The celebration of rebuilding the house and the surprise return of the magic went on well into the night. It died down a few hours ago, but I keep finding places to help with cleanup. I'm determined to be the last one out here.

When Casita came back to life, all the magical doorways came back, this time without any names or even rooms beyond the doorframe until the first person in the family went in. When Antonio's jaguar ran with him on its back right to where his old door was, the room transformed back into the jungle it had been. One by one my family members reclaimed their old rooms as cleanup finished.

My heart felt like a stone in my chest when I realized there were still only nine doors for the nine "magical" Madrigals.

I'm happy.

I really am.

I swear.

I swear I'm glad that the magic is back and that everyone can go back to using their gifts to help. I love my family and it is great that we can all be together and at least try to be our real selves.

And yet.

I can't help but feel like Im going to get left behind again. We rebuilt "the nursery" as my room this time around. Bigger room, bigger bed, but still just regular Mirabel. Sure my family is trying for now. I know they'll always love me. But I can't help waiting for the other shoe to drop. For… all of me to become "too much" and "in the way" again.

I shake my head to try to clear those thoughts and look at Isabela clearing the table with me.

We're the last ones still up.

"Hey Isa," I hear come out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

"Yeah?"

"You think we could have a sleepover some time? Like when we were little? You would have Luisa and I stay up watching you make the flowers dance?" I ask, almost afraid to hear her answer. It's hard to remember she's no longer señorita perfecta.

She lets out a soft laugh. "I can't believe you remember that." Once Isa puts down the last of the plates, she walks toward me and grabs me by my shoulders. "I would love to have a sleepover with you. I can teach you how to make flower crowns by hand, if you teach me how to properly dye fabric."

I let out a sigh of relief I hadn't known I was holding. Not wanting her to ask why I just thought about that, I respond, "Ohhh? Señorita perfecta needs little old Mirabels help?"

The joke works how I wanted. Isabela laughs and asked if I'm heading to bed too. We walk upstairs together, Isabela wishing me a goodnight when we get to her door.

I go to keep walking.

"Hey, Mira?" I hear behind me. I stop and turn back to Isabela. "My door is always open for you." I give her a smile, grateful for her kindness even if the words cut like a knife.

It's not her fault. She wouldn't know how much it's killing me to still not have a door. It's not even about a gift anymore. Feeling sorry for myself—and then angry for feeling sorry for myself—I drag myself back to the nursery.

Oh, sorry. My room now I guess.

As my feet shuffled, heavier with each step, a flash of gold catches my eye. I look up at and gasp at what I see.

Right in front of me, at the end of the hallway, was a new door space. No monogrammed doorknob, no indication that it's even real and not just a figment of my sadness and desperation. I rub my eyes hard for a few seconds before readjusting my glasses.

Huh.

The doorframe is still there. My heart felt like it was caught in my throat. I could feel it beating. Is it fear? Excitement? I don't want to get excited. I don't want to let myself want this—because what if I'm just rejected again? The image of the door fading to dust when i tried to open it is replaying over and over in my head. I don't know if i can take that happening again.

I briefly consider running and grabbing Isa for support, but quickly shake the thought. I'm terrified about what might happen, and I absolutely do not want anyone else to witness it if things go wrong again. If I'm a failure, no one even needs to know.

I had the moment of celebration with my family opening the front door today. This moment is for me. For the little girl I was who just wanted to make her family proud. You finally have kid. Now make yourself proud and be brave.

.

.

.

Easier said than done. I've been in front of the door for who knows how long. Standing in the hallway. Stuck. Paralyzed by the fear that when I try to enter the room, the doorframe will vanish before my eyes. I know the magic has been restored, and I know the family is stronger than ever, and I know I deserve my own door. And yet.

And yet, I can't bring myself even try.

I'm back at my gift ceremony, a little girl desperate to make her family proud and finally earn their love and approval. I am terrified that this doorway is going to disappear right in front of me the same way the other one did all those years ago.

After all, I still don't have a gift. Who am I to think this time will be any different? Why would it be? I may have saved the miracle, but it doesn't make me magical. What kind of room would Casita even create for me? Or is this somehow Casitas way of apologizing after all this time?

I used to lie awake at night imagining what powers I'd get and what my room would look like. After the ceremony failed, I was sad and then angry, telling myself not to cry over it because none of those rooms were ever actually mine. But now I might actually have a second chance. Not for a gift, which I don't particularly want anymore, and given the lack of an M on the doorknob I don't think is an option. But I still have the chance for somewhere all my own. A place made out of magic and love that embodies who I am. Somewhere to just be me. I know I can technically do that anywhere in our home, but a short amount of time doesn't erase a decades worth of insecurities that I feel around my family.

A weight feels like it's pressing against my chest. I try to take a deep breath and it just comes out extremely shakey. Like a dam breaking, suddenly I'm silently sobbing.

I once thought my getting a gift was inevitable. I don't want to get my hopes up again. Maybe just going back to the rebuilt nursery tonight would actually be for the best. Put off finding out. It's fine, I'll be fine, I'll just try again tomorrow.

I keep repeating that it's fine over and over in my head as I move away from the door. When I go to step, Casita shifts the floor around me, trying to turn me back around.

"Please, Casita." It comes out in a choked up whisper. "I can't right now. I don't want to know just yet."

After a minute the floor stops moving under me.

"Thank you." I manage to get out before sinking to the floor.

I've just wanted this SO badly before. After a while I'm able to stop my tears, unable to shake these anxious thoughts.

I mean i should just be happy my whole family is back together again, warm and safe back in our home where we belong. It's not like whether I have my own room or not would change anything with them anymore.

And yet.

That doesn't stop my from feeling like Luisa used to, with the world pressing down on me and a pressure building up inside. I can't believe she felt like this everyday. I need to make sure she knows how much I appreciate her, not for what she can do, but just for being her.

Maybe when I'm not panicking anymore.

Am i destined to always be the plain one? To be the one of us that's frozen in time? Never truly able to grow up because I'm never given a space to grow into? Left behind while everyone else just passed through?

A red hot flash of anger burns through my chest. I can't be that anymore. I won't be that anymore.

Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and stand back up.

I think about how much I love my family.

I think about Abuelo Pedro's sacrifice and how much Abuela went through to keep us safe.

What Tío Bruno went through to protect me.

My wonderful mom, always ready with a healing treat.

Isabela and Luisa giving me a hug.

Dad and Tío Felix, the only other people in the house who really understand how hard it can be to be surrounded by the "magical fantastical Madrigals" and how it can make someone feel.

Camilo shape shifting until I laugh.

Tía Pepa being so happy when Camilo got his gift that the sun shined for a week straight.

Dolores telling me the best stories she heard.

My sweet Antonio, wishing I could have my own door and refusing to walk and get his own gift without me holding his hand.

I take another deep breath. Straighten my back. Straighten my glasses. Shaking out my whole body to try to get rid of some of my nerves.

"You can do this. You CAN do this." I say to myself.

I take one last deep breathe to hold before stepping across the threshold.

For a second everything is still. Pitch black and eerily silent. It feels like I'm in an endless black hole. And then, bursts of light come in the form of magic from all around me. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding, along with one last—extremely relieved—sob and watch as my own room takes shape before my eyes.

I guess maybe I wasn't too late for a miracle after all