they didn't even know to begin with?

And even if the somehow did know Héctor before this, once Imelda gives her demand she can't be swayed. Everyone does what she says no matter what, no questions asked. Even the rebellious ones in the family like Coco, Elena, and Victoria eventually learned that Imelda always wins in the end.

So the rule gets set: no contact with Héctor. No bringing up his name or seeking him out. No acknowledging his presence if he shows up at their doorstep or while they're working. If Imelda talks to him, it'll just be to chase him away, to bash his face if hse gets close enough, to shout every accusation she can think of while they run, making sure he both hears and feels her rage.

Of course, the first few weeks after Imelda delivers this demand, he's as persistent as ever. He comes to the door daily, never at any specific time. He knocks two times, always showing up with his same tattered clothes and frayed straw hat and a hesitent but cheerful smile.

Sometimes as a gift, he sings and plays that battered and worn guitar thar she'd seen him with when she'd first gotten here (though she realizes without caring that she hasn't seen him with it since her and Rosita's unwanted encounter with him).

Other times it's a small boquet of her favorite flowers, or a letter attached to a box of her favorite chocolate sweets with one vanilla pastry included, making her remember against her will when she'd tried to buy two chocolate pasteles for both of them and he'd said he didn't want it because it tastes disgusting to him.

She always glares at the first glance of him, hardly able to believe how difficult it had been at first. She snatches all of his pathetic flowers or packeges from him and rips them right before his eyes. If he has the guitar and she doesn't get to the door in time to stop him, she takes off her shoe and throws it at him, hearing him shriek but not able to bring herself to watch in case she breaks the guitar by accident.

Sometimes Imelda chases him away, her shoe held high above her head, shouting every accusation she can think of as they run. He's always been a fast runner, and most of the time he outruns her, but occasionally she catches up with him, grabbing him by his arm and lowering her voice as she slaps him across the face and tells him to stay away from her and her familia.

Part of her is comforted and astonished by Héctor's relentlessness, how he keeps coming back even though he must know she never wants to see him again. It's always suprised her how even if no one wants his presence or his gifts, he keeps trying until they eventually give in. Even Ernesto couldn't stay angry at him for too long because of how much Héctor kept trying to please him.

But that side of her is always overcome by a different one: the one that reminds her of his betrayal, of all he put her through, of what it did to Coco, of how every night after his disappearance was a struggle that hurt her more than anything ever had.

And once that side takes over, her rage overrules her amazement and her hatred for him comes back as if it never left.

But one day, finally, everything ends.

On an unusually warm Saturday morning, three days before Día de los Muertos, the dreadful double knock at the front door sounds again, seeming louder than the previous times. Everyone in the room seems to tense at the same time, and Imelda the stiffness of the air mixing with her rage as she storms down the hallway and swings the door open.

As always, Héctor stands there with that stupid smile of his, with two gifts instead of one this time, a boquet of marigolds in one hand and a box of candy in the other. This time he isn't wearing his usual ripped clothes, but a plain gray shirt a size too big and uripped but severely wrinkled pants the same color. He's not wearing his hat, either; his hair looks neater than Imelda has ever seen it, and she can't see any evidence of snags or snarls anywhere.

After realizing where she is and reminding herself what she has to do, Imelda gives him her usual glare, deepening it a bit so that he sees she's not impressed at all. She grabs the marigolds and rips them apart, throwing the demented stems and petals in his face and watching as he staggers back. She grabs the package and drops it to the ground, stepping on it and wincing as drops of chocolate frosting hit her dress.

She reaches down to take her shoe off and raise it over her head, and Héctor wastes no time bounding away, running faster than he had the last time. They run through the city streets for a while, the hot weather and bright sun slowing them both down a little. Imelda can hear Héctor's panting as he tries to pick up speed, weaving his way through groups of people and yelling his apologies.

Usually, Héctor throws her off by making a sharp turn down another street, but today Imelda is ready for him. As soon as his head and body start to turn left, Imelda gets closer to him and lunges forward, yanking him backward by the wrist as he gives a suprised yip.

Imelda gets close to him and lowers her voice to a menacing level.

"You can't take a hint, can you?"

She sneers and squeezes his wrist tighter as he tries to pull away, tears pooling in his eyes.

"I've told you already: stay away from mi familia and stay away from me." Her voice has enough anger to rival a raging storm.

She lets go of his wrist and he starts to run from her again, but before he disappears from view, Imelda tosses her shoe at him. It hits his left arm and leaves a noticeable crack and Imelda watches as he stops running, yells, and examines the damge before turning to stare at her with those large and pathetic eyes of his that let out even more tears.

Imelda walks up to him, picks her shoe up from where it landed and points it at him again, aiming it directly in between his eyes. "Never, ever, speak to me or give me one of your stupid gifts again. I never want to see you again and I don't care about you anymore. Stay away. This is your last warning."

Héctor's eyes close, and he backs away, lowering his head and cradling his broken arm in his other hand. "Okay," he says, his voice containing no emotion. Then he turns and runs down a nearby alley, holding his arm and letting out a barely supressed sob.

From that day on, Imelda never sees him again. There are no more gifts, no more songs, no more smiles. And while part of Imelda is glad that it's finally over, another part of her, just as vivid, sinks and twists as a very, very familiar feeling of emptiness surrounds her.