Chapter 3

Pepa witnessed it.

The inescapable chiding that took place every time something went wrong and her mother accused Mirabel for it with no apparent foundation.

She sighted her oldest sobrina departing with Alma, looking utterly desolated, while her youngest sobrina remained immovable for a whole minute in her spot, holding out against her obvious frustration and gloominess. She couldn't perceive if Mirabel was indignant about the treatment she had received, for the girl had never talked back or tried to defend herself in any way in front of her mother's unshakeable bearing, only responding that she would do better in the future, or at least try to.

But if Mirabel normally accepted being rebuked without complaining, the case seemingly wasn't the same when her oldest sister had partaken in whatever fun activity they had done. Mirabel had supported Isabela, and although they were both at stake of getting sick, they had appeared to be truly happy after arriving home.

Pepa had been on the first floor when they had done so. She'd wanted to be the first one to greet them (and scold them for being reckless, if she was sincere), but Alma had been quicker, so she'd stayed on the side and had watched the whole encounter. She was wise enough not to intervene when her strict mamá was upset, only if it was something urgent.

After the rather short quarrel was over, she barely noticed the gray cloud that had emerged above her head releasing gentle droplets. She withdrew so that her rain wouldn't be noticed by Alma and to avoid the risk of unintentionally making it stronger.

Her magical room was unusually quiet for that time of day, her husband being somewhere else in the house while her kids were in their own rooms.

She started arranging whatever came in her hands out of nervousness, even when things looked neat, her room perfectly in order, a quirk she had discovered that she had picked up from her mamá. She heaved a heartfelt sigh, slow enough to attempt calming herself down.

Clear skies. Clear skies. Clear-

But the mantra lost its effectiveness once a rupturing sound diverted her attention towards the door, where cracks were spiralling from the bottom of the door to its top in an unhurried yet steady manner.

Pepa jolted backwards in horror. Her lightning shooting with each shaky breath and thunder rumbling over her head, she worked up the courage to approach the door. She knelt down to get a better look at the cracks while they were still advancing to the ceiling. She immediately retreated, horrified.

"No, no, no, this isn't happening." she mumbled, turning her back to the nasty sight. She ran her fingers over her braid as she felt her anxiety rise to a dangerous degree.

The last thing she wanted was to worsen the already angry storm outside. It was enough to infuriate her that the citizens of Encanto blamed her for it (along with Alma, of course), but really, it hadn't been caused by her. Not this time.

She sat on her and Félix's queen-sized bed; mantras and deep breaths were all in vain at this point. She heard louder thunder, felt her own powerful wind whip her face and bright lights blinded her closed eyes as rain pinched her skin.

She couldn't breathe...

Her palms were clammy...

Her heart was hammering to break her rib cage...

She felt sick to her stomach...

Her knees buckled when she got up, managing to support her weight only for a couple of wobbling steps before she plunged to the floor with an inaudible echo.


The door was banged to the wall.

Someone rushed to her side, but Pepa was unable to make out who.

Hands pulled her to her feet and got her to the bed. Their touch was gentle.

Her cropped up hurricane was finally losing its intensity thanks to whoever had come to her aid.

The person was saying something, but all Pepa could hear were twisted words. She pushed herself out of her stupor, forcing her eyes to focus ahead; they went wide. "Mirabel?"

"It's okay, Tía, I'm here, I'll help you." Mirabel said, her kind smile being more reassuring to Pepa than any relaxing breeze or ray of sunshine she could easily create with the right emotions.

Her niece hugged her tightly. Her outfit was still moist, proof she hadn't had time to change, but Pepa didn't mind; she herself was wet anyway. She sighed and returned the embrace, grateful for the affection she knew how badly she was in need of.

Something pulled at her sensitive heart. When was the last time they hugged?

The tornado gradually dissipated and the rain ceased pouring; things were scattered all over the place now. Pepa's breathing rhythm was slowly becoming even again, her fears diminishing thanks to the warmth and comfort Mirabel was providing.

"Stay here, I'll be right back!" the girl announced.

She dashed out the door and was back in half a minute with a tray of Julieta's mouth-watering cocadas, setting it onto her aunt's lap. Pepa's eyes glinted, a beautiful rainbow crossing the room. Mirabel watched her eat a cocada with a relieved twinkle on her features as she sat next to her. She then took her hand.

"Tía, can you tell me what happened? Maybe I can help."

Pepa wavered, glancing at the door, which didn't have a single crack on it, as if nothing had happened. If the cracks were gone, the wood looking as good as new, then she had possibly imagined the whole terrible thing. Besides, she didn't want to worry Mirabel with something she wasn't sure had even been real. Or worse, she might tell it to the rest of the family, to her mother. She didn't want to imagine that scenario playing out. The last thing she wished was to concern everyone.

"It's nothing, querida, really, I just… I just overreacted, that's all." she shooed the tiny cloud that was forming at the thought of the appalling memory.

But Mirabel didn't let it go that smoothly. "Tía Pepa, por favor, if you tell me, I think I might be able to help y-"

"Mirabel!" Pepa suddenly shot daggers at her. "I said no, and I won't change my mind!"

The girl coiled back at the roar of thunder and bright bolts of lightning shooting from above her aunt's head, ultimately resolving to distance herself a few feet. Pepa faltered, her expression swapping with a worried one when seeing her sobrina back away from her in trepidation. She set the tray of sweets aside and cautiously approached her, making efforts so that the menacing cloud would disappear.

"Mirabel, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, you know I would never hurt you, right? It's just that… mi Toñito's birthday is coming up and I'm a bit stressed right now." she genuinely confessed.

It pained her to see Mirabel frightened of her. Had the girl acted that way in her presence before too and she'd failed to notice? The very thought of it alarmed Pepa, and she had to fight harder against the breeze that could become another tornado in a matter of seconds.

The fact that it took Mirabel longer to respond than she had expected disquieted her. But before she could add anything else, the teenager said: "No, Tía, I would never be afraid of you."

It was half a lie, which Mirabel felt guilty for. She was a bit surprised when she received a firm embrace, rain greeting them once again. Unknowingly, she too wondered when their last hug had taken place. She rested her head on Pepa's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for pushing you, Tía. I won't do it again, I promise."

"It's alright, mija, stop worrying about it, please."

They pulled away when the door creaked open, and Isabela along with Félix stepped in, briskly nearing the two.

"Mi vida, are you okay?"

"¿Tía, todo bien aquí?"

Félix held her close and Pepa leaned into him for support. The sisters exchanged worried looks.

"What happened, Hermanita?" Isabela beckoned in Mirabel's ear.

"I don't know exactly, Isa, but I'll tell you more once we leave." she answered, incredulous and shocked at the same time to a moderate degree that Isabela didn't blame her for their aunt's weather outburst.

"¡Corazón, estoy bien, cálmate!" Pepa assured an edgy Félix. "It was nothing, I just overreacted."

Isabela hugged her aunt as well before taking Mirabel's hand and leading her out of the bedroom. "We should give them some privacy." Her sister agreed.


"So what was that about?" Isabela questioned, concern evident in her voice, when they weren't around Pepa's room anymore.

Mirabel looked in all directions before replying in a hushed tone. "I don't know, Hermana, she refused to talk to me, even when I insisted, but I think she's had a panic attack. A strong one."

Isabela's eyes widened. "It's been a while since she's had one of those."

"Yeah, I found her on the floor, a storm ruling in her bedroom. She looked… helpless and… petrified."

Agitation was prominent on Mirabel's features and her voice had become so quiet that Isabela had to tilt her head closer to hear her. Her words hurt. If what her little sister was saying was true, then Pepa needed the familia's support. And judging by the younger Madrigal's look, she believed the same thing.

"Let's ask Dolores, maybe she heard something." she suggested and Mirabel nodded.

"I haven't heard much, primas." Dolores appeared from behind a wall, startling both of them. Her face was scrunched up in consternation. "I was in my room and Camilo was belting out a song in his room, so I only managed to hear something after you found her, Mirabel."

The two sisters exhaled, taking in her words. The atmosphere suddenly became dreary.

"I guess we'll never know, will we?" Mirabel stated the not-so-encouraging truth.


Pepa kept a watchful eye out for any more cracks over the next day and searched the entire Casa Madrigal. She was super relieved when she found none; she must have imagined it. Consequently, the weather was perfect for working in the town those following days.

What she couldn't quite understand was why her daughter and two of her sobrinas were constantly heeding her every move, as if something unpleasant was bound to happen at any moment, a misplaced step or a slip down the street.

She knew it was related to the cracking incident - wait, no! She should stop calling it that, she should only think of it as an incident. Or better, she shouldn't think about it at all. Spare herself the exertion of shooing away her cloud every time it graced her with its marvellous surfacing.

Tía, are you okay?

Mamí, can I help you with anything?

Do you need to rest, Tía?

It wasn't that she didn't want to get asked about how she felt. She actually adored being cared for, it always warmed her heart and made her cry joyous tears. But there had been a few times when she had felt almost ridiculous, like she was some kid who couldn't take proper care of herself. She was fifty, for crying out loud!

But although she did tell the girls to cease worrying about her, as it didn't do good to their health, she never actually drove them away. Why would she do that? She loved having her family as close as possible to her, especially now that Antonio's ceremony was nearing and her nerves were getting the best of her every so often.

But when Pepa was in her bed one night, her husband sleeping soundly next to her, she was restless, distressed by unsettling reflections. She thought about waking Félix up to receive his comfort, but she didn't want to be selfish. A wife and a mother ought never to prioritize herself but her family. Alma's words of wisdom rang in her mind.

Pepa pondered if she was doing that, turning on her other side, the light rain touching the windows helping her not to hear Félix's snoring so much.

Dolores, Isabela and Mirabel had been extremely attentive with her during the past days. Bringing her a cup of coffee, offering her a chair to sit down when she'd been tired, hugging her if the smallest cloud happened to greet her. Pepa wasn't used to so much kindness being directed at her. Even though she had thoroughly enjoyed it, thoughts about her dear girls were starting to plague her at the moment. Not positive ones.

Dolores, her first-born, her only daughter, over-stimulated by so many things her gift had been letting her in on, hearing things she should never have heard from the tender age of five. Pepa had thanked her lucky stars multiple times throughout her life for her beloved daughter's soundproof room (even if that still didn't completely block sounds from the outside).

Isabela, caring Isabela, was there to give her her favourite flowers without fail, not only when she wasn't in the best of moods, but also because she could just do it.

There were times when she came to Pepa when Julieta was not around. And Pepa was more than glad to be the one whose shoulder Isabela cried on, despite it shattering her heart. Her niece didn't tell her much about her problems, but she made a guess it had to do with her unyielding mother. She did her utmost to mollify Isabela whenever the latter showed up at her door with glistening eyes and smudged make-up.

And Mirabel. Sweet, brave, patient, always helpful Mirabel. How could she have forgotten her baby sobrina's kindness?

The girl obviously wasn't able to help as much as Pepa knew she desperately wished, but the fact that she so consistently and vehemently and tirelessly did her absolute best to meet expectations and readily offer a hand to anybody she believed to be in trouble was what made tears roll down Pepa's face that night.

She hadn't been the best tía to Mirabel, she shamefully admitted to herself, a fact that began eating her on the inside.

The rain was transforming into a storm, but, for the first time in years, she merely didn't care about it. The crops were definitely going to grow healthily this year.

Pepa sighed and turned on her back. Dolores, Isabela, Mirabel, Camilo, Antonio, Luisa, they were so young, they needed to live their lives. They were all children to her.

She must fulfill her parental role towards them.


Laying down on her vine-lifted bed, Isabela was uptight. She plucked a pink rose from one of the vines and let each petal glide down to the floor in a graceful dance.

She held the framed photograph she had recently set under her pillow. Nine-year-old Mirabel's tooth-gapped smile made her chuckle. Mirabel had always stuck her tongue in the holes where new teeth had had to grow, a gesture that had never failed to make Camilo cackle in the most ill-timed of moments, which had sometimes earned them stern looks from Abuela.

Fifteen-year-old Isabela was smirking at the camera behind her little sister, her pointer and middle finger giving Mirabel horns. Isabela tittered fondly. The camera had not snapped the second Mirabel had stuck her tongue out at her, but the good-natured joke was still vivid in Isabela's mind. A treasured memory…

Until the previous day, when she and Mirabel had had that exciting little escapade, she had not realized how much she missed her sister's company, how much she missed fooling around with her and them having deep, intimate conversations together, just the way they'd used to do.

She brought the photo up, hugging the precious bit of the past to her chest. She had to apologize urgently, to ask for Mirabel's forgiveness, they had to make up! Isabela couldn't live like this anymore. All that ill-judged behaviour, all those obnoxious remarks she had made about her precious baby sister, the fact that she had forgotten how to be an older sister would be wounding her for years to come, but at least she had a chance to redeem herself…

It felt as if the world was staggering above her, tipping on the edge of her heartbreak… Sleep eventually engulfed her after midnight.

She slipped into dreamless repose.


A/N: Thanks for reading!