I feel that I should apologize for that last chapter a bit. But I won't. Because I've been building towards that for a little less than a year now and I don't regret how it turned out. What I will do, however, is move forward so that these characters can figure out how they will handle the aftermath.
By the time her tears had dried and Pepita's comforting purrs had grown quiet, the skies had darkened considerably. The Land of the Dead never truly became dark, not like Santa Cecilia would late at night. It was too large and too crowded for that. A large and towering city compared to the more comfortable small town would always seem louder, brighter, and busier at all hours. But it was as dark as it ever became.
Even the house seemed quiet and dark as she stepped inside. The rest of the household must have retired for the night. Imelda wrapped her arms around herself. The only noise was the soft click of her shoes on the floor as she walked slowly. A lonely sound.
"I'm sorry that we didn't wait up," said Victoria from the darkness, startling Imelda with her presence. She walked around the table, fingers trailing along the surface. "After what happened at dinner, no one was in the mood for further conversation."
Imelda took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. She knew what she had to do. She'd known even as she wept into Pepita's fur, furious at herself for so many things. This wouldn't be easy. But she needed to do this.
"Lo siento," she said quietly. "For what I said to you before. I…" Imelda shook her head. "You didn't deserve that. You're a grown woman and you know your own heart. If you truly care for this man and if you accept how limited his time might be, then I should not stand in your way. My own parents attempted to control who I loved and only managed to drive me away."
Even after nearly a century, Imelda remembered how much it hurt when her papá forced her to choose between her family and the man that she loved. She remembered the harsh way his voice sounded as he delivered his ultimatum and the cold way he turned his back on her without hesitation. Everything had to be his way and he refused to accept anything else. Papá demanded perfect obedience, assuming that he always knew best.
Imelda hated her papá for putting her in that position. She hated him for making her choose and for refusing to listen to what she wanted. And yet despite her best efforts, she'd become too much like him in the end. Rigid, uncompromising, and refusing to listen to her family.
But that didn't mean she couldn't make things right. She could still change. She could do better.
She took a step towards her granddaughter, reaching up to cup her cheekbone. Imelda gave her a gentle smile.
"I wanted to protect my family," she continued. "Even from heartache and loss. I have always tried to protect our family. But it seems that my methods aren't always the best. I've made many mistakes, míja. How I treated you was wrong. I did it out of love and to try to keep you safe, but it was still wrong. Especially when I lost my temper with you. Lo siento."
"I know that you only wanted to protect me," said Victoria. "You were trying to do what you thought was right for me. I understand and forgive you. I won't change my mind about Carlos, but I forgive you."
"I won't ask you to change your mind about him. Not again, míja."
Imelda pulled her into a hug. It was brief, but it was enough to reassure her that the worst of the damage from her harsh words and temper was mended. It meant that she hadn't destroyed at least one relationship that evening.
As the hug came to an end, Victoria pulled back and said, "I'm not the only one that you owe an apology to tonight."
Slumping slightly, she said, "I know."
If her behavior towards Victoria was wrong, then her words to Héctor were no less than cruel. Despite her intentions to never hurt him again, Imelda fell back on the habits and mindset that she followed for decades. Habits were hard to break and it had been a long time since anyone had shared the role of being head of the household. She'd spent too long needing to meet every obstacle as a fight. And then she lashed out at Héctor in the worst way possible.
She'd been too cowardly to ask Héctor to stay before everything spiraled out of control. But Imelda would at least offer him an apology. She owed him so many.
She knew it would be hard. She knew it would hurt. But she owed him that much.
"Before morning," said Victoria, "you should speak with him. I don't know if it'll change his mind, but you can try. Don't let those words spoken in anger be the ones you part on."
Imelda nodded slowly, silently accepting that her granddaughter was right. No matter how difficult the conversation might be, they should at least part on better terms than what her vicious words provided. If this turned out to be her final conversation with Héctor, then she would give him at least a fraction of the apologies that he deserved.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hat resting on his lap as he stared numbly at the burning oil lamp. Héctor knew that he would be better off going to sleep. There was no need to gather his belongings since he only possessed his mended clothes and the wrapped-up guitar that he wasn't even certain that he wanted, music still causing him mixed emotions. There was nothing else that he would need to prepare. There was no reason to stay up any longer. And yet he couldn't bring himself to sleep yet.
Sleep would bring the morning all the sooner. And morning would be the end.
Héctor wasn't completely surprised by how everything worked out. He'd known that it wouldn't last. He always lost anything good in his existence. At least he no longer had to worry about ruining everything and being cautious about doing the wrong thing. He'd already done so. It was already over.
But he didn't regret his decision to help his granddaughter and to stop Imelda from making a mistake that she would have quickly regretted. He didn't regret it. And yet hearing Imelda's rage turned against him once more, cutting into him sharply as she denied his place within the family, hurt more than he expected.
He closed his eyes, his fingers shifting his hat back and forth. These last few months had been among the most wonderful that he'd experienced in decades. Getting to see Imelda and getting to know the family that he'd spent so long estranged from… It was worth the pain of his close brush with the Final Death. It was worth anything. Even though it ended in heartache, the months since Día de Muertos were ones that he treasured.
But even the most wonderful dream must come to an end. It was time to wake up.
A quiet creak coaxed Héctor into raising his head and opening his eyes. Gently easing the door closed behind her, Imelda stood before him with a stoic expression. He returned to his feet almost without thought. The healing fracture ached at the pressure of standing, but he couldn't bring himself to retrieve the cane. Héctor could only stare at his wife, wondering what brought her to see him so late at night and after what happened at dinner.
"I don't regret it," she said without preamble. Looking at his confused and wary expression, Imelda continued, "You asked before if I regretted our time together, however limited it might have been? I don't." A weak, fragile, and apologetic smile briefly crossed her face. "They were wonderful years. Without them, we would have never had Coco. And for a time, I had you."
While he'd initially stiffened, preparing himself for the worst once again, her words destroyed his assumptions. He hadn't been ready for this. It left him feeling unbalance. A feeling that had nothing to do with his healing leg.
But if she was calm and speaking to him, he shouldn't let the opportunity pass him by. He wasn't certain if she hated him or if she wanted him to stay, but he needed to tell her something before the chance disappeared.
He needed to apologize.
Taking a deep breath, Héctor said, "Lo siento. I should have never compared you to your papá."
"The comparison was not as baseless as I would wish," she said, her eyes dropping. "I… was wrong to react as I did to Victoria and her affection for Carlos. You were right that she is a grown woman and can make her decisions on her own." Raising her eyes back to him, Imelda continued, "And I should not have said what I did to you, Héctor. I was upset, but my words were cruel. You didn't deserve that. Lo siento. I let my temper get the best of me."
"You always were spirited. Fiery, both in temper and passion. Remember? And you were never afraid to speak your mind." Héctor gave her a tiny fond smile before it slipped away. "I knew that when I married you."
"But I think that I grew a bit sharper with age," she said. "And sometimes, a little colder."
Héctor could only imagine what it would have been like for her, raising Coco alone and forcing everyone to respect her. He'd thought about it over the decades, imaging dozens of scenarios and ideas of what might be happening to the family that he left behind.
Things had changed over time. He'd watched the passage of time from Land of the Dead rather than living through it, but he knew that things had changed. And for many people, they had improved.
But back then, it wouldn't have been easy for a woman alone. Some men would see her as vulnerable. They would try to take advantage of her situation. And a woman who was "abandoned" by her husband would have been seen as a failure as a wife, something that she would have fought against tooth and nail. A life like that would have made her sharper and harder than in her youth.
"You were never anything like what Papá accused," Imelda continued, "no matter what Ernesto's crimes might have caused."
"But for a long time, you believed me capable of everything that your papá warned you of," he said quietly, unable to stop himself.
Her stoic expression returning, Imelda said, "You're right. When your letters stopped, when times grew lean as my business started and we no longer received your money to help, when I couldn't go down the street without being the subject of pitying stares and being bombarded by the constant gossip of what happens when a man wanders far from home, and when Ernesto never sent word of harm befalling his friend like how we would have expected…" She shook her head. "Yes, I lost my faith in the man that I should have trusted most. It isn't an excuse. Merely an explanation. I let myself assume the worst when you never gave me reason. And for that, I may never forgive myself. I tried to forget you because it hurt too much to remember, but I should have remembered. I should have remembered who I married."
Her expression remained firm and unrevealing. And her voice maintained an even tone. But the slow words hinted that what she was saying wasn't coming nearly as easy to her as they seemed. And her confession weighed heavily on Héctor, giving him a closer glimpse of what her life was like after his death.
"I wish that I could change what happened back then," he said quietly, wrapping his fingers around his wrist. "I'd give anything to go back to how things used to be."
"But we can't. Too much time has passed. We've changed too much to go back."
Héctor tightened his grip on his wrist and his hat. For a moment, he'd started to hope that things were settling down again. But then she seemed to toss that chance aside. He couldn't follow her lead if he couldn't tell where she was headed from one minute to the next.
Quietly, he asked, "Is this how it is going to be then?"
"This is for the best," she continued evenly. "At least there are no more false assumptions between us. And we're parting on far more neutral terms." Imelda turned slightly, no longer facing him. "And when Coco arrives someday, you won't have to worry about seeing her. She's missed you. She never lost her faith in you. We'll tell her the truth. And we won't stop her from seeing you. No matter what I said before, this is still your family and we will not turn you away again."
Did she want him to stay or go? Héctor couldn't tell. The implications on her words kept coming across as a mixture, both encouragement and dissuading him in equal measure. Perhaps once he would have been able to decipher her intentions. But she was right that they'd both changed. It had been too long and he couldn't be certain.
And he was tired. Héctor was tired, his nonexistent heart weighed heavily in his ribcage, and his leg ached from standing without the cane. He couldn't find the energy to keep looking for the right decision. He was too tired to keep trying.
"Por favor," said Héctor quietly, "just tell me. Tell me…"
Looking back towards him, Imelda asked, "Tell you what?"
"What do you want from me, Imelda? Do you want me to go? Do you want me to…?" He shook his head, trying to put his thoughts into words. "I can't keep wondering. I can't continue with this uncertainty."
Hesitating briefly, she asked, "What is it that you want?"
"I want you to be happy, mi am— Imelda…" Héctor tossed his hat on the bed before spreading his hands beseechingly. "I've made too many mistakes, but I want to do this much right. I'll do whatever you ask of me. If you tell me to only visit occasionally, then so be it. If you don't want to see me, I will only speak to the others when you aren't home. You won't see my face if that's what you wish. I'll accept however much or little that you might offer. I'll accept it without question. Just… just tell me what you want from me. I don't know what you want. I don't know…"
She stared at him silently through his tired declaration. She never moved during the entire thing. And he couldn't decipher her expression, her thoughts hidden beneath an emotionless mask. And even when he finished, Imelda didn't immediately react. She simply stared silently, the weight of her gaze pressing down on him heavily. The suspense added to the crushing weight. He could barely breathe from the pressure.
He just wanted to know. He couldn't continue with the uncertainty. It was too hard.
"What do you want?" he repeated.
"I want what I've always wanted, Héctor," said Imelda, her voice tired and heavy as she took a small step towards him. "Even when everything else changed, that never did."
I want nothing to do with you. Not in life. Not in death.
Héctor's stomach no longer existed, but he felt it drop nonetheless. His head fell even as he gave a small nod, unable to look at anything other than the smooth wood floor. It was foolish to hope that she would change her mind and would want him back. He didn't deserve another chance.
But he would be fine. He would accept her decision. At least he knew where he stood now.
And Héctor tried to look on the positive. He wasn't being forgotten now, so he had time. Whenever Coco passed, he would have a chance to see her and to tell her everything that he wanted. He could still tell her that he loved his daughter. He could see Coco briefly before withdrawing again, giving Imelda the space that she clearly desired. Perhaps Coco would visit him occasionally. And maybe even Miguel someday if he passed the stories on. It would be enough. It would be more than enough for him.
He would be fine. He would accept it. If this was what Imelda wanted, if it would make her happy, then he would do the right thing.
He barely noticed that Imelda had come closer while he was wrapped up in his own thoughts. Héctor vaguely saw her shifting her weight back and forth, as if struggling with a decision. But he couldn't bring himself to raise his head enough to look properly. He couldn't bring himself to pay attention.
Not until she suddenly wrapped her arms around him, nearly knocking him off his feet at the unexpected impact as she hugged him tight. Héctor stiffened in surprise. He couldn't find any words. He could barely think.
All he could feel was her arms around his body, fingers digging desperately into the back of his vest and into the gaps between his ribs. He could feel her face buried into this shoulder. And he could feel her trembling slightly, as if the very act of holding him frightened his fearless wife.
"I want you," she whispered fiercely. "I miss you. I love you. Please don't go."
Taking a shaking breath and letting her words soak in, Héctor felt his body nearly surrender. He barely kept himself from collapsing completely at her unexpected reaction.
The words… They didn't make sense. Did they? She…
And yet she was hugging him, holding almost too tightly. As if he might slip between her fingers. And he didn't hear a lie in her voice.
His hands slowly edged their way up, feeling her spine through the soft fabric. Héctor returned the embrace, hugging her close as he leaned into the contact. He closed his eyes, treasuring her touch after being denied it for so long.
She said that she wanted him. She said that she loved him. She asked him to stay. She wanted him to stay.
Before, he felt like he was sinking and falling. But now Héctor felt light as a feather. He could probably float over the cempazúchitl petals of the bridge without effort. A new hope burned bright within him. Not a fragile and fleeting hope, but a solid and sturdy one built on reality. The flood of emotion washing over him felt intoxicating and wonderful.
"I'll stay." Héctor's hand rubbed up and down her back, memories stirring of how they once embraced in life. "I'll stay with you. Mi amor. Mi vida. Mi alma. I'll stay. I never wanted to leave you again. As long as you'll have me, I'll stay by your side."
Relief flowed into as Imelda listened to his words, soft and sweet like a gentle refrain. The tight pressure in her ribcage loosened, letting the pain and strain knotted up there ease to something more comfortable. It was hard enough to bring herself to make her confession. Making herself vulnerable was not something that she did. Not anymore and not for a long time. But she managed to gather her courage and finally tell Héctor what she wanted. To admit that she loved him still. To admit that she wanted him to stay.
And Héctor wanted to stay in return.
She took a shaking breath as his hand slowly moved to the edge of her shoulder blade. Despite her certainties of how things would unfold, that they'd hurt each other too much to repair the damage, he wanted to stay with her. He was holding her exactly as he did so long ago.
It didn't completely erase the ancient wounds left by decades of loss and fury, but they were healing.
"Then stay by my side until the Final Death claims us both," she said. "And no matter what arguments might arise, what mistakes we might make, or what our stubbornness and past pain might lead to, this will never change. This is your home, you are my husband, and I will never turn you away again."
She felt his head move, nuzzling her hair. Imelda felt the tension leaving his body, though his embrace never loosened. He seemed to be growing more relaxed than she could remember recently. Even more relaxed than when his other family visited.
And he was this relaxed with her.
"I thought you must have hated me," she admitted softly. "For doubting you for so long. For hurting you. For trying to have you forgotten by our family."
"Never." Héctor murmured the words into her hair, one hand moving up to cup the back of her head. "I was angry and hurt for a while, but I could never hate you." His hand slid along her bound hair and traced the paths of the ribbons woven in. "But do you truly think we have changed too much? That we can't go back to what we once were?"
She shook her head slightly, though not enough to dislodge his hand. As much as she wanted to remain in that moment, enjoying the touch of her husband and the memories of life it brought, she couldn't keep silent. Silence between them had only bred further heartache. From now on, they must be honest and speak to one another. They couldn't avoid things. No matter how difficult.
"I am no longer a young women and young mother, but a grandmother several times over and a business woman," she said evenly. "And no matter how young you died, time affected you just as strongly. It would be foolish to believe that we can recapture the past."
"But we could never change enough that I would stop loving you."
Smiling at his words and feeling the familiar flutter of hope in her ribcage, Imelda said, "Then if we cannot return to the past, perhaps we can find a way to create something new."
"I would like that," he said softly, the heavy whisper coming out as a sigh of relief. Héctor held her close, rocking her gently back and forth as they stood there. "I would like that very much."
Imelda loosened her grip enough to move her hands up his back towards his shoulders. She wouldn't claim that everything was fine. It would take time, effort, and a lot of uncomfortable conversations about topics that neither of them were eager to discuss. There would be more arguments and struggles to rediscover how to be husband and wife again. But part of her knew that they would work their way through those challenges. She didn't have to worry that he would walk away and he didn't have to worry about being cast out. That security would be enough to move forward.
Héctor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his thumb rubbing along the edge of her shoulder blade in a soothing pattern. The other hand kept toying with her bound hair. He hummed softly as his face leaned against her hair, apparently savoring the contact.
His ribs felt solid against her. He felt steady and firm in her embrace. When they brought Héctor home, he was still, silent, and his bones so fragile. Everything about him had seemed brittle. She'd been afraid that the slightest pressure would shatter him apart. But then memories knit him back together, leaving him strong and stable. And each breath reminded her of that progress. It reminded her that he was safe and with her once again.
Refusing to second guess herself, Imelda let her hand drift a little higher. Her fingers buried into his hair and earned a soft and happy hum in return. With the gentlest pressure, she coaxed his face down a little. She saw his eyes flutter open briefly, a confused look on his face. But only for a moment before Imelda pulled him into a kiss.
Héctor stiffened initially, his hands pulling away slightly from her. But then, as if realizing that it was happening and it was all right, he began to kiss her back. Gentle and timid at first, his confidence and enthusiasm quickly grew. Like a spark from an ember rekindling a warm flame. Imelda kept him close as she deepened the kiss, her fingers digging into his hair and dragging along his skull in a way that earned her a quiet moan of pleasure.
It wasn't the same as in life. The lack of flesh or tongue, the click of bone-against-bone, and other various details all made the experience foreign in comparison. And yet, even with all the differences, there was a familiarity to the act. Every bit of contact ignited a warmth in her bones.
She'd missed this. She'd missed him. More than she could had ever realized.
Héctor pulled her firmly, guiding Imelda without breaking off the kiss. She allowed it. Eventually he reached the edge of the bed, sitting down while pulling her across his lap. His left arm braced against her back, his phalanges curling near the top of her shoulder. Her fingers moved gently, going from cupping his face before combing through his hair and then back.
Eventually the kiss, the one that had been waiting for nearly a century, came to an end. Héctor pulled away about an inch, his eyes closed and breathing heavily. He leaned against her hand as it drifted back to his cheekbone.
"Lo siento," he whispered, his voice rougher and deeper than normal. "For everything. For leaving. For…" He swallowed out of habit rather than need. "If this is a dream—"
"It's real." Imelda pressed a short kiss to his mouth, soft and comforting. "This is happening, cariño."
This time, Héctor initiated the kiss. Another long, deep, and intense one. His fingers on his right hand plucked at her ribbons, tugging them loose with familiar ease. Ancient skills that spent decades dormant clearly remained. Her hair unfurled, tumbling down her shoulders as the ribbons fluttered to the smooth wood floor and his mouth pressed eagerly against hers. Firm, warm, and tender, every movement from him left her desiring more.
The last time that she kissed Héctor, the last time that a man kissed her, was the night before he left. Even then, it was short and overshadowed by anger. She'd been upset that he was leaving and even his charms weren't enough to completely improve her mood, Imelda too upset that he and Ernesto were going to be gone for so long. Their last night together involved soft kisses as Héctor tried to coax one final smile before he left the next morning.
This was different, though the warmth it stirred in her brought back memories of life, of being young and in love with her musician husband. This was passion, longing, relief, and love tangled together and intensified by several decades apart.
Sitting across his lap, Imelda and Héctor switched between deep and intense kisses that took her breath away and soft ones that brushed lightly across bone. One hand rested on his shoulder while her fingers combed through his hair, scraping along where his scalp would have been. Similarly, his fingers tangled gently in her loose hair.
Everything felt good. It felt right. She couldn't even begin to describe how much she'd missed him.
"Te amo."
Imelda wasn't certain if she whispered those words or if Héctor was the one making the quiet declaration of love. But it was soon echoed. The long-estranged pair remained like that, nearly tangled together as they made up for lost time.
Rosita kept her steps quiet as she left her room. She even avoided the creaky stairs. But when she started to pass by the closed door, she paused.
After last night, her romantic hopes for Mamá Imelda were severely damaged. Not completely broken, but certainly cracked. Rosita knew that the two of them belonged together. Separated by death and misunderstandings, reunited by chance and destiny, Mamá Imelda and Héctor now had the chance to rekindle their relationship. Half of Rosita's favorite romance stories didn't have plots as beautiful and tragic.
But they couldn't have their happily ever after if Héctor left. Rosita knew that with a little more time, the pair would see how much they still loved each other.
Rosita reached for the door. If he hadn't left yet, perhaps she could persuade Héctor to remain. She could convince Héctor to stay and work things out with his wife. She couldn't give up on them.
And if she couldn't talk sense into them, Rosita would lock the pair of them in a closet together, no matter what the rest of the family said.
But when she slowly opened the door, hoping that Héctor would still be inside rather than already gone, Rosita was greeted by an unexpected sight. And she was forced to clasp both hands over her mouth to keep from squealing in excitement.
The bed remained occupied, a quilt draped across weary bones. Two skeletons slept there, still wearing the clothes from the night before. Imelda's hair lay loose around her face as she remained curled on her side, the woman having claimed the side of the bed closest to the door. Behind her with an arm draped over her and holding her against his chest, Héctor slept with her. Mamá Imelda's hand covered his. Even in sleep, even with his taller frame curled around hers, the pair held onto each other. As if they didn't want to separate even as the dreamt of one another.
So romantic.
Rosita quietly eased the door back closed, not wanting to disturb them. She struggled with the grin on her face, trying to smother it enough that the rest of the family wouldn't guess what she'd seen. Then she hurried down the stairs to the ground floor.
She was surprised that everyone else was already down there. Oscar and Felipe were holding a pair of nearly-completed shoes, the ones that Mamá Imelda had been working on so carefully. And after a little studying, Rosita realized that the family shared identical knowing looks on their faces.
Apparently she wasn't the only one who decided to quietly investigate things that morning.
"So I guess that you know?" asked Rosita.
Nodding, Julio said, "Sí. We know. Mamá Imelda and Héctor… They…" He ducked his head, looking a little flustered. "We know."
"Finally," said Victoria, crossing her arms as she rolled her eyes.
"Fortissimo" is an indication on dynamics or "the volume that the music is to be performed." Specifically, it means that the music is meant to be played very loudly. It is generally indicated by "ff" on the sheet music. It is ideal for dramatic and impactful sections. And since this is the chapter the entire story has been building towards, it was the best place to use it.
Only one chapter left for this story. It has been a long and wonderful experience writing this. I'm glad that so many people seemed to enjoy this and continued to read and comment over the months that I've been working on it. Hopefully you'll be satisfied with the ending I have in mind. Thanks for all the support.