A/N: Edited 6/24/22 for spelling, grammar, and minor timeline adjustments that have no bearing on the plot.

Chapter 6

To say Julieta was in shock would be an understatement.

How could this have happened? How had she failed so miserably as a mother as to allow her eldest daughter – her first baby – to be coerced into a marriage she did not want? She leaned back against a tree, attempting to take calm, slow breaths, but then she would imagine her baby's beautiful face, and hear the words 'I only agreed to marry you because it's what my family wanted', and her heart would break all over again.

She sobbed quietly into her hands until she heard approaching footsteps, then straightened and attempted to wipe away her tears. She could not hide that she had been crying, but she did not need to be a wailing mess in front of –

"Mi querida, mi amor – what is wrong?"

Agustín. The relief she felt at the sight of him was immediate and intense, and she felt her tears well up again. She could be a mess in front of him.

He stumbled to her, tripping over a tree root in the process, his hands flailing. She grabbed hold of his vest to steady him, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, concern written clearly on his face. "Are you hurt?" He looked her over carefully.

She smiled through her tears, shaking her head. "I should be asking you, mi amor. Are you all right? Why are you here?"

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead before resting his cheek on her hair. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. "I'm here because you said you were going to walk to the stream and then help with lunch. Lunch is already served, mi vida, and I wanted to make sure you were okay – which, you clearly are not."

She tensed slightly in his embrace and tightened her hold on him. "Oh, Agustín. I'm - " the back of her throat felt tight, and more tears dripped onto the flower on his vest – a flower Isabela would never replace, because her powers were gone, because – "I'm a terrible mother." She whispered.

"What?! That's nonsense." He tried to take a step back to look at his wife's face, but she tensed, and instead he changed tactics and wrapped his arms more securely around her. "Why would you think that?" He asked softly, kissing the top of her head again.

"I overheard Isabela talking to Mariano. Mi amor – Agustín – she never wanted to marry him. She doesn't love him!"

He froze in shock.

"She broke up with him! How could I not notice? I was so focused on Mirabel – so focused on trying to protect my youngest daughter, I – I didn't even notice my oldest didn't want to get married."

Agustín held her tighter. "Neither did I," he said softly. "Neither did I."

He held her while she cried into his vest, rubbing small circles on her back and allowing a few of his own tears to mingle with hers. When she had cried all she needed, she pulled back and looked at him.

"We need to talk to my mother."

Several people whispered as Julieta made the walk through the picnicking villagers to her family's blankets, with her husband by her side. She had washed her hands and her face in the stream's water, but it was still very obvious she had been crying. She briefly wondered if this is what it felt like to be Bruno, or Mirabel – always wondering what people were saying about them, if their words were of pity or scorn. She squared her shoulders and did not stop until she stood right beside her mother.

"Mamá," she said quietly and firmly. "May Agustín and I speak with you in private for a few minutes? Isabela, too?"

The sounds of eating and general playfulness quieted as the family noticed her expression and heard her request. Isabela nearly dropped her fork, her eyes widening before she ducked her head and stared at the ground. Julieta kept her eyes on her mother, unwilling to risk looking directly at her children – knowing she would probably begin crying again if she did.

Mamá looked surprised and concerned. "Of course, mija," she replied as Agustín helped her to her feet.

The couple led Alma and Isabela to a space where the surrounding jungle became more dense, in sight of the family but out of earshot. "What is wrong, Julieta?"

"Mamá, you need to speak with Señora Guzmán and call off Mariano's engagement to Isabela immediately."

Isabela looked as though she were choking on something. She hadn't yet worked out how to break the news to her family about her relationship with Mariano, but apparently it was happening now.

Alma's brow furrowed in confusion. "But – why?"

Julieta began to tear up again. "Because she doesn't love him, Mamá! She was only going to marry him because you wanted her too, because she thought we all wanted her to marry him." She took a deep breath through her nose, attempting to control her anger and sorrow – but it didn't stop the sharp bitterness that flavored her words. "I should have known. Even Pepa and I – we chose who we wanted to marry. We fell in love, we brought Felix and Agustín home to you – how could I have been so blind? How could I have let this happen? Mamá, call it off!"

Isabela stared, mouth agape, at her mother.

Alma's mouth moved for a moment without speaking. "Of course - of course I will call it off. If that is what Isabela wants." She looked at Isabela, holding out her hands.

Isabela stepped toward her, looking uncertainly between her parents and her abuela. Alma covered Isabela's hands with her trembling ones, gently rubbing her thumb over her fingers. "Isabela, mi nieta," she said softly. "You do not want to marry Mariano?"

Isabela squared her shoulders and looked her abuela in the eye. "No, Abuela. I do not want to marry Mariano. I don't love him." She took a breath. "I – told him so, just before lunch," she added softly.

"You called off the engagement?" Alma asked in surprise.

"Yes," she said, and looked away, attempting to draw her hands away from her abuela's.

Alma sighed heavily, squeezing her hands gently and releasing them. "My little Isa. Look at me, please."

Isabela looked, and saw nothing but sorrow in her abuela's expression. "I would never force you to marry a man I knew you did not love. If you have already spoken with Mariano, I will speak with Señora Guzmán immediately. The engagement is off."

Isabela smiled with relief, but then bit her lip and looked toward the town, and her abuela chuckled softly. "Don't worry about the village, mi nieta. Señora Guzmán and I are old friends. We will tell them the truth – that we hoped for a match for our families, but realized you two were not compatible. I will take care of everything."

Isabela nodded. Alma looked uncertainly at Julieta and Agustín, and when they simply nodded in response, thin-lipped, she looked to the ground. "I must go speak with Señora Guzmán. Excuse me."

She took a few steps, before Isa said "Wait!"

Alma turned, and Isabela threw her arms around her abuela's shoulders. "Gracias, Abuela. Gracias."

Alma smiled sadly and returned the embrace, still looking to her daughter.

Julieta bit her lip, and then choked out a quiet, bitter – "Gracias, Mamá." She could not manage anything more at the moment.

Alma's smile faltered, and she left to seek out Señora Guzmán.

When Alma had left, Isabela turned to her parents. "Mamá - "

Julieta opened her arms and Isabela ran into them, hugging her mother with all her strength.

"I'm sorry, mija, I'm so sorry," she whispered. She pulled away, holding Isabela's face in the palms of her hands, her mind racing with all the things she wanted to say, all the people she wanted to blame. Perhaps she had been too hard on her mother – Mamá hadn't forced Isabela to agree to anything, she hadn't threatened her, she had always been so encouraging and accepting of Isa – but she had never been this angry, this upset before. She wasn't sure which she felt more strongly - anger, or shame, or longing for the chance to make things right.

"Mamá," Isabela smiled. "It's okay – I'm okay." She frowned. "But – you - "

Julieta sighed. "I didn't mean to overhear, I promise. And even though I wish I hadn't overheard, I'm – also glad I did."

Isabela grimaced. "You – were at the stream?"

Julieta nodded. "I was behind you, I tried to give you both some privacy, but still – I overheard. I am sorry."

"It's okay, Mamá."

"None of this is okay," Julieta argued. "I'm sorry, Isabela." She didn't seem to be able to put into words exactly what she was sorry about. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Mamá," Isa responded, gently taking her mother's hands from where they were still squishing her cheeks and then holding their hands between the two of them. "You didn't know. Abuela didn't know. No one knew. I had barely admitted it to myself until Mirabel coaxed it out of me."

"Then thank God for Mirabel," Julieta muttered, giving her eldest a tearful smile.

"Well, don't tell her I said so – but I agree with you." Isabela smirked.

She gave both her parents a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for listening, and for believing me," she said softly. "I wasn't sure how to tell you, or Abuela."

"I'm sorry for that too – so sorry, mi querida." Julieta and Agustín spoke at the same time, their words tumbling over each other's.

"Mamá – Papá!" Isabela scolded. "I forgive you. I forgive Abuela. I forgive myself. We're okay. I feel worse for Mariano than I do for anyone else here…but I think he'll be okay." A short laugh escaped. "To be honest, I think he was more in love with the idea of being in love than he was actually in love…with me."

Julieta smiled warmly at her daughter. "When did you become so wise, so compassionate? My little girl is grown up. Gracias, mija. Te amo (1)."

"Te amo, Mamá, Papá. Now – may I go finish my lunch?"

Julieta smiled and nodded, and she and her husband watched as Isabela walked back to the picnic.

"Oh, cielo santo (2)!" Julieta exclaimed suddenly, putting her hand over her mouth.

"What?" Agustín asked, alarmed, his hand on her back, still offering his support.

"If we missed all this with Isabela, what have we missed with Luisa?"

"Mamá! Mamá! Cecilia – got - hurt! Mamá!"

Lucía set her hammer by her feet, where she'd been pounding nails to connect two support beams with a few other villagers. Juancho, a boy no older than Josefina who occasionally came to story time at the bookshop, was surprisingly skilled with a hammer. He'd even given her a few pointers. She supposed it was only natural that he had some knowledge of the task since his father was a carpenter, but his speed and precision still surprised her. Maybe it was all that coffee he drank. He continued working, finishing the beam she had started as she tended to her daughter.

"Where is she, Josefina? What happened?"

Thankfully, Cecilia was right beside her daughter, cradling one hand in the other. Unfortunately, tears were streaming down her face and she was obviously in pain.

She stepped toward the two children and looked at Cecilia's hand. It did not appear broken, there were no deep cuts – but the back of her hand was scraped and her fingers were bright red. It looked as though a bruise might form along her knuckles and the side of her palm.

Cecilia sniffed. "Juan stepped on my hand."

"It was an accident!" The boy in question huffed as he ran toward them from across the yard. "I already said I was sorry! I stepped backward and she was - "

"I was picking up a nail you dropped!"

"I was going to pick it up, that's why I was stepping backward!"

"It was an accident," Josefina confirmed.

Lucía nodded. "Juan, you are not in trouble. I am glad you apologized already. However, when you hurt someone, even accidentally, you first concern should be making sure they are alright, not just defending yourself."

The boy sighed and nodded.

"Can you please find Cecilia's papá? I believe I saw him on the other side of the casita, helping with the bricklaying."

Juan nodded and ran off.

"I want Doña Julieta to look." (3) Cecilia whimpered.

Josefina frowned and looked at her friend in confusion. "Cecilia, Doña Julieta doesn't have her powers anymore, remember?" She whispered loudly, attempting to be discreet and failing miserably.

Cecilia's eyes began to spill over with tears once again, and Lucía stepped in. "That may be so, but she still knows about medicine and healing, even without it. She will still be able to help, if that's what Cecilia wants."

Cecilia nodded.

"Josefina, can you please find her? I think Cecilia's hand will be just fine, but it won't hurt for her to take a look at it as well."

Josefina shrugged and ran off.

"Now, Cecilia, can you move your fingers? Give them a wiggle?"

Cecilia flexed her fingers and winced. "I can. It hurts a little."

"It will be alright. Sana, sana, colita de rana (4)," Lucía sang softly, patting Cecilia's hand gently. "Look! Here comes Doña Julieta."

Julieta arrived with Josefina and Juan was not far behind. Bruno trailed after the boy, a bucket in his hand.

Julieta quickly began the examination of her patient as Juan and Bruno came up to them.

"Señor Flores isn't here right now," Juan announced.

"He said that he had to go check on his wife," Bruno explained, looking at his sister. "She's – um - pregnant and - she wasn't feeling well after lunch and went home. He's supposed to be right back."

"Oh," Julieta frowned. "Poor Lola. Her morning sickness is always worse than most. I'll check on her after I take care of Cecilia. Juan, can you please go fetch a stone from the stream? Make sure it is small enough for Cecilia to hold, and nice and smooth, and cold. Wrap it in this," she instructed, holding out a clean handkerchief from her skirt pocket. "I'm going to get some soap and water to wash off Cecilia's scrapes, and then we can use the cold stone to help with the swelling. It's not broken," she reassured Cecilia. "It will just hurt for a bit, but you should feel all better soon."

"There, you see?" Lucía patted Cecilia's arm gently. "You'll be better in no time."

Cecilia sighed, and sniffed again. Lucía guided her to sit down in the shade, Bruno and Josefina still hovering nearby.

Josefina gave her friend a side-hug, then sprang up suddenly. "Cecilia, I will cheer you up. I will tell you the story of…los tres cerditos! (5)" She announced dramatically.

Lucía shook her head and smiled as Josefina began to act out the story with enthusiasm, adding oinks and growls and facial expressions, until Cecilia had cracked a smile. Julieta and Juan came back shortly after she began.

Julieta carefully washed Cecilia's scrapes and then handed Cecilia the stone Juan had brought, wrapped in a handkerchief, and the little girl held it carefully against her injured hand. Julieta excused herself to check on Cecilia's parents. Juan and Cecilia listened attentively until Josefina got to the part where the third little pig was building his house out of bricks and mortar.

"That doesn't make any sense," Juan interrupted, wrinkling his nose.

Josefina paused, wrinkling her nose right back at him. "What doesn't make sense?"

"Where'd he get bricks and mortar in the middle of the woods? I mean straw, okay, sticks, okay, you can find those in a forest. But bricks and mortar?"

Josefina frowned, realizing she'd forgotten to add in that the pigs had borrowed their building materials from others in the woods. "Well, he went and borrowed them."

"From who?"

"Ummm…." Josefina bit her lip, thinking. "From…a man in the woods?"

"A man just lives in the middle of the woods making bricks and mortar?"

"Yes."

Juan made a face.

"What?" Josefina demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest and scowling.

"That's not how it really goes."

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not."

"Yes it is!" Josefina stamped her foot.

"No it's not." Juan lifted an eyebrow, his expression smug.

Lucía sighed. Juan was at an age where he enjoyed being right over being kind. Although - in this case, he was neither. In a story where pigs went out and built houses of straw, sticks, and bricks, having those building materials appear out of nowhere wasn't really all that unbelievable. "Children - "

"I make the mortar." A voice announced to their right. All four of them – Lucía, Cecilia, Juan, and Josefina – turned to look, and there was Bruno Madrigal, with a bucket over his head. They blinked in unison.

He took a tentative step forward. "I'm Jorge," he announced in a strange, flat, echoing sort of voice. "I make the mortar. And the spackle. Mud, yeah. Plaster is tricky. Bricks, okay. I can do that." He shrugged.

Cecilia and Josefina stared at him with wide eyes. Juan narrowed his eyes at him. "You're not Jorge."

"Yeah, I am Jorge. I live in the woods and I make the mortar. And the spackle. Mud, yeah. Plaster is tricky. Bricks, okay. I can do that." He repeated in the same strange, silly voice. "The señorita, she is right. Those pigs – I remember them. Round. Pink. Make a sound like oink."

A wide smile broke out on Josefina's face. "Ha! Jorge made the bricks for the third little pig, Juan. He said so himself."

"And the mortar," Bruno-as-Jorge added.

"And the spackle," Cecilia added, giggling.

"And the mud, yeah!" Josefina continued.

"But plaster - " Bruno-as-Jorge began –

"-is tricky!" Josefina finished, attempting to mimic Jorge's voice, and doubling over in laughter at the sound of it.

"I'm Jorge," Cecilia mimicked. "I'm Jorge, and I make the mortar for los tres cerditos." The two girls began giggling again, and Juan rolled his eyes and stood.

"I'm going back to my job." He announced crossly.

"Okay, Jorge." The girls both announced at the same time, still in their own silly Jorge voices.

"Mamá," Josefina giggled as they watched him leave, "can I have a snack, pleeeease?"

Lucía sighed and smiled. "Yes. We brought a basket with some cheese and fruit. It's over by Abuelo and Señor Martinez' workbench. Go help yourselves."

"Thank you!" The girls chorused and ran off. Cecilia left the stone from the stream behind, her injury already forgotten.

Lucía stooped down to pick it up and when she stood, Bruno was removing the bucket from his head, ruffling his hair where the bucket had flattened it.

"Thank you, Bruno," she said. "Juan can be…petulant, sometimes. He wants so badly to be grown up, but he's only nine years old. And Josefina can be stubborn, so their personalities can clash. I appreciate you making them laugh."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "Thanks. It's – uh – it's no problem. Y'know, I used to do this for my nieces and nephew all the time. Jorge and Hernando broke up many a disagreement. I know it's kind of…weird, but - "

"It works!" she returned his smile. "It's not weird to do something silly to make a child laugh, or to defuse an argument. I use different voices in my stories all the time."

"Me too!" He exclaimed, and his cheeks flushed. "I mean, you know. With my…rat…telenovelas…" his voice trailed off into a mumble.

Lucía laughed lightly, and he looked up. The sound was neither mocking nor nervous, and she didn't appear judgmental or uncomfortable. In fact, she was looking at him with a gentle smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She looked genuinely happy. His smile became less sheepish and more sincere, and he felt his shoulders relax and his muscles release their tension. He stopped gripping the handle of his bucket like it was a lifeline. He noticed Señor Flores coming back up the road, stopping to check on Cecilia by the workbench, and Julieta was not far behind.

"But! I'd better – uh – you know, go keep working on the house. I was laying brick with Señor Flores, and – he's back, now. I still need to use this to get more water. I really can make mortar and spackle. It's – uh – Jorge's specialty." He patted the bucket he was carrying.

Lucía laughed again, waved goodbye, and returned to her work as well. He watched her for a moment before he turned and walked to the stream, his head higher and his steps lighter than they had been in a long time.

Bruno's stint as Jorge became very popular among the children that afternoon. Josefina was the worst instigator of it, often calling out "Hola, Jorge!" in a silly voice and breaking into giggles whenever she walked by. At first, the confused looks of the adults around him would cause him to freeze in embarrassment, but after a few impromptu 'performances' for Josefina and her friends, it became routine, and most of the adults – especially ones who currently had children of their own – only shook their heads and smiled. Señor Flores even played along for his daughter Cecilia, requesting help from Jorge, asking him to 'please share your expertise, oh wise Jorge-the-mortar-maker'.

He was still Bruno Madrigal, but now – he wasn't just some mysterious fortune-teller, bringing bad news from the shadows. He was Bruno Madrigal, someone who was good with sand and mortar, and good at making kids laugh. And for once, no one was pulling their kids away and telling them in hushed tones not to look him in the eye.

He knew he would never be a pillar of the community, like Mamá or Julieta. Some people still shot him disapproving or uncertain glances, and very few people approached him as openly and warmly as they did everyone else. He knew some people still saw him as a weirdo, and that some still talked about him as though he were the personification of el Coco. And he'd be lying if he claimed it didn't bother him, that it didn't cause his still-present fears and insecurities to overtake him. He knew he wouldn't ever garner the same amount of respect that some of the other members of his family had in the community – but he began to think that possibly, he could find a space for himself outside casita's walls and belong.

That evening, back at the Hernandez home, the Madrigals joined their host family in the courtyard after dinner. While everyone had worked hard that day, they were not as exhausted as they had been the day before.

The adults sat together, Pepa, Bruno, and Lucía with Agustín and Felix, discussing the progress that had been made on the house and having general polite conversation. Bruno was content just to listen, not offering much in the way of commentary. He'd been worn out from the amount of social interaction he'd had today. Josefina and Antonio played quietly at the table after helping Bruno feed his rats again. Josefina shared her crayons and paper with Antonio so they could both color. Camilo sat with them, doodling and teasing them in equal measure. Julieta sat with her daughters and Dolores, having a quiet conversation with the younger girls, and Señor Hernandez sat in a corner, strumming his tiple and talking with Alma Madrigal.

Alma watched Julieta speak earnestly with the girls on the opposite side of the room and sighed.

"No hay mejor amigo que una carga, Señora (6)," muttered José Hernandez to her as he tuned his instrument.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "It is nothing."

He raised his eyebrows, but continued tuning.

"One of my children is upset with me," she admitted quietly. Her hands sat serenely in her lap, betraying nothing of the emotions raging in her heart.

"Only one? Then you are lucky! It seems to me, sometimes, that both of my daughters are upset with me on a daily basis," he joked lightly. When she didn't respond, he plucked out a soft tune, both to add to the relaxed atmosphere of the evening and to cover their conversation.

"I apologize," he said softly. "It seems you are very serious about this."

She nodded, but did not elaborate. While she knew and respected Señor Hernandez and was grateful for his hospitality, their families were not close. Their relationship had always been polite and professional and friendly, but she did not consider him a confidante and did not intend to make him one tonight.

The stress of the past week was wearing on her. First, Antonio's gifting ceremony, then the cracks and Isabela's failed engagement, her own failures and insecurities causing her to lash out at her granddaughter, losing their home and their miracle, Bruno and Mirabel returning, their family reuniting, the town helping them to rebuild and restore what had been lost – it had all happened in the span of a few days.

Her worst nightmare had come true. She had lost her home, again. Fifty years ago, she had vowed in her heart that she would never allow her children to experience what she and Pedro had gone through…and yet, in doing everything in her power to prevent it – she inadvertently caused just that to happen. She had vowed to Pedro his sacrifice would not be in vain, that they would honor him and keep his miracle alive. Somewhere along the way, she failed him.

She stared blankly at her hands in her lap. She supposed that the real nightmare was what she had become. She had begun to value stability and the reputation of her family over the actual members of her family. All the pain and trauma she had experienced as a young woman - she hadn't shielded them from it. Instead, she simply passed it on to them. It was in a prettier package, but there was still so much pain.

Pain, and anger.

Of all her children, Julieta was the most responsible, the most reliable, and the steadiest. Julieta had always done what was asked of her with quiet diligence and without complaint. She'd helped her mother, she'd helped her brother and sister, she'd helped the town. She was a giver and a healer, and hadn't even had a rebellious teenage stage. While she did disagree with her mother on occasion, she always voiced her differing opinions calmly and with respect.

Today was different.

She'd never seen Julieta like she had earlier today; she'd never once heard her daughter speak to her in such a tone. Pepa, yes. Pepa had never had the option of hiding her emotions and often snapped at her mother. Bruno's defiance had always been more timid but he had still shut her out when he needed space, and he had still spoken to her with bitterness at times.

But Julieta…she would never forget the look in her daughter's eyes when she demanded she call off the engagement.

Her conversation with Señora Guzmán had gone…as well as could be expected. Mariano had already collected his mother and their lunch and returned to their home to quietly break the news. By the time Alma had shown up, the older woman was resigned. They spoke with regret but left on good terms.

The rest of her own family accepted the news without much fanfare as well. There was some surprise, some shock, but no protest. They accepted the news quickly and moved on, focused on finishing their jobs for the day.

Alma had spent the rest of the day trying to speak with her eldest daughter, but Julieta, while not outright disrespectful, was obviously avoiding her.

It hurt.

She supposed she deserved it, but the fact that it came from Julieta, and because of Isabela – it hurt. She deserved censure from Bruno. She deserved censure from Julieta on Mirabel's behalf. But she truly thought Mariano and Isabela were in love, that they would make a good match.

Hadn't she?

Or had she seen it as a good match, and then convinced herself that they were in love?

"You know," José Hernandez said slowly, intruding on her thoughts. "When my daughters are angry with me, it is usually for one of two reasons. Reason one – I told them something true that they did not want to hear, or gave them advice they did not ask for."

Alma pursed her lips. "As you are doing now?"

He shrugged and continued smiling and playing. "In that case, I stand by my opinion but acknowledge that it was unasked for and that I will love and care for them no matter what decision they make in the end."

"And reason two?" Alma asked, when he did not continue.

"Reason two," he continued in the same soft, unhurried tone, "is that I did something wrong."

When his silence lasted more than a moment, she turned to look at him, eyebrows drawn together and a frown on her face. "That's it?"

"No, that is the beginning." He inclined his head, eyebrows raised, and chuckled. "First I apologize. Then, I listen. Sometimes they accept my apology right away. Sometimes they still need time to work through their feelings. Sometimes I need to do more to make amends."

"They don't forgive you?!" She asked incredulously.

"They always forgive me," he said. "Eventually. But sometimes, forgiveness is a complex thing. It is something that needs to be revisited, many times, before it sticks. There is a substantial difference between forgiving someone for…for example, a child accidentally hurting someone out of ignorance or clumsiness or disobedience – there is a difference between that, and forgiving someone for deeply, intimately hurting you – or someone you love." A brief expression of grief flashed across his face, but he quickly shook it aside. "Sometimes, forgiveness is a decision that is made every day. It is a daily letting go, an acknowledgment of your hurt and pain but a refusal to allow it to break down your relationships and darken the light of your soul."

"There are some things that can never be forgiven." She responded, with a bit more heat in her voice than she intended. Her hands automatically clasped her locket, the picture of Pedro still safely inside.

"Perhaps," he said softly. "I tend to believe that there are some things that can never be forgotten. There are injustices that should be made right. There are truths that should be shouted and printed and learned, passed out and passed on to every community and generation. There is always room for righteous anger. But there is never room for fearful bitterness."

There was silence between them for a long moment. It felt surreal, watching Bruno smile at something Pepa said, watching Camilo steal a crayon from his brother and then pretend to pull it out of his ear as though by magic, watching Luisa brush tears from her eyes as she shrugged at Julieta's adoring smile.

"You've missed your calling," Alma said dryly. "You should have been a priest."

José chuckled. "No, Señora. I could never be a priest."

"Your family?" She guessed.

He shook his head. "No. I never looked good in black. And those clerical collars look extremely uncomfortable." His face remained entirely serious, only the slightest twitch of his cheek giving him away.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. And then, she chuckled.

It was a soft, feathery, healing thing.

Dolores was asleep within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow. Julieta was awake, staring at the ceiling, her emotions swirling within her.

"You okay, hermana?" Bruno whispered, and she looked over at him. It was dark, but she could see him turn towards her on his mattress, his blankets pulled up to his chin with his fists, his eyes wide. He looked at her like he used to when he was little. She smiled at him.

She waited a long moment to answer, and her smile faded with the memory. "I'm not okay," she whispered.

She heard Pepa roll toward her as well. "What's wrong?" Pepa whispered, propping her head on her hand.

"Sorry," Julieta responded after a moment. "It's – not that important. You're both tired, you should go to sleep."

"You told us you're not okay, and you expect us to go back to sleep?" Pepa said, keeping her voice low. "We're awake now, so you might as well tell us."

And tell them, Julieta did. She told them everything that had crossed her mind the entire day – from overhearing Isabela and Mariano at the stream, to confronting their mother, to doubting her abilities as a mother, wrestling with the fact that she'd been so focused on Mirabel that she had overlooked both of her other daughters. And fat lot of good all her 'protecting' had done Mirabel - she'd failed Mirabel, and she'd failed Isabela, and she'd failed Luisa. She told them about her conversations with Isa, and with the rest of the girls later that evening.

"Luisa told me she was afraid that she was nothing without her gift. That she would be worthless if she couldn't serve the community by carrying donkeys and moving buildings. That we would be disappointed in her. I corrected that misconception immediately, but do you know why she thought that?" She asked, still staring at the ceiling, her voice raspy and thick with tears once again.

"She didn't say why, but I know. It's because she saw how Mirabel was treated, without a 'gift'. And because all the praise Luisa got was tied to her gift, to her ability to be helpful and accommodating."

She swallowed, and it was difficult. "I see so much of myself in Luisa," she confessed quietly.

She didn't turn to either side, but she heard both of her siblings inhale sharply.

"And I know – I know in my mind that Mamá did not mean to hurt us. She did not intend for any of us to feel this way, to see ourselves as worthless without our gifts, without complete and unwavering devotion to the miracle. I know that. I know that I never wanted my daughters to define themselves by their gifts and usefulness, and yet – it happened. My head knows that, but my heart - " she gasped in an effort not to cry. "My heart is broken for us. For you, both of you. For myself. For my daughters. For Mamá. For our family. And – I'm angry. I've never been this angry before!"

Pepa let out a soft chuckle.

"You're laughing?" Julieta sat up on her elbows, glaring at her sister in the dark.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Pepa sat up as well, and Bruno followed suit soon after. "It's not – your feelings are not funny. I know how you feel. Bruno knows how you feel. We've all been hurt by Mamá, we've all been angry with Mamá, and with each other." She reached out to her sister in the dark, stretching to hold her hand. "This is just the first time since we were teenagers that I've ever actually heard you admit it."

"You've always been the peacemaker, Juli," Bruno said quietly. "You always try to see both sides of the story. This particular part of our story is just - pfffft." He gave a dramatic thumbs down. "From all sides."

Julieta snorted, and wiped her eyes, drawing her blanket-covered knees to her chest and resting her head on them. "How do you do it?" She mumbled. "How do you face Mamá when you feel this way?"

"Uh…I ran away for ten years," Bruno volunteered, holding his hand up, just a bit, as though he were in a classroom.

"I thundered and rained all over the house." Pepa said matter-of-factly. "Sometimes a little tornado would help."

Julieta was silent for a moment, and then began laughing. Softly at first, so that it was hard to tell if she was truly laughing, or crying instead – and then harder, still attempting to laugh silently, so as not to wake Dolores. "That's terrible advice!"

"You didn't ask for advice, you asked us what we did!" Pepa protested, laughing softly as well. "We didn't say it was good."

Julieta sighed. "I'll have to talk to her, won't I?"

Bruno gave his sister an encouraging smile. "If it makes you feel any better, she'll probably actually listen, now."

Julieta shook her head and reached over to nudge him gently on the shoulder. He winced.

She frowned at him. "Bruno?"

"Ah, it's nothing," he brushed off. "My shirt just, ah – on my neck, and, ah – it's a bit - "

Julieta got out of bed and scooted to Bruno's bed, brushing his curls from his neck and pulling his shirt collar back to take a look.

Even in the dark, she could tell it was sunburnt. She could feel the heat radiating off of it from where her fingers touched the collar of his nightshirt.

"Bruno!" She hissed, scolding him. "Why didn't you tell me you'd been sunburnt? Weren't you wearing - " She sighed, realizing he hadn't been wearing a hat at all. "You weren't wearing a hat, were you."

"I wore a bucket for a while today." When they both squinted at him, he shrugged and winced again. "I didn't think about it," he muttered apologetically.

"You really expected to spend two straight days in direct sunlight after ten years without it and not get burnt?" Pepa whispered sarcastically.

Julieta sighed, exasperated. "You're lucky you've been wearing long sleeves and pants. And your ruana." She turned his face toward her, inspecting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose as well. She clucked in disapproval. "Not as bad as your neck, but still burnt. I'll go see if Lucía has any aloe, or avocado oil."

She moved to rise, and Bruno held her wrist gently, preventing her from leaving. "Juli," he said softly.

"Mmm?" She looked down at her brother.

"You're not just a healer. You don't have to heal me right now. It's – just a sunburn."

Julieta's heart softened, and she knelt down by her brother, pulling him into a tight embrace, careful not to press on his sunburn.

"It's not that I don't like healing, Bruno. I actually enjoy it, I enjoy it a lot. But – take away cooking, take away healing, and - " she sat back and shrugged. "I feel lost."

Pepa leaned forward. "Cooking and healing are part of who you are. Who says we have to rewrite our identities just because we don't have magical powers anymore? I'm pretty sure Señor Martinez would feel lost if he could no longer design houses. Lucía would feel lost without the bookshop. Would you expect Isabela to give up growing flowers forever, now? Or Antonio to stop loving animals? No. If they choose to, fine. But it's okay to like what you used to do, and find other things to like too. I liked controlling the weather. I liked helping things grow. I can still do that. The growing things, obviously. Not the weather. But I also love to dance. I love music. I love floating in a lake with the sun on my face. I like picnics and parties, especially when I'm not the one throwing them."

Bruno nodded. "I like acting, and telenovelas. I like helping rebuild the casita, which I didn't really expect. I like my rats. What did you like to do with Agustín, before you were married?"

Julieta sat back on her heels and thought. "I liked listening to him play the piano. I liked exploring the jungle. I liked looking for my own fruits, honey, new ingredients for recipes." Her face brightened. "I've been so focused on making large, efficient recipes that could feed the whole town. I used to - " her face fell again. "I had a recipe book, at one time, from when we were children. I don't think it survived the collapse."

Bruno nudged her on the shoulder. "Well, then we'll just write a new one."

Pepa nodded. "First recipe request: Cocadas de piña. (7)" She yawned. "Do you remember you used to make that all the time? When we were kids? It tasted like sunshine in your mouth."

Julieta nodded as she stood to get Bruno something for his sunburn, her mind whirring with possibilities.

"Gracias," she whispered to her siblings. She no longer felt as though she were spiraling dangerously, unsure which direction was up. Her feet were planted on steady ground, and she felt level again – balanced and purposeful. While she still had some things to sort through, particularly with her mother, she knew that no matter what lie ahead, they would face it together and come out stronger on the other side.

A/N:

(1) Te amo – I love you

(2) Cielo Santo – Holy Heaven/Good Lord

(3) Doña/Don – A title of respect that precedes a first name. I'm not sure if that's quite the correct way to use this title but I thought Señora Julieta would be incorrect?

(4) Sana sana colita de rana – literally 'heal heal little tail of the frog' – a song parents/adults sing to children when they have a minor injury

(5) Los Tres Cerditos – The Three Little Pigs. By the early 1900s many traditional European fairytales were already known in the Americas, so although I'm trying to use some traditional Colombian/Latin American story references, I'm also mixing in some fables/stories from other places that probably would have been accessible to the townspeople before the forming of the Encanto.

(6) "No hay mejor amigo que una carga" – There is no better friend than a burden, Colombian proverb, used in a previous chapter as well. What can I say, José Hernandez has a penchant for them.

(7) Cocadas de piña – a coconut and pineapple candy

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