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Even from her bedroom, and without the gift of her older cousin, Mirabel can tell that the Encanto is abnormally busy.
She had expected as much, considering tomorrow is the first gifting ceremony in ten years. And, hopefully, the first successful gifting ceremony in eleven years.
Mirabel sits on her bed and looks at her hands. If she focuses hard enough, she can still see the doorknob she touched the night she was supposed to be given her gift.
But the door had disappeared.
It disappeared. Melted dramatically down the wall until the beautiful light of the magic was gone and the house, despite being filled with hundreds of people, was dead silent.
That’s in the past, Mirabel tries to tell herself. What’s done is done. What matters now is Antonio, and Mirabel can only pray the same fate doesn’t befall him.
Either way, though, Mirabel knows it isn’t going to work out for her. If he gets a gift, then she’s nothing more than a horrible fluke. The un-chosen Madrigal.
And if he doesn’t get a gift… then it’ll still be Mirabel’s fault. Obviously she messed up the candle at her own gifting ceremony, now no future Madrigals will receive gifts.
She gives a shiver at that. That can’t happen.
Mirabel stands and crosses to the window. She can see all of her family members flitting around attending to the town’s needs, and the other members of town preparing for the ceremony.
It’s nice to see the town so busy, so excited.
But also so anxious. This ceremony has to be a success, or they are all in trouble.
Mirabel can hear vicious wind sweeping through Casita, followed by a slamming of a door. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why her tía Pepa is so worried.
Feeling emboldened for some reason, Mirabel leaves the nursery and heads for Pepa’s room.
She knocks on the door, quietly, not wanting to startle her already-stressed tía.
“Who is it?” Pepa calls.
“Mirabel, may I come in?”
There’s no audible response, so Mirabel pushes the door open slowly.
Her poor tía is on the floor, back to the bedframe and knees to her chest, sleet falling around her shoulders.
Mirabel, though, doesn’t hesitate for a second to sit down at her tía’s side and put an arm around her shoulder.
Pepa gives a quiet, hiccuped gasp of a sob, but doesn’t say much else.
“It’s gonna be alright,” Mirabel whispers. She’s probably the last person who should be giving this pep-talk, but her tía is clearly upset and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t at least try.
“Antonio is going to get an amazing gift and tomorrow will be perfect,” she adds quietly.
The sleet begins to lessen, just slightly, and Mirabel rests her head on Pepa’s shoulder.
Her dress is soaked now, but she couldn’t care less.
After a moment or so, she feels Pepa shift and press a lingering kiss to Mirabel’s head. “Gracias, mija,” Pepa whispers. “Dios willing, you’ll be right.”
They stay like that for a long, sweet moment, and the sleeting cloud eventually dissipates.
Mirabel gets to her feet and offers Pepa her hand. Once her tía is standing again, Pepa is holding Mirabel in the tightest hug imaginable and planting tiny kisses along Mirabel’s forehead.
After getting over her initial shock, Mirabel leans into the hug, since Pepa’s hugs in a good mood always had the added warmth of a sunbeam on her face. “Te amo, tía.”
She feels Pepa smile against her hair. “Y te amo cariño.”
Mirabel never wants to leave this warm, sunshine-on-her-face hug, but eventually, Pepa does pull back. “Lo siento, mija. I have to go help prepare for tomorrow.”
“Of course, I get it.”
She follows her tía out into the hall and watches her walk down the stairs, considerably calmer now, before Mirabel heads back to her own room.
A small part of her (actually a large, insidious part of her subconscious) believes that maybe Pepa’s affection is really only because Mirabel cares for Antonio as much as she does.
This rationalization makes what she knows she needs to do tomorrow that much easier.
Speaking of which, Mirabel needs to pack.
Between her usual sling bag and another knapsack she owns, she’s able to pack most of her clothing, an extra pair of shoes, and some other necessities she’ll need to take with her.
“Casita, give me a hiding place,” she whispers.
Casita seems hesitant at first, but a few tiles at the foot of Mirabel’s bed eventually pop up, proving the perfect spot for her to stow her bags until tomorrow.
Then, she sits down at her desk and begins to write.
Antonio receives a gift.
A really, really cool gift too - he can communicate with animals. And considering the vast amount of wildlife in the Encanto, this gift will surely make him the talk of the town.
The successful, exciting gifting ceremony brings everyone in the house into Antonio’s new jungle-room, and it gives Mirabel the perfect opportunity.
She weaves in and out of people, careful to avoid her family members at all costs. The music and conversations are so loud, too, that Mirabel knows Dolores won’t hear her leave.
Mirabel sneaks back to her room and Casita seems to know what she’s doing, because her bags pop out from the floor as soon as she enters. She slings her bags over her shoulders and heads for the door.
She stops, just once, to press a soft kiss to her fingers and then place them on the wall. “Thank you, Casita. For everything.”
She shuts her bedroom door behind her and slips down the stairs.
Everyone is still living it up in Antonio’s room, so no one sees as Mirabel Madrigal exits Casita for the last time and disappears into the woods.
She reaches the mountain barriers quickly, and they are far taller than it looked from town. But it’s too late to turn back now.
About a third of the way up, Mirabel can see a ledge that looks just wide enough for her to sit or stand on.
If she can make it there, she can take a rest.
Her tía is in a good mood, gracias a Dios, so the moon is bright overhead to illuminate her climb and there isn’t even a threat of rain.
Mirabel drags herself to the ledge and stops to catch her breath.
She can see Casita’s lights, can almost still hear the music, and she knows she could still go back.
No. No turning back.
Mirabel continues to climb.
She isn’t entirely sure how, but eventually, she reaches the peak of the mountain. The sun is just starting to rise, and her family will be waking up soon.
How long will it take them to notice she’s gone?
Mirabel turns away from her home, her family, her entire life, and begins making her way down the mountain on the other side.
As soon as Dolores opens her door that morning, she knows something is off.
Twelve people live in this house - everyone else thinks it’s eleven, but she knows her tío Bruno is still hiding in the walls, so twelve, including herself. So, every morning, she expects to hear twelve heartbeats.
This morning, she hears eleven.
She doesn’t immediately freak out. Luisa may have left to get an early start on her chores. Camilo may have left after the party with some of his friends and crashed at one of their houses. Maybe Isabela went home with Mariano-
The thought alone makes Dolores gag.
She watches though, and listens.
Luisa is in the kitchen, helping carry the food out to the table.
Camilo is finishing getting ready for the day and bursts out of his room a moment later before rushing down the stairs in search of breakfast.
Isabela is just waking up, but already is perfectly prepared for the day ahead.
Dolores furrows her brow. So who is missing?
She makes her way down the stairs to the breakfast table, and all seems… normal.
None of the adults seem to be worried about any potentially missing individual.
What does Dolores not know? What is she not seeing?
She does a quick headcount. Abuela, Mamá, Papá, Camilo, Antonio, tía Julieta, tío Augustín, Isabela, Luisa-
“Where is Mirabel?”
All eyes at the table turn to Dolores, still standing a few feet away, a very worried look on her face.
“She probably overslept again,” Camilo says. “Partied a bit too hard last night.”
Abuela hums in response. “Dolores, come sit. It is time to eat.”
“What about-”
“I’ll make her some arepas later,” Julieta says.
“But-”
“Dolores,” Abuela says, and her tone leaves little room for argument.
Throughout the entire meal, Dolores can’t get her mind off of Mirabel. Not only does she never miss breakfast, she’s not even here - she didn’t just oversleep like Camilo thinks.
As soon as she’s excused, Dolores races back into Casita and up the stairs to Mirabel’s room. She starts by just knocking quietly.
After a moment with no answer, Dolores pushes the door open.
The room looks the same as always, except most of Antonio’s stuff has already been removed.
Just as she’s about to leave, Dolores sees a piece of paper folded on the desk.
Mirabel gives the biggest, most dramatic sigh of relief when her feet hit the ground on the other side of the Encanto’s mountain range.
It’s beautiful out here.
She is standing knee-deep in a river that must stretch around the entirety of their valley. Once she’s past the river, she’s dropping to her knees and catching some much needed breath.
Mirabel allows her eyes to close and the sun to warm her face.
“Mirabel?”
A man’s voice is calling her name.
It isn’t one that she recognizes, so she sits up quickly and glances around.
“Mirabel, is that you?”
She turns around towards the voice, and she’d know that face anywhere. She’s seen it everyday since she was tiny.
“Abuelo Pedro?”
She rushes towards him, but when she reaches the man she’s only ever seen in a portrait, Mirabel cannot touch him.
“I’m nothing more than a spirit here, mija,” he says gently. “I’ve been watching over all of you for many years. I guard the Encanto, just as I did the night I died.”
“You’ve been… here?”
“This is the spring where I died,” Pedro explains. “I sacrificed myself so your abuela and my niños could get to safety. And then… the candle.” He sighs. “It’s magic was founded right here, in this water. As a result, I’ve never been able to leave this spring. I don’t know if I can ever move on.”
“But you said you’ve been watching us,” Mirabel points out.
“I have, in these waters.” He smiles sadly. “I got to watch your mamá, tía, and tío grow up and have children of their own. I wish I could have been there for them. Been more than just… a story.” He stares off for a moment before shaking his head. “That’s all irrelevant right now. You must go back, mija.”
“What?”
“The world out here is not like the world you know,” Pedro says. “Time doesn’t pass the same way on this side of the mountains.”
“What does that mean?”
“For every year since these mountains formed, two have passed outside the walls. Your Encanto is trapped fifty years in the past. And no one even knows it exists.”
“H-how is that possible?” Mirabel asks. “They must have seen the mountains.”
Pedro shakes his head again. “The last trick of the magic. To everyone else, this spring is just a spring. These mountains don’t exist. Your town doesn’t exist. If you leave this spring and try to return, you will never be able to get home. Any magic you have will be lost for good. You will likely never see your family again.”
Mirabel pauses to process, then, “never go home?”
“If you step outside of this area, it will be as if you had no tie to the Encanto at all. You will never be able to return.”
“What if that’s what I want?”
“Then I will not stop you,” Pedro says. “But I’m asking you to consider if that is what you really want.”
“They don’t want me there,” Mirabel whispers. “I’m just a disgrace. The un-chosen Madrigal.”
“Mariposa, that is not true at all. Your family loves you dearly. I’ve been watching for your whole life, I know how much they care for you.”
Mirabel looks down at the water in front of her. “Can I watch with you?”
“Mamá!”
Dolores is yelling louder than she would have liked, but this is far more important than her own comfort. “Mamá!”
Pepa reaches the top of the stairs and is nearly barrelled over by her daughter. “Mija, what-”
“You need to read this.”
Dolores shoves a folded piece of paper in her hand. “What is this?”
“Mamá, just read it!”
Carefully, Pepa unfolds it, and she can tell it’s Mirabel’s handwriting a mile away.
And are those… tears?
Mi familia, the note begins.
Pepa reads the page down quickly, a few words catching heavily in her mind and causing a cloud to brew overhead.
Better for the family…
No more disgrace…
The Madrigals are all magical, I don’t belong…
And the one that breaks Pepa’s heart the most - I do not wish to cause more grief than I already have.
Pepa tries to force the rain to abate so she can finish the note.
By the time you have read this, I will be long gone. Far beyond the mountains around the Encanto. Please do not worry for me. I will be alright.
One day, perhaps, we will meet again.
Los amo a todos,
Mirabel
Pepa folds the note carefully and hands it back to Dolores.
Then, it begins to downpour.
It doesn’t take too long before, “Pepa! Why is it raining?”
Frankly, Pepa couldn’t care less what Alma thought of her rain clouds right now. Mirabel is gone, possibly for good, and they need her back.
Casita shifts below Pepa and Dolores’ feet, and, by the look on Dolores’ face, something isn’t right.
“More cracks,” Dolores mumbles. “More cracks in Casita. Big cracks.”
In response, Casita shifts suddenly, sinking a solid two inches down into the ground.
From their spot at the top of the stairs, Dolores and Pepa see the other Madrigals trickle out of the kitchen in confusion, rain still pouring down on their heads.
Félix, of course, immediately rushes up the stairs to his rain-soaked wife. “Pepi? Amor, what is it?”
“Mirabel,” Pepa says, and the rain turns ice-cold at the thought of how alone and terrified her poor sobrina must be. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Félix repeats.
“She left,” Dolores says quietly. “She left this note and disappeared sometime during the night because she thought… we would be better without her.”
The wind starts to pick up, and Félix knows he needs to try to calm his wife before she destroys half the town with a hurricane.
He subtly nods to Dolores, who takes the cue to go explain everything to the others, and he shuffles Pepa into her room.
In the middle of the Casita, under the driving rain, Dolores tells the remainder of her family what had occurred.
Julieta and Augustín look horrified, as do Luisa, Camilo, and Antonio especially, but Abuela and Isabela remain impossibly impassive.
“Let me see the note,” Abuela says.
Dolores is already strung-out enough that she doesn’t dare to refuse, handing Abuela the folded paper before looking back to Isabela.
It’s as if her prima is trying to sort through every single layer of her emotions individually, trying to decipher what she’s allowed to feel, what she isn’t, where this might lead her if she opens up at all.
Dolores’ thorough analysis of Isabela is cut short by Abuela giving a small, “hmm.”
All eyes slowly shift to Abuela.
“I never knew Mirabel had such a way with words.”
Dolores can only blink. “ That’s what you got out of her note?”
“It is clear we couldn’t have changed her mind,” Abuela says. “This was her decision, and as she said, she is likely far gone by now.”
“Then we have to go look for her!” Camilo argues.
Again, though, Abuela shakes her head. “If she’s left the Encanto, it is pointless to search. Once she passes the spring on the other side, she will never find her way back.”
The rain is starting to lessen, Félix apparently being able to calm Pepa down, and Dolores just prays her mamá stays out of earshot for whatever Abuela is going to say next.
“What do you mean, ‘never find her way back’?” Julieta asks, the first she’s spoken yet.
“When we received our miracle that built our Encanto, part of the magic served to hide us from those who might wish to harm us. Those raiders who forced us here… anyone from the outside. It is as if we do not exist.”
“So-”
“So if Mirabel has already left the spring, the magic tying her here will have vanished. She would not be able to return.”
“We have to search for her!” Luisa says immediately. “Maybe she hasn’t left yet, there’s still time!”
“We all have other obligations-”
“ Mamá !” Julieta hisses. “Esta es mi hija, tu nieta! We have to try to find her!”
Abuela seems slightly taken aback by Julieta’s ferocity, but, evidently, her eldest daughter’s words strike her deeply. She nods, glances up at the candle in the windowsill, and then to Pepa’s room, where she and Félix are emerging, now that the rain has stopped.
“We’re going to search for Mirabel!” Luisa announces to her tía and tío. “Right now!”
Unsurprisingly, they end up traveling in pairs - the two married couples stick together, Antonio tagging along with Pepa and Félix, while Luisa and Isabela travel west and Camilo and Dolores travel east.
They all scour as much land as they can, Pepa purposefully staying in the best mood possible to keep the sun out long into the evening, but eventually, even her gift cannot stop the impossible force of nature that is the passage of time, and everyone reconvenes back at the Casita.
No one finds Mirabel.
No one knows quite how long she’s been gone, since the last time anyone had seen her was when Antonio received his gift.
Dios mío, that was only yesterday. Twenty-four hours ago, the lives of the Madrigal clan had been perfect.
Of course, now, they know how untrue that is. Mirabel was clearly so miserable, so full of doubt and loathing, that she felt she needed to leave.
Did she know the risk? Did she know she might not come back?
It rains all night in the Encanto, although some villagers would swear on their lives that they saw snow, too.
Through the shimmering waters of the spring, Mirabel had watched, heart aching, as her family searched for her.
Pedro sat by her side the whole time.
As she watches her family try to get some sleep that night before journeying out to continue the search the next day, Mirabel sighs. “Now what?”
“That’s up to you, mariposa,” Pedro says gently. “You are still free to go on and leave this life behind you. But they will miss you greatly.”
“H-how do you know that? For sure?”
“I cannot say for sure, only your tío Bruno could ever say anything about the future with any certainty, but they love you, Mirabel. Tu madre y padre would be devastated if you never returned.”
“But they have Isabela and Luisa,” Mirabel mumbles, “the perfect sisters.”
“You like to embroider, right, mariposa?”
Mirabel looks up from the water at that. “What?”
“Embroidery requires patterns, I would think you would have noticed it all by now.”
Mirabel still looks utterly lost.
Pedro chuckles. “The magic in our family is built on patterns. Your abuela and I had triplets, no? Think about their gifts. Tu madre heals injuries someone sustained in the past. Pepa controls the current weather. Bruno sees into the future.”
“That’s… that’s a coincidence.”
“Is it? Isabela has beauty, Luisa has brawn, you have an incredible brain, mariposa.”
“But… I-”
“How old is Antonio?”
Mirabel is taken aback at the sudden change of questioning. “He’s five, why-”
“And, in order, which grandchild are you?”
Mirabel is quiet for a long time, then, “fifth.”
“Madrigal children are five when they receive their gift. You were the fifth child. The second Madrigal generation has magic of the past, present, and future. You and your sisters have the gifts of beauty, brawn, and brains. It is all connected, mariposa. And you are integral in the pattern.”
Mirabel looks back down at the water in lieu of responding.
“Get some rest, mija,” Pedro says. “You haven’t yet adjusted to the time out here. It’s been two days since you left, and you need to sleep. I will watch over you, I promise.”
Before he’s even done speaking, Mirabel is curled up on her side, fast asleep, at more peace than Pedro had seen from her yet.
The first person to wake up the next morning is Félix.
He’s woken by the nonsensical mumblings of his wife, still stewing in her sleep.
When Pepa stews, it rains, and Félix didn’t have to look out the window to know that Encanto was receiving the downpour of the year.
Félix sits up, careful not to disturb Pepa, and runs a hand over his face. How could this have happened?
How had they all been so blind to Mirabel’s misery, to the point where she felt she needed to leave them… and not leave for her own good, either, but because she thought they all were miserable because of her.
They had all failed her spectacularly.
Félix lays back down and Pepa immediately shifts into his hold. He murmurs soft nothings into her hair and tries to lull her into an easier, calmer sleep, but it just continues to pour.
The rain only stops when the family takes up the search party once again, after Pepa had mumbled ‘clear skies’ countless times and ran her hands over her braid until they were as red as her curls.
Today, though, the locals joined in the search effort.
Everyone in town at least cared for Mirabel enough to search, even if she was a bit of an outcast within the framework of the family.
The entire community searches high and low, combing every inch of their little sanctuary town, but there is no sight of Mirabel.
The Madrigals reconvene that evening, once Pepa’s rain has made it nearly impossible to continue the search.
Dinner is a silent affair; no one is talking and no one is eating.
Dolores, who had been intently staring at the bowl of avocado in front of her, suddenly looks up, attention pricked like a startled rabbit.
Just as Pepa is about to question Dolores’ sudden change in demeanor, Casita rumbles beneath them once again.
This time, the damage is visible.
Cracks split the tiles below their feet, crawling up the wall and behind the great family portrait. Dust from the rupturing ceiling cascades down onto their mostly untouched food, the house shaking as if seized by an earthquake.
Abuela stands suddenly and exits the room, everyone almost immediately following her.
She doesn’t go far, though, because even from the opposite end of the building, there is no question that the candle is flickering, threatening to go out, as are the doors.
The wall surrounding the candle’s window is spindled with cracks, and just as it seems Casita may collapse, she settles back into her foundation.
No one dares to exhale.
For two more days, the fantastical and magical Madrigals are hopelessly lost and powerless. They’ve searched the entirety of the valley twice, almost three times, and Mirabel is nowhere to be found.
She’s gone. Truly, actually gone.
The magic may be gone soon too, apparently. All of their powers have been acting up since Mirabel left, and there are more cracks in Casita than ever before.
And all the Madrigals were hopelessly, unbelievably miserable.
Julietta barely leaves her room. Isabela snaps at everyone. Luisa tries to hold herself together but breaks down often, sobbing into her hands even as she tries to hide.
Pepa’s side of the family hasn’t been faring much better. In fact, if it weren’t for the instability of the magic, the rain would’ve surely caused a flood by now.
On the fifth day, though, all hell breaks loose.
Abuela, the only one not completely devastated at Mirabel’s sudden departure, is attempting to get the rest of her family back to their regularly scheduled work. And that, of course, involves attempting to get Pepa to cease the relentless rain that’s been battering the town for days.
“I know we all miss her,” Abuela tries to reason with Pepa, “but we have an obligation to the community. We cannot wash them away with floodwaters!”
Pepa, who had been staring at the floor, meets Abuela’s steely gaze. Abuela would swear she saw lightning flicker across Pepa’s eyes.
“Mirabel es mi sobrina!” Pepa hisses. “She is gone because we didn’t treat her fairly! We will never see her again because we pushed her away! To hell with the community, they can-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Abuela cuts in harshly. “We owe this community our services, because we were given-”
“Gifts! ¡Sí, lo sé!” Pepa snaps. “Magic that became so important to us that we drove Mirabel out of the family!”
“She didn’t receive a gift-”
“And we decided that meant she wasn’t good enough! How could we do that to her?”
“Pepa,” Abuela snaps, “I will not have any more of this.”
Not one to be outdone, Pepa opens her mouth to retort, but whatever she was going to say dies in her teeth as a great crack splits the floor between the two of them.
Casita rumbles as more cracks begin to spread up the walls - this time, towards the candle in the window.
Isabela rushes towards the candle, throwing vines to get some elevation, but the light on her door dims and dies, sending her tumbling to the ground.
Camilo, too, tries to reach their magical flame, but he falls short when his power gives out.
Casita, even as the family magic is waning, forces everyone out to safety.
They land hard on the ground outside, and Pepa picks her head up in time to see someone racing past them into the crumbling structure.
It couldn’t be.
Pepa shakes her head, trying to reorient herself, and she sees her.
Mirabel, frantically climbing up the railings and beams towards the candle window.
In that moment, even with the magic on the fritz, Pepa feels more in-control of her powers than she had in all of her forty-five magical years.
Pepa’s vision darkens, and the only think she can see is her stupid, wonderful sobrina who is about to get herself killed.
She gets to her feet and races into the crumbling Casita. The weather is at her command now, and a thick layer of frost coats the tiles, preventing them from throwing her out again.
“Mirabel!” Pepa cries. “She’s going to fall!”
Mirabel is ignoring her, trying desperately to reach the candle.
But Bruno’s tower is trembling, spindling cracks spreading across the already fragile structure, and Pepa can’t hesitate any longer.
She desperately reaches for Mirabel, and her magic gives one last sputtering response in the form of a gust of wind that knocks Mirabel off-balance.
Casita does the rest, smoothing tiles to give Mirabel a safe descent. Pepa gathers the girl into her arms just as, with one final animalistic groan, Casita Madrigal crumbles where it stands.
When Mirabel wakes up, she’s aware she’s being held.
A lock of curly red hair falls into her line of sight, and Mirabel feels her tía’s long fingers tracing patterns along her back.
“Tía?” She manages.
Pepa looks down at her with a soft smile. “Ay, you’re awake.”
“What happened?”
“I think I knocked you out,” Pepa says sheepishly. “Do you remember racing for the candle?”
“The candle… the candle!” Mirabel tries to sit up, but her tía’s hands keep her down.
“Fácil, cariño, fácil. The candle is long gone. There was nothing any of us could have done.”
“I could’ve saved it!” Mirabel argues. “That’s what Abuelo Pedro told me!”
“Pedro?”
Mirabel turns to the voice, and it’s then that she realizes they are definitely not in Casita. They’re in the church, and she’s laying half on top of Pepa, who is propped against the wall.
Abuela is standing in the pews. “How did you see Pedro?”
“It’s a long story-”
“Mija, we have all the time in the world,” Pepa laughs quietly. “Tell us what happened.”
“They’re really that heartbroken?”
Mirabel, through the magic of the spring water, had just watched her family search for her. For days. They had only given up when Pepa couldn’t contain her emotions anymore and allowed the downpour to finally come.
“Of course they are, mariposa,” Pedro says.
“I didn’t think they’d really notice or care,” Mirabel mumbles.
“I told you before. You’re a part of the family, gift or no gift. They all love you more than you’ll ever know.”
Something in the water catches her eye. “What’s wrong with the candle?”
“Ay, I was waiting for that to happen,” Pedro murmurs. “Without you there to keep the family somewhat stable, the candle is dying.”
“Dying?!”
“It will likely go out soon. If it goes out, Casita will fall, and your familia will be as ordinary as the rest of us.”
“What? Why?”
“It is just how the magic works, I cannot explain it to you. But this is when you must decide what you wish to do. You still have the chance to go back. Or you can leave this spring and move on with your life. The choice is up to you.”
“I-”
Mirabel looks back down into the water, and several images flicker before her eyes. She sees Isabela destroying the rose statues in her room. Luisa trying to hide her tears behind her hands. Camilo trying to cheer up Antonio, but neither of them laughing. Pepa drenched in rain as she clings to Félix.
She sees her mamá, curled up on her bed, staring blankly at the wall.
In that moment, standing knee-deep in the water of the spring, Mirabel knows exactly what she needs to do.
“So I came back,” Mirabel whispers.
She feels Pepa drop a kiss to the top of her head. “We’re so glad you did. But next time, don’t go running into a collapsing building!”
Mirabel narrows her eyes. “I did that? This afternoon is a little… fuzzy.”
“Ay, that’s probably my fault,” Pepa chuckles. “I was so desperate to get you to safety, I must have knocked you out by accident. Lo siento, mija.”
Mirabel grins up at her tía. “You saved me.”
At that, Pepa shrugs. “Casita saved us both. Even as everything crumbled down, she shielded us with some of the furniture.”
“I can’t believe you saw Pedro,” Abuela murmurs, sitting down in the nearest pew.
“He told me to tell you he misses you,” Mirabel says softly. “And that he hopes to see you again someday.”
Abuela’s fingers run over her wedding band. “My Pedro… all this time, he’s been watching us.” She pauses for a moment, then, “did he say anything else?”
“He and I talked a lot,” Mirabel says. “The five days I was gone was actually ten days in the spring. Abuelo told me all the stories about the two of you… and then about all the things I missed. Stories of what he watched from before I was born, when I was little… We talked a lot.”
“Pedro was a special man,” Abuela whispers, more to herself than anyone else.
Mirabel reaches out towards Abuela, although she can’t quite reach her. “He is.”
With a tiny, watery smile, Abuela takes Mirabel’s outstretched hand with the gentlest squeeze.
On the other side of the mountain range, a single yellow butterfly flutters through a stream of sunlight over the spring.
And, as he sits by the stream enjoying the sunshine, Pedro smiles.