Despite her best efforts to erase her husband from her life, He kept popping up in one inescapable way. She and Hector had a child together, and from there her family grew. Hector's genetics flowed through her family tree just as much as hers did. She loved her family, both those she met in life and those she visited after death. But every so often, she'd notice one trait, one quirk, one distinct quality, would crop up in her family members which was undeniably Hector.

She saw him everywhere. He was in Coco's irrepressible love of music (despite the ban), in Victoria's perpetually thin build, and even Elena (who was most like Imelda personality-wise) had Hector's overly-affectionate ways. Part of her was glad Coco only had girls. It lessoned the risk of facing his spitting image in her own grandchildren.

When she visited the later generations every Dia de los Muertos, he continued to show up. Berto had his love of horrible puns (and wore the same cheeky grin when someone groaned in response). Gloria had his rebellious streak and ability to easily knock back a shot. Enrique looked like a mix of Franco and Hector (the ears-to-nose ratio was Hector's for sure) and displayed the same gentle care towards his family that Hector did once upon a time. Abel had his clumsiness and Rosa had his sharp wit. But the most egregious offender of all was her great great grandson, Miguel.

The boy didn't look much like him in the face. In fact, Imelda thought he most resembled his mother, Louisa. It was his manner, his very way of being. The others all had a trait or two here or there. Miguel was the complete package. Imelda didn't know Hector as a child, but she heard plenty of tales, enough to know he was a trouble maker. It seemed the same for Miguel. The dead side of the family often tried to guess what trouble the poor boy got himself into that year. More than once, Imelda visited the ofrenda to find Elena sighing about what to do with that boy.

At age 6, he ate the sugar skull meant for Rosita and spent a good hour pouting on a bench in the corner. (He was only supposed to be in time out for a few minutes and write an apology letter to Rosita, but he decided to be dramatic instead. Rosita appreciated the letter, though, especially the skull he drew as a replacement.) At age 8, he fed a few table scraps to a street dog on their way to the graveyard. The dog then followed them and ate up half their offerings. At age 10, he placed a candle too close to a sting of papel picado and it caught on fire. It was a complete accident and Enrique managed to put out the fire quickly, but Miguel still spent half the evening hiding in his room out of guilt. More than once, Imelda visited the ofrenda to find Elena sighing about what to do with that boy.

He really was a good kid despite his troublemaking. He never meant anything maliciously and was so sweet once he decided to give up the dramatics. In fact, Imelda saw plenty of evidence of his big heart, especially with how he treated his Mama Coco. He was friendly, lively, and clever. He just didn't always think things through. (Sort of like some other person she knew).

That night he wound up in the Land of the Dead, when she had the rare opportunity to interact with her living relative, she couldn't help but see all of the nuances that just screamed Hector. His sheepish grin, the way he grabbed his arm when nervous, the dimple that winked at her with every changing expression, all belonged to Hector. And then, of course, there was the music. Oh the music! One might think she threatened to take away his air supply the way he reacted. So dramatic, so rebellious, it was like she was raising Coco all over again.

He managed to cut her deep, though, just like Coco once did. When he accused her of ruining his life, she let it roll off her back. He was at that age. Just adolescent dramatics. Everything was a matter of life and death. Never mind that getting him home really was a matter of life and death. He really thought music was the only thing to live for and losing it felt like the end of the world. He was just being a silly kid, she thought. She was sure he'd see it her way once he got older. But first, she had to make sure he had the chance to get older. Desperate to earn his trust, she sang. She sang for the first time in years, for the first time in decades. She was right. He stopped and listened. He listened to her story and her reasons. He'd understand now, surely.

But no, just like Coco he had his own ideas. He said he didn't want to pick sides. He said he wanted her support, and he let a tear fall because he thought he'd never get it. It sent a sharp pain through her chest. He believed it. He truly believed she wouldn't support him and, in a way, he was right. He had no reason to believe she would. His entire life, to that point, was built around their family's ban on music, a ban that lasted nearly a century. He thought she would let him die over something as silly as music. He thought she didn't love him enough to see past that. He was wrong, of course. If it came down to the wire, she'd send him back conditions or no conditions. What hurt so much, however, was that he had no reason to believe she would. He did, however, have every reason to believe his own great-great grandmother would let him die. She said it herself. "You go home my way, or no way."

Regret and fear settled in the pit of her would-be stomach as she continued her search. As she flew through the air on Pepita's back, she berated herself in her mind over and over again. How could she put conditions on her blessing? How could she imply that the music ban was more important than his life? Of course he'd run from her. What kind of mother denies her children their lives? For what? To stop him from playing music? It was just a phase, for all she knew. Coco went through similar phases at his age and she turned out just fine. She just didn't want him to make the same mistakes her husband made.

Eventually, Pepita spotted the little Xolo dog who followed Miguel around. It's barking led them to a cenote where they finally found him. Miguel laughed when Pepita roared and he smiled when their eyes finally met. She wanted an explanation as to how he got down there, but there'd be time for that later. He was still flesh, they still had time, and he was apparently done running away.

But then her eyes found him. Hector, her useless husband. She should have figured Miguel would find his way to that musician. Oh, it was all coming together now. She didn't know how or why, but whatever the reason they wound up in that sinkhole, Hector had something to do with it. She growled as she said his name. He grinned his sheepish grin, nervously grabbed his arm, and threw out a compliment, as if that would soften her. He couldn't melt her heart now, not when his carelessness nearly got their great-great grandson killed.

Reluctantly, she let him ride Pepita out of the cenote. She couldn't very well get an explanation out of him if she didn't. Besides, she couldn't just leave him down there. She wasn't heartless. When they landed, that idiot tried to help her down. As if she needed help dismounting her own alebrije. As if she ever needed his help for anything. She proved she didn't long ago. With a scoff, she made point of dismounting from the other side.

"M'ijo, I was so worried," she cried as Miguel launched himself into her arms. This was right. Her family was together again. Miguel was no longer afraid of her. Somewhere along the way, he learned to see reason. It was a near miracle too, considering his company.

She stepped forward, ready to unleash every harsh word she had for Hector. She almost lost her great-great grandson tonight and she wasn't sure how, but she knew Hector had to be at fault for something. But then, Miguel cut in. He defended Hector and claimed everything was his own fault. He even claimed Hector told him nothing was more important than family. She couldn't believe that. How could he claim to value family after abandoning his own? She was about to argue this point, but Miguel interrupted her again.

"He wanted to go back to you and Coco, but Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him."

Imelda stopped as, suddenly, everything clicked into place. The last 96 years finally made sense. Why the letters stopped so abruptly, why Ernesto had the guitar, why no one, not friends, not family, ever heard anything from Hector again. Why he still looked so painfully young… Ernesto claimed there were other girls, but that had to be a lie. She could see that now. Ernesto lied to cover up his crimes. No, it was more than that. He lied to keep Imelda from asking questions. And it worked. Her fury rose. She'd been made a fool of the whole time and she didn't even know it.

But…but no. This didn't change anything. Hector left, even if he did try to come back. He let her for…how long was it? The letters stopped at nine or ten months. That must have been when he was… "So what if it's true?" she shouted. "You leave me alone with a child to raise and I am just supposed to forgive you?"

Before he can answer, his body shimmered gold and he collapsed. Instinctively, she knew what it was. She'd never seen the final death before, but now it hung like a shadow over her husband. His words confirmed it. He explained it was Coco and Imelda knew right away what he meant. Coco never let her father's memory go. Now she's the last thing keeping him tethered to this world. He would have faded long ago if Imelda had her way. The guilt washed over her again. "I wanted to forget you," she began. Somehow, without a throat, she felt it tighten. "I wanted Coco to forget you too, but-"

"This is my fault, not yours." His eyes were gentle and sincere, just like they were the last time she saw him alive. "I'm sorry."

Something strange happened in her, then; like a weight suddenly lifted. This, she realized, this sincere apology, was all she ever wanted. Every time in the past, he tried to woo her like he did when they were young and she took it as a cheap gimmick to win her back. She turned him away before he could get too close. What might have happened, she wondered, if he came to her without his usual theatrics, if she let him get explain himself, if they just sat down and talked about what happened…

No, it was too late for what-ifs. She made her choice long ago to go on without him. If he didn't want her, she didn't want him. But that wasn't really the case, was it. He loved her, and he loved Coco. He loved them though decades of loneliness. He loved them despite being denied the chance to see them. He still loved them and never stopped. He deserves to see her, she admitted to herself. He deserves to see her at least one last time. And yet, she couldn't let it go. She built her life on her independence, on her need to be the sole pillar of support for her family. She built it all on the belief that she never needed him, that his abandonment couldn't bring her down. She vowed long ago never to forgive him, and she still couldn't break her vow.

"I can't forgive you," she said. His face crumbled, Miguel crumbled. Even her family behind her seemed disappointed. It was true. She wasn't ready for forgiveness yet, but she was ready for something else. "But I will help you."

[-]

The plan started off smoothly enough. They managed to sneak back stage undetected and everyone seemed clear on the plan. After confirming everyone had a petal, they started off. Although, they barely made it around a corner before she nearly ran into Ernesto. The rest of her family stopped and hid in a corridor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hector put a protective arm out in front of Miguel. At least, with this, they were on the same page. Miguel needed his protection far more than she did.

She looked up at Ernesto with his artificial smiled and arrogant swagger. How dare he flash that grin at her? He tried to kill her great-great grandson tonight. He had no right to the ease he carried himself with. Was he just as calm and collected on the night he murdered her husband? Did he smile then?

All her fury and bitterness over the years finally had a clear target, the correct target. He was the reason her husband never came home. He was the reason Coco grew up without her beloved father. He was the reason for the anger that stuck with her for nearly a century. The image of Coco crying herself to sleep on her fifth birthday came to her in a flash. Her boot found her hand just as fast. She'd smack that grin off his face.

His head spun multiple times. "That's for murdering the love of my life!" She declared, brandishing her boot.

He looked dumbfounded and stammered stupidly. He really had the nerve to not know what she was talking about. You know what you did you coward.

Hector jumped to her side. "She's talking about me." He gave Ernesto a glare then turned his melting eyes onto her. "I'm the love of your life?"

"I don't know, I'm still angry at you."

"Hector?" Ernesto growled. "How did you-"

Oh how cute. He thought he could intimidate them. Imelda smacked him again. "And that's for trying to murder my grandson!"

"Grandson?"

"She's talking about me," Miguel said, stepping out of the shadows.

"You? Wait, you're related to Hector?"

So the big superstar was finally putting it all together. They didn't pause for explanations. Miguel pointed out the photo in Ernesto's pocket. The rest of her family came out to stand with them. Together, they loomed over Ernesto.

He ran. The coward.

[-]

It was done. Miguel was back where he belonged. In some ways, they accomplished much more than they meant to. They sent Miguel back to the Land of the Living. That was most important. But they also managed to reveal Ernesto as a murderer and a fraud to the whole Land of the Dead, or at least they had more than enough witnesses to spread the word. News like this would spread like wildfire. Ernesto's days of profiting off of her family's pain were over.

But they still failed at one very important task. Hector would fade. That much was inevitable, despite Miguel's assurances that he'd make Coco remember. At no point was saving Hector truly part of the plan. All they could do, all they tried to do, was let him finally go home to his little girl. But they couldn't even give him that.

He shivered violently as the gold shimmers enveloped him. He was hanging on. For whatever reason, he still clung to this world. There was no hope. Why did he hang on? Why didn't he let himself pass peacefully? Why didn't her stupid husband just go easy on himself for once?

She'd hold him, though. She'd hold him till the end. At the very least, she could give him that. When he shimmered, he felt like barely more than nothing in her hands. Her family gathered round. Julio took of his hat respectfully. They all knelt around him with mournful looks on their faces. She couldn't help but notice how similar it all looked to her own death. But one very important person was missing.

Just like her own death, there was so much to say, but not enough words. She wasn't sure what she could say. That she missed him? That she wished they had more time? That she wished she didn't waste what they got? That she loved him, even after everything? Would he even be able to hear her? Words didn't work so, like her own daughter did for her, she hummed softly. She hummed the same melody that Coco hummed to her.

The sun rose around them. It looked cheerful and it angered her. Unfair is what it was; unfair that the his last sunrise was beautiful when he couldn't open his eyes to see it, unfair that he loved his daughter so much but never got to watch her grow up, unfair that she was about to lose him again just when she got him back. Life wasn't fair. She knew that. She told Coco and her granddaughters that countless times. But they weren't alive.

After several agonizing minutes, the shimmering stopped. Her eyes were closed, but she still felt weight in her hands. Still, she didn't let herself hope. There was no sense in hoping against the inevitable. She felt two hands fall on her shoulders and her brothers said, "Imelda, look."

She opened her eyes to see Hector, still whole, slightly even more solid in her arms. He slowly opened his eyes. "Imelda?"

"Hector?" She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to be wrong. "What happened to you?"

"I'm not sure," he answered. His eyelids looked heavy and his voice sounded raspier than usual, but wasn't fading. "I feel…better?" He sounded like he couldn't believe it himself. But, from the look of it, he was right. On closer inspection, his bones weren't so brittle and didn't look quite as yellow as they did just moments before. "I think…our boy did it."

His eyes closed again and went limp. She waited for him to start shimmering again, but he never did. He was simply passed out, drained of energy. A brush with the final death would do that to you. But he was whole, he could recover, and he was still here. He is still here.