Chapter 9
Isabela couldn't lose hope. She couldn't. She hadn't lost it in her darkest of moments, and she needed it now more than ever before.
On her mother's trail, she headed towards the centre of their former house, where a small figure sat, defeated and desolate.
"Mirabel? Are you hurt?" Julieta cupped her daughter's face.
Mirabel only shook her head, words unable to surface. She didn't return her sister's prolonged hug. As Julieta was called elsewhere to help, Isabela kneeled next to her, a steady hand on her shoulder.
"Mira, none of this is your fault. You never did anything wrong."
The teenager kept silent, her eyes out of focus and distant. She got up, dusted herself off.
"Isa, I need to be alone."
Isabela understood; even though it was clear that her sister needed comfort, she also needed to clear her mind, so she let her trudge away before beginning to help with unearthing whatever things could still be saved from the crash.
Only after roughly twenty minutes did she realise her fatal mistake, when Julieta called Mirabel's name multiple times and received no answer but the whistling wind.
Panic was quickly aroused amongst the Madrigals, who started searching for the girl immediately, forgetting all about the crumpled house and venturing through the broken streets of Encanto, into the fields and forests, asking everybody if they'd seen Mirabel.
But every response only deepened their fear.
Two weeks had passed since Mirabel's disappearance. Two weeks of fruitless exploration. Two weeks of nightmare.
The Guzmáns had been kind enough to allow the Madrigals to stay in their rather spacious house until Casita would be fully rebuilt. Although it was very nice on the villagers' part that they were helping with reconstruction needs, nothing could fill the hole which expanded day by day in every Madrigal's heart.
Julieta was mostly refusing to eat, in spite of still preparing as much food as she could. No day passed by without her crying, just like no day was complete without Agustín doing his utmost to reassure her that Mirabel was okay, wherever she'd gone. His usual carefree smile had been replaced by an unreadable expression, and sometimes, he wept silently at midnight, when he was sure his wife couldn't hear. Both of them should have done more to assure their daughter that she was loved and wanted.
Luisa was spending entire days searching for her little sister, ignoring the family begging her to take a proper break. She didn't need those anymore. It had been wrong to want them in the first place. That had led to the whole disaster.
Isabela had never felt guiltier, not even during the times after mocking her sister for years had caught up to her conscience, which was now enduring the burden of leaving Mirabel on her own and having wasted precious years she could have spent in the company of Mira had she let her pride go. Like Luisa, she spent most of her days looking for somebody she had no certainty she'd ever see again. Every evening, when she returned futile from her journeys of searching, she wished to have her vines to travel faster.
Alma was having horrendous nightmares of her youngest granddaughter dying just like her dear Pedro, knowing that the girl was out there with no real protection from the harm and unfairness of the world, with no magic to defend her. Alma wished she could apologise to Mirabel, tell her how much she loved her, how much she missed her. The fact that she hadn't said those words to the teenager in a long decade made her sorrowful.
Antonio couldn't be left alone. He'd latched onto his parents as if they were his lifeline. The trauma of his own door nearly killing him and losing his gift after barely receiving it caused him to cry every day. But the most heart-crushing thing for him was the absence of his favourite cousin. He yelled for her to come back during the night, when he felt like his parents were far from being any comfort. Why had his loving prima abandoned them? She loved the family, they were her world. Perhaps she hadn't been the world to the majority of them, but she had undoubtedly been so to Antonio. She still was.
Pepa couldn't stay still without tapping a finger or hitting her kneel on something. She wished she could reverse time, go back into the past and be there for her sobrina. She had three panic attacks in only two weeks, and during only a few nights did she manage to get any restful sleep. She cried just as much as Julieta, and her husband was barely able to calm her down and lessen her fears.
Félix had never felt any bitterness towards Mirabel. It had never been the poor girl's fault for not having been bestowed a gift in the first place. She was sweet, she was strong, caring, brave, and that was why he loved her so much. Though he couldn't help feeling remorseful for not having granted her more of his time.
Dolores didn't remember the last time she'd felt despair. With Isabela's engagement to Mariano, that had been heartbreak, but things were different now. If she had never been much of a talker before, then she was nearly mute after the destruction of Casita. She distanced herself from her family members, feeling like no amount of alone time was ever enough. Mariano tried his best to comfort her, but it barely worked. He missed Mirabel too; they'd always gotten along.
Camilo still remembered the joyful, carefree times when he and Mirabel had been called "twins" by the entire Encanto, because of their closeness in age and behaviour. Recently, he began to feel as if his other half was missing, despite not having been called Mirabel's twin in over five years. At night, he'd stare at an old drawing he'd made when he'd been younger of him and his prima.
When Bruno realized that his youngest sobrina had gone missing, a part of him crumpled. He was thankful that nobody had been harmed, but Mirabel's disappearance was like a bombshell on him. Maybe he shouldn't have left in the first place; perhaps he could've done more to prevent this catastrophe. He looked day and night for her, totally disregarding the acute pain in his feet. For the first time in a decade, he truly wished he could have another vision.
It was weird to be normal again, Isabela thought. It was strange to experience a normal way of life again. Life was suddenly much harder to live. A giftless way of life. She'd forgotten how Mirabel felt every single day. No causing storms, no growing plants, no lifting houses and so on. Nada.
A simple life. No magic, no expectations, no pressure. She'd sometimes missed that kind of life. If she hadn't had a gift, the pressure would never have existed. Ever. She felt guilty for thinking in such an ungrateful way.
Only the original Madrigals were left, if she could call them that.
Isabela found herself many times extending her arms, expecting to be hoisted up by her trustworthy vines, only to remain with her feet on the ground.
Her previously-gifted family members were fighting the same struggle.
When Julieta had noticed that Isabela's ankle had been scratched during the collapse of Casita, she'd rushed to the nearest basket of food she'd prepared, handing her daughter an arepa.
Dolores was still getting used to hearing at usual range, and was always left disappointed whenever she automatically tried locating Mirabel.
Even if Camilo no longer felt like eating seconds, he always grumbled when he willed his mind to shapeshift.
Luisa often forgot about her diminished strength, and mentally slapped herself for being unable to help lifting various heavy stuff.
Pepa found it weirdly out of place when she cried and no rain poured over her like a waterfall. She couldn't water crops any more, she couldn't make everybody's day better with the rays of the sun or a rainbow.
They'd gotten so used to relying on their blessings that they'd forgotten what it was like not to have them at all. They'd forgotten what it felt like not to have out of the ordinary abilities and bodies; they found it difficult to cope with the disappearance of their powers.
When she looked back on the events, Isabela remembered everything in a hazed chaotic rush.
Her heart crumpled at the thought that Mirabel felt so unworthy that she'd considered running away a better option than staying with her family. Somehow, somehow, Isabela understood the decision, no matter how much it crushed her heart. Mirabel definitely believed that everything was her fault, when actually, she'd just stood up for what was right. Stood up to Abuela.
Abuela.
The remembrance of her grandmother infuriated Isabela. She hadn't talked to her since the fall of the house. It was because of her that her dear little sister was missing and had been in great peril.
Part of the reason why she was avoiding Alma was also because she was terrified of the scolding she might receive for not loving Mariano. And right now, more arguments were the last thing the Madrigals needed.
More disheartening days passed. With the help of the citizens, Casita was nearly fully rebuilt.
Before dinner one evening, Isabela went to her parents' bedroom and found Julieta on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. She had lost a little weight in the short span that counted as three weeks and a half after Mirabel's disappearance, her features having sharpened.
Isabela had no sooner sat down than her mother engulfed her in her arms, sobbing. Julieta had been extremely attentive and watchful about her daughters, terrified that she might somehow lose another child.
The young woman squeezed her mamá back, shuddering a breath.
"I miss her, mija." Julieta wept. "Where is my baby girl? Where is she?"
It racked Isabela all the more knowing that she had no answer. Julieta entered a phase of desperate praying.
"She'll be okay, Mamá." She said the thing she was most uncertain of. "But it's also my fault that she's gone."
Julieta frowned at her. "What do you mean?"
"After Casita fell and we rushed to her, she told me she needed to be alone. I let her be, and now… Now…"
"Shhh, bebita. None of this is your fault."
"I could've been a better sister, Mamá!"
"You and Mirabel have reconciled. And both of you have learned from your mistakes. How come you aren't a great sister?"
Her eldest couldn't respond, as she uncontrollably sobbed into her mother's lap.
Isabela was picking at her food at the dinner table. Surrounding her, the Madrigals and the Guzmáns were chatting quietly.
Alma wasn't sitting at the head of the table. Fair enough, they weren't inside Casita anymore.
Isabela gritted her teeth, clutching the folds of her skirt to calm down.
It was Abuela's fault that Mirabel was gone. It was primarily Abuela's fault for making her granddaughter feel worthless all those years. Since the entire town looked up to her, it was her fault that they viewed Mirabel as a nobody.
All the sentiments she'd been bottling up since the tragedy welled up in Isabela's chest, coupled with the burning rage she felt towards her grandmother.
She smashed her cup of tea onto the table, all eyes boring into her. She articulated to Alma, her gaze flaring:
"Why did you have to talk like that to my sister, Abuela?!"
"Isabela!" Julieta warned from the opposite seat.
"All she ever wanted was to help and you ruined everything!"
Dolores grabbed her shoulder next to her, but she barely registered it. She continued, her voice raising:
"Mirabel has always and will always be part of this family, whether you like it or not."
"I've always loved Mirabel, mija." Alma said uncharacteristically calm for a time when she was challenged. "But I forgot to show it."
"Oh, and now you want to, huh?" Isabela sassed with malice. "But she's not here… because of you."
Tears streamed down her face, wetting the tablecloth. Tense gasps were elicited from the others.
"Let's all calm down." Agustín tried to make peace. "Isabela, sit back down, please."
"No, Papá! Abuela needs to hear this." Her eyes burned into her grandmother's ones. "We were never given a miracle. Abuelo Pedro saving everybody was the actual miracle, not what happened afterwards."
The tension was nearly tangible. Alma's face was unreadable, yet her eyes sparkled. Isabela's tone lowered.
"I wish we never had gifts. I wish we never had magic and powers. None of this would've happened had it not been for the candle. Our lives would've been better off without all of those. And Mirabel wouldn't have risked her life because of all of it. She would've been here… with us…"
She was going to utter more, but her voice cracked, and she suddenly felt suffocated by so many people watching her.
She had to get out of the house.
She nearly knocked her chair over, storming out of the dining room, leaving behind wide eyes and sobs.
She wasn't able to run far until her legs gave out.
It started raining just when she reached the fountain in the centre of Encanto. Or better said, what had once been Encanto.
She didn't care about the rain. She loved it, actually. It matched her emotions.
The rain grew stronger as she climbed onto the ledge of the fountain, her flats falling off her feet. She hoped that no one would follow her. She needed to be alone.
Not even when she'd been caged in the prison of unfulfilling expectations, Isabela had never cried this hard. The good part was that nobody could hear her. Did that even matter now?
Was there a single good part in all of this?
No. No, there wasn't.
Being free of all kinds of expectations now meant nothing. No longer having to feign her love for a man now meant nothing.
Without her sister, Isabela wasn't sure her life could ever feel complete again.
She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to fill the gaping hole in her heart no matter how long she lived.
Isabela had no idea how much time had passed. Her whole body was freezing cold while the rain didn't cease to pour.
After what felt like an eternity, her eyes ran out of tears, and she was left staring out of focus in the distance, where she noticed the cracked mountains. She shakily put her flats back on.
Thunder roared above her, lighting shooting up the sky and illuminating the roofs of the houses.
There was a tap on her shoulder.
When she looked up, her jaw hit the floor.
