DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

Manolo had only agreed to leave his wife's side and get some fresh air once he was certain that an eye would still be kept on her. Dora Luz assured him that she would keep watch, just in case anything happened - she was better prepared for Maria's turning worse, anyway.

The girl waking up was another matter altogether.

She was looking out the window when she heard Maria stir and mutter under her breath, and for a moment, she considered fleeing while she still could. "Oh no you don't," she muttered, glancing down at the object in her hand. No more running.

Taking a breath, she turned around. "Mija?"

Maria lay on her back, blinking slowly. Her gaze drifted back and forth, and her mouth moved as though she wanted to form words but couldn't. She tried to push herself up and move her leg, then gasped in pain and slumped back down.

"Don't move," Dora Luz said, hurrying to the bedside and propping her up with pillows. "It's broken."

"What happened…?"

"You've scared me and that poor boy half to death, that's what happened." She shook her head as angry fear overtook her. "You foolish girl. Running off alone, not telling anyone? What made you think that would end well?"

"Oh, so it's my fault."

"Yes! Some of it!"

Her energy seemed to drain away suddenly, and she quietly sat down on the bed while staring down at her hands. "I suppose that makes us even now."

In the dim light, Maria thought, she looked as though the wear of ten years had done their work in an instant. "…What are you doing here?"

"I sent Manolo outside for a spell. Promised I'd watch you." She paused for a moment, biting her lip. "…It's about time I did."

Maria began to answer, but Dora Luz spoke up before she did. "Have I ever told you where this came from?" she asked as she held up the still-broken young woman looked at it with a hint of apprehension. "Papa said you left it for me."
"My abuela said her great-grandmother had it made for her wedding. It's been passed to each daughter. Tradition. I always hated traditions." She frowned at the memories. "I was going to take it with me and pretend I hadn't left a trace."

"So why didn't you?" Maria's voice was firm, but not quivering with rage as it had been the night before.

"I put it on, and…it felt so heavy all of a sudden. Too heavy to wear. First I thought I could sell it, or just throw it in the lake. I didn't know what made me give it to your father with a note to save it for you. Not back then." Her hands began to shake as she looked up and held the necklace out towards her daughter. "You wore it better than me. You always have."

Maria's stony expression briefly seemed to waver as she quickly looked down, her curls covering her face.

"Do you remember when we met on the train?"

"…I didn't know what to say."

"Neither did I," the older woman continued. "But it was the happiest I'd been in years." She sighed, and a slight, tearful shudder came with it. "You were just as I'd been years before. And where had I been during all of it? Trudging around the continent finding trinkets to fill up all the empty space in this house."

The lack of reaction from the other woman was agonizing now, enough to drive her mad.

"I read all your letters," Dora Luz said, desperate to fend off the silence. "I kept them all. I even came to your first fencing tournament. I was so proud of you, mija. I've always been proud of you." She reached for Maria's hand and squeezed it. The girl didn't react. "…Your father told me all about what happened with the bandits, you know. You did more with your life in one day than I did in years."

"But you've - "

"Traveled? It's hardly traveling if you spend all your time running away. I never helped anyone. I never found someone who loved me like that boy loves you." She was fighting back tears now. "But you…you never gave up. And look at you now." Placing the necklace on the bed, she let her hand slip out of her daughter's. "I do want you, Maria. I have every day for the last ten years. And I'm sorry I didn't realize that in time. I'm so sorry…"

"…What do you mean, 'in time'?"

"You don't want me. You don't even need me."

A shaking hand slowly reached out and grasped hers. "I do now." Maria's eyes were glistening as she pushed herself forward. "I mean it."

Dora Luz braced herself and glanced up. "Do you…think we could try again?"

Maria quickly leaned forward and hugged her mother, resting her head against her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you're safe."

"…I love you, Mama…"

Footsteps hurried down the hallway, and Manolo opened the door. "How is - "

He froze at the sight of Maria. She smiled and held out her arms, and he gratefully stumbled into them.

Dora Luz chuckled. "Doing very well, I'd say."

They stayed a week longer than they had planned due to Maria's leg. She was quick to ignore the rule about staying in bed and began to wander around the house as soon as she was able. Dora Luz propped her up and helped her around during the day, pointing out the favorite pieces of her collection and the little stories which went with them.

She spoke more of her travels in the evening, when Maria and Manolo joined her in the parlor after dinner. She showed them photographs of city skylines and distant ruins, talked for hours of who she had rubbed shoulders with, what Maria would have liked, where she hadn't been yet. Perhaps they could go together, she said. Maria and Manolo told her about San Angel, how their families and friends were doing, as much of the circumstances surrounding their marriage as they thought she would believe. For a few days, the large dark house seemed to become much smaller and brighter.

The day of Manolo and Maria's departure came all too soon. Dora Luz drove them back into the city and escorted them to the docks, holding Maria's hand all the way. The fading circles around her eyes were already beginning to return.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Maria asked her mother. She fingered her now-repaired necklace as she spoke.

"I've made it this far by myself, haven't I?" She turned to Manolo. "See to it that she minds her steps, dear."

"Sí, señora."

"And remember to write!"

"We promise." Maria began to follow Manolo towards the boat, then paused and embraced Dora Luz. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

She paused, then smiled. "…You're welcome."

"Come and see us sometime."

Grabbing their bags, Maria and Manolo hurried up the gangway. Dora Luz watched them disappear, then waited until the steamship was sailing away from the dock. Her smile faded, and she sighed as she turned to walk back to her car.

Come and see us sometime. She had enjoyed San Angel quite a bit, even if she couldn't say the same for the reason she was there. Living on the old estate had become quite dreary - far more room than she actually needed. And with the way things in Europe were looking, it might even be wise to go abroad. At least for a few months. Maybe even longer.

Jeronimo's going to throw such a fit. It'll be lovely.