"Mamá, what do you think of esponjado?" Julieta asked, examining her apron, and frowning as she noticed the worn out ribbons, torn pockets, and moth eaten holes. She shook her head and threw it into the scrap basket.

Alma put down the reports she had been reading, grateful for the distraction, "Sounds wonderful, querida. Why don't you wait here while I get what you need. And I'll make you a new apron too." To be honest, if she had to calculate one more yield from the Garcías' donkey farm, she would simply go mad and simplify the equation by putting all the donkeys down herself. Which would not be good for the village's hard won self sufficiency. Wrapping her shawl around her, Alma left the Casita, a basket slung over her shoulder.

As she looked around, Alma could not help feeling a twinge of the sin of pride. As recently as ten years ago, even the luxury of simply deciding to make esponjado would have been unthinkable. Even with the Miracle preserving the health of the little livestock and crops that people had brought with them, it had taken years of hard work to produce enough of a surplus that one could just waste fruits or bones or eggs. Such indulgences were reserved for special occasions like village festivals and weddings. But after years of hard work and discipline, they had achieved the sort of self sufficiency they had only dared to dream of as tired, hungry refugees.

And in that time, that pain and fear had become a distant memory to most who lived in the Encanto. The children would never know the pain that had been pushed aside and braved in order to give them a home and make them want for nothing. Well, Alma mused,they aren't quite children anymore. Had it already been twenty years since she had fled her birthing bed, raw from the pain, with three infants in her arms? Alma almost couldn't believe that her children were already grown.

Absently, Alma handed a coin to Minerva, as the farmer's wife returned her basket, now full of eggs. Her son Esteban was milking the cows behind them. Alma tried not to roll her eyes when she saw him. He had once tried to court Pepa, who in a flight of whimsy, had agreed. A week later, he had been seen exiting Casita covered in snow, loudly swearing that he would never court a Madrigal again. According to Pepa, he seemed more in love with her gift than with her, and after the foolish boy had tried to anger Pepa enough to create a snowstorm, she obliged, conjuring up a blizzard and turning a shivering Esteban away from Casita.

It had not been the first time someone had tried to court a member of the family. Alma still shuddered when she remembered the flurry of proposals that she had received in the years following the Miracle, from those who would ignore the black shawl on her shoulder or the slowly tarnishing ring still on her finger. Even putting aside the fact that she would never let another in her heart after Pedro, Alma could never be sure whether they had fallen for her, or for her gifts.

Eventually, the attention turned away from Alma and towards Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno. Within days of them receiving their gifts, she had been flooded with betrothal offers coming from villagers who had hoped to tie her children with one of theirs in the future. When her children were younger, Alma had refused to let anybody who might have had the slightest ulterior motives towards her children within an arm's length of Casita, but as they grew, she could no longer find any excuse to keep the suitors away. Bruno had only received every proposal with confusion and a polite refusal once he figured out what was going on. Pepa had given a few lucky suitors a chance, only to vehemently reject them in a matter of days for one reason or the other. Julieta simply gently turned down her suitors.

Truth be told, Alma was quite relieved of the fact. Anyone who married her would have no true claim to her children nor to their families, but anyone who married her children would become Madrigals and would become the parents to another generation of gifted children. And she refused to allow her children to be pawns for the ambitions of others.

Which is why she left Minerva's farmhouse with a relieved smile. Already she could see two figures in front of Casita, waiting for Julieta. Alonso Rojas, Teresa's brother, was with his son, Agustín, both sporting ghastly looking bee stings. Alonso's father had come to their town from Bógota. Teresa always used to laugh at how despite the fact that he had inherited their mother's farm, "El urbanita aún no podía aguantar la granja." As she handed Julieta the ingredients and the new apron, she chuckled.

It seemed that Agustín Rojas had inherited his father's clumsiness. And unlike his father, he seemed thoroughly unsuited to farm work. While she would never turn down a request for Julieta's food, Alma was slowly getting exasperated by how much Teresa's nephew would be standing in front of Casita, patiently awaiting an arepa. One day, he would try to get honey and end up angering the entire hive. The next, he would try to help Teresa with her sewing and somehow end up with a needle through his ear. The next, he'd try to herd cows and end up being herded by them. The next, he would try to chop wood and end up dropping a rather large log on his foot.

And now, it seemed that he had tried to drive his father's cart and ended up falling out before the horses had even started moving. Alma shook her head when she saw him, but it seemed that if Julieta was amused, she didn't show it. Sighing in frustration, she went upstairs to finish her sewing.

She was roused from her room with a loud, sudden crash. Sprinting down the stairs, she paused for a second when she noticed where the sound came from: Julieta's bedroom. Pushing away her shock, she threw open the door. Her mouth dropped.

Julieta's dress was half on, and her bloomers were peeking out from under her pillow as if they had been hastily stuffed there. Agustín's head and arms were visible from under her bed. Their faces were red with embarrassment and covered in sweat. As Alma looked on, she could feel the heat creeping up her face as well. For what seemed like an eternity, all three stared at each other in horrified silence. Ay, not yet, not now, not him. She's not ready. She's not ready.

Agustín, who had managed to free himself, was the first to break. "It's not what it looks like, Señora! I swear!"

"What possible explanation could you have," Alma asked, her teeth clenched, "For being in a state of undress inmy daughter'sbedroom?" Why didn't Casita throw him out? All Julieta would have to do was scream.

"I asked him to, Mamá," Julieta said. "It was my idea."

""Y-you asked him to?" Alma wanted to scream. Juli, why did you let him?

"Señora Madrigal…" Agustín started before Alma cut him off with a glare.

"Enough of this! Agustín, youwillstay away from Julieta." Alma hissed. It's too soon. Too soon.

"What? Mamá, no!" Julieta shrieked.

"Señora, please," Agustín pleaded.

"Get out."

Agustín didn't try to argue again as he left the room. The door had barely closed when Alma turned to her daughter. "Julieta Marta Madrigal, in all your 20 years of life, I had never thought this possible from you."

"I will give myself to whomever I want, Mamá, How long will you stop me?," Julieta didn't even try to look apologetic. ¿Qué le pasó a mi hija madura que hasta ahora se portaba tan bien?

"Mijita, what about your honor? You're not a child. I don't want to see you a ruined woman," Alma pleaded. Surely Julieta knew the consequences of what she had just done.

"Agustín wants to marry me. And I said yes," Julieta shrugged flippantly.

"Is this what he said? That if you had him, he'd wed you?" Alma asked.

"It's not like that, Mamá," Julieta argued.

"Querida, you need to be careful with men. Youdon'tknow what he really wants from you," Alma said, trying to keep her voice even.

"You're wrong, Mamá! He loves me!" Julieta cried.

"I'll find you someone else. Someone perfect and loving and gentle," Alma offered.

"Mamá, I lovehim. I don't want anyone else," Julieta said forcefully, crossing her arms.

"Julieta…" Alma sighed. How was she supposed to explain? "He's not worthy of you." Can't you see, Juli? I've tried to protect you for so long."Every day, I see him in front of Casita with one injury or the other. For all we know, he did this to himself to get closer to you."

Julieta looked furious, "Do you hear yourself, Mamá? Why would he do that?" Her hands clenched into fists.

"Anyone in the village would rejoice at their children joining our family! Don't you see, Julieta. He's using you!" Alma only she knew.

Julieta looked Alma in the eye. "Like everyone in the village uses us?"

Alma's eyes widened in shock before narrowing in anger. "It is an honor to use our gifts for the good of our community, Julieta," Alma said.

"¿Sí? No me digas eso, Mamá. I remember times when you have been sick in bed and still got up in the middle of the night to fix one thing or the other. You give and you give and yougive," a tinge of contempt grew into Julieta's voice. "Just because you've given your life to the community after Papá died doesn't give you the right to take mine!"

Alma felt like she'd been slapped, "Don't you dare-" Julieta too seemed to have realized the gravity of what she said. Lowering her gaze, she turned away. Alma rose to leave the room. As she shut the door, she heard Julieta's voice, more hollow and pleading and defeated than it had been moments before.

"If you want to live like a nun, do what you wish. But don't make me one."

They had not spoken of the incident since. Still, Alma settled for the uneasy tension that she was not sure was a reality or merely in her head, contenting herself with cleaning Casita and making sure everything was ready for the harvest.

Gradually, the tension seemed to thin and vanish for real. While one would think that slowly Julieta had gotten over what had happened, Alma knew that her eldest daughter did not forget so easily. Yet, it felt that they could truly bond as adults for the first time. Alma had always regretted not spending more time with her children.

Rationally, she knew that she had done the best she could at that moment, trying to raise three children with magical gifts while keeping the town afloat almost single-handedly, but she could not reason away the warm feeling followed by a twinge of guilt whenever she and Julieta discussed Ángela's wedding and subsequent pregnancy or Minerva's birthday or Pepa's new gentleman caller.

It felt that she could finally breathe. Just a little.

Until one day when she opened Casita's front door to see Agustín, sweaty and disheveled, on her doorstep. Bruno was right behind him, holding one of his sheets of green glass and wearing a look of horror on his face. Looking around wildly, he cried out in a frantic voice, "Please, Señora! Where's Julieta?"

Before Alma could open her mouth to protest, Bruno joined in. "Mamá, it's Ángela! Something's wrong. We need Julieta!"

Alma's blood ran cold. Ángela Rodríguez had just gone into labor a few hours prior. Remembering how childbirth had been painful, bloody, and messy even when she had a smooth and healthy labor, she could not bear to imagine what could happen "if something went wrong." Without even stopping to ask Bruno and Agustín how they knew what had happened (Tía Rosalia had no tolerance for any male presence near the birthing bed), she ran upstairs to rouse Julieta.

Alma had never seen Julieta race down the stairs with such speed. Within moments, ingredients seemed to fly into the bowl. Thankfully soon, Julieta pulled out a fresh pot of Santafereño (Julieta had found that freshly cooked food was the most effective). Following her children into Alonso Rojas' cart, they were soon at Teresa's cottage. Her husband Marco was pacing nervously outside. As soon as he saw Julieta, he fell to his knees. "Gracias a Dios you've come! Tía says that she does not know if Ángelita will live!"

Despite Tía Rosalia's protests, the four of them barged into the room. Bruno sank into a chair, still clutching his vision, upon smelling the blood and seeing Ángela pale and covered in sweat. Alma saw the red pooling around her lower body. Julieta immediately snapped into action, spooning the Santafereño into Ángela's mouth, massaging her throat when she was too weak to swallow. Meanwhile, Tía Rosalia gently guided Ángela through the delivery. Slowly, the color returned to Ángela's face, and the pool of blood stopped growing around her. Her shallow breathing returned to normal, and Alma dared to hope that the worst had passed.

All went silent when Tía Rosalia drew the infant from between Ángela's legs. Even as everyone present strained their ears, they could not hear the cries, however faint, that marked the birth of a living baby. Growing pale, Tía Rosalia poured water from a nearby vase murmuring, "Si eres ser humano, te bautizo en nombre de Dios Padre, Hijo y Espíritu Santo." Alma's heart dropped. There could only be one reason why Tía Rosalia had given a conditional baptism.

Ángela screamed. Bruno started weeping. Wiping the tears from her own eyes, Alma took the child's body from Tía Rosalia and placed the lifeless baby boy into Ángela's arms. Let her hold him once before they must bury him. Behind her, she could see Julieta sinking to the ground. Pobrecita, it's the first time she couldn't save someone. She pretended not to see Agustín wrapping his arms around her.

Entering the room, Marco's face fell as he saw the scene in front of him. As he held his sobbing wife's hand, his eyes fell upon the sheet of glass in Bruno's hand. His grief stricken face contorted into one of anger.

"¡Diablo! ¡Brujo! ¡Hechicero!" Before Alma could rise, he had swept the vision out of Bruno's hand. She saw it fall onto the floor and shatter into pieces. "You did this! My son's blood is on your hands, Demonio!"

Before Alma could say a word in her son's defense, Agustín jumped between them. "We wouldn't have brought Julieta if he didn't see what was going to happen! Without him, Ángela would be dead too!" he shouted, glaring daggers at his cousin's husband.

Marco was stunned into silence. To her astonishment, Alma could not find anything to say either. Leading Bruno by the hand, she left the cottage. Julieta followed silently.

Julieta didn't leave her bed the next day. Or the next. It must have hit her very hard, knowing that she could not save the child. Alma wanted nothing more than to comfort her daughter, to hold her close and tell her that it wasn't her fault, that there was nothing she could do, that at the very least she had saved Ángela. She wanted to tell Julieta that she knew exactly how she felt, that Alma too had felt it twenty years ago. But I'm a coward. I can't tell them. I just can't. She's not ready. She's not ready. I'm not ready…

Finally, after three days, Julieta emerged from her room. Without a word, Alma ran up to her and threw her arms around her shaking body. For an unspeakably long amount of time, mother and daughter were entwined in such an embrace that seemed to both speak volumes and completely fail to fill the gaping voids in both of their souls. Alma held Julieta as she sobbed, but while she could physically support her daughter, she was at a loss on how to lift her spirits from the depths of grief and guilt.

Finally, after Julieta had ceased sobbing and shaking, Alma dared to let go. They sat together in silence until a loud knock on Casita's front door roused them both from their shared trance. Pushing down her helplessness, she opened the door. Agustín was sheepishly standing at the doorstep, a covered tin in his arms.

"I told you to stay away from Julieta-" Alma began.

"I know, Señora. And I'm sorry. But I made this for her." Despite his obvious nervousness, Agustín's voice remained even, and the boy remained unflinching.

"She hasn't eaten in days," Alma said. Upon a closer look, she could see that Agustín's hands were covered in burns. No doubt from cooking whatever was in the tin.

"Agustín…" Alma turned in shock to see Julieta behind her. Agustín managed a weak smile. As he entered, he handed Julieta the tin. She opened it. "You made esponjado for me?"

"I wanted to thank you," Agustín said softly. "Le salvaste a mi prima."

"I couldn't save her baby. I tried my best. It wasn't enough, and ay, Agustín, I'm so sorry," Julieta wept.

Above Alma's protest, Agustín took Julieta in his arms. Stroking her hair, he murmured, "It's ok, querida. It's ok. You havenothingto be sorry for."

Julieta pulled away, gasping upon seeing the burns on his hands. "You're hurt."

Agustín shook his head, "A little accident with the pan. It's nothing."

For the first time since Ángela's labor, Julieta seemed to come alive. As she walked towards the kitchen, pots and pans and ingredients flew out of open drawers and onto the countertop. As she worked, Alma saw a look bloom on Agustín's face that she had only seen when Pedro looked upon her. At that moment, she realized just how badly she had judged Agustín Rojas. Why, he was no Don Juan, ready to seduce any woman who met his fancy.

"You love her," Alma whispered, standing beside him.

"Sí," he answered, wiping his glasses.

"I recall telling you to stay away from her," Alma said, raising an eyebrow.

"You did." Agustín's lips were pursed together in a thin line.

"I was wrong. And I'm sorry. I should have known. When Julieta's with you, she's a different person. Happier. More passionate. Like me when I was her age."

If Agustín was surprised by her words, he didn't show it. "I intend to marry her," he said.

"You'll need to take the Madrigal name," Alma replied.

"I know. And I will. If Julieta wants me," Agustín promised.

"She'll marry no other man," Alma smiled. "And when it comes to it, you have my blessing, Agustín."

They said nothing else. And as Julieta served the arepas and Agustín embraced her and Julieta smiled for the first time in three days, Alma realized that they didn't have to.