Ever since my niece Mirabel's ceremony, I had been both terrified and pressured to have another child. Terrified because I worried my child, too, would not get a gift and pressured by my mother who wanted to keep the magic strong.

It had been several months since Mirabel's ceremony, and my youngest had recently turned six years old. When I discovered I was pregnant again, I became both nervous and excited.

I was just prepping to tell my husband the big news, when the door to my room swung open and my mother came barging in. "A new door is forming in Casita! That means a new Madrigal has been conceived! Julieta said it wasn't her so it must be you! Is it true, mija? Please tell me it is true!"

I let out a sharp sigh. "Mamá! I was trying to tell Félix!"

"Oh. Well, carry on."

I closed my eyes with a sigh before looking to my husband again, taking his hands. "It is true, mi vida. We are having another baby."

We were having another baby.

I was about 13 weeks into my pregnancy and had the cutest little baby bump. The whole family was getting excited for the new member of la familia Madrigal. Everyone had been sort of expecting me, I suppose, to have another child. Julieta already had three children and had declared herself finished with childbearing. Bruno… Well, we don't talk about Bruno. I only had two kids, so it was up to me to grow the Madrigal family tree.

But the worst happened.

I woke up with horrible cramps and my bed sheets were soaked with blood. Naturally, I was confused and terrified. My first instinct was to call for my sister. "Julieta!" I yelled in a panic. "Julieta, come quick!"

Whether Julieta had heard me or Dolores had and gotten her tía for me, my sister did arrive shortly, with our mother trailing right behind her. Poor Félix had been shooed aside when they came in. I know he was worried, but there wasn't anything he could do, really. It was truly a female matter.

Mamá helped me get cleaned up and stripped my bed so the sheets could be washed. Julieta went and cooked up a remedy to try to soothe my pains. Nothing was going to soothe the pain in my heart, though. In that moment, I was too shocked to be sad. But once realization that I had miscarried set in, I was devastated.

"It makes sense now," Mamá said quietly. "I heard Casita shifting around again, but instead of a new door starting to appear, one was starting to disappear."

We had a small funeral for Baby Madrigal. Pedra, as her name would have been, was then with her Abuelo Pedro – whom she was to be named after. Of course I had no way of knowing for certain the baby's sex, but I had had strong feelings about this one being a girl.

I barely got out of bed for months. The rain was almost constant, and the townspeople were starting to become concerned about flooding. Everyone tried so hard to cheer me up, and some of them succeeded, if only for a little while. But sometimes even Félix's sweet gestures couldn't put a smile on my face. Not even Camilo shape shifting into different townspeople and impersonating them could cheer me up.

First Mirabel didn't get her gift, then my brother left… then this. They say bad things happen in threes, right? Maybe the worst was over.

By the time I felt okay enough to try again, two years had passed. When that pregnancy, too, ended in miscarriage, I locked myself in my room and did not come out for a whole week. I did not even let my husband inside. I was so distraught! I had lost not one but two babies. Two funerals – for my own children! My own children who never got to see the world with their eyes, who never got to know a mother's love…

I supposed it was because I was too old to have children, and that maybe I should just give up. I felt broken, like there was something wrong with me!

Our mother told me that she understood and didn't want me to put myself through that again, but I could see her looking worriedly at the candle, as if worried the flame would go out if I did not have another child. I felt like the flame inside my soul had gone out, but I was determined. I did not want to disappoint the family. I had one last resort.

I was very weak, as I had not gotten out of bed in days, nor had I eaten, but I took myself to Julieta's room and knocked. I barely made it inside the door, however, before I collapsed onto the floor.

"Pepa!" My sister exclaimed, helping me off the ground and onto her bed. She immediately got me a glass of water and a plate of arepas. "Eat," she insisted.

I smiled a little to her, sipping the water slowly. After I had a bit of food and drink in me, I asked my sister my very important question. I needed to know if she could help me – fix me. Was there a way that her magic cooking could prevent me from having another miscarriage or was I a lost cause? Was it too late?

Julieta scratched her head, completely unsure if she could do such a thing, but she was willing to try her best.

And try she did. About a year later, I was giving birth to my little miracle baby, Antonio. My Toñito. After two miscarriages, I was having a beautiful, healthy baby boy at 45. Nothing would ever heal the hurt of those two lost babies, but looking at my new baby that day, I knew that I was going to be okay.