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The night was there and Agustín was warm because of Julieta’s body pressed close against him and two other frames - those of their daughters - occupying both sides of the grand bed they were provided for the night.
But he was also cold because just a few hours before they had lost their youngest daughter, their Mirabel, and that thought was still surreal and it made him shiver whenever he dived into it.
He couldn’t sleep.
He lifted up his head to look at the clock on the bedtable and it showed it was about three in the morning.
Which meant that Julieta was asleep for about ten minutes.
It wasn’t easy - getting her to go to sleep.
She was fighting her weariness, whispering to him in a little voice that if she closed her eyes, Mirabel would be there and that it would be unbearable for her because it wouldn’t be real, Mirabel wouldn’t be really there . It would just be her imagination playing tricks on her.
So he laid there, long after Isabela and Luisa fell asleep, though with difficulties, and he suspected they would wake up the moment he just stirred on the bed.
He wondered how he went through the day.
He wondered how it was possible he hadn’t cried even since his youngest laid there, crushed by the debris, living her last seconds.
He knew why it was so.
All this time, he tried to be strong - for himself, for his daughters, but most importantly, for his wife.
He was by her side - comforting her, holding her when she cried, stroking her back as the sobs were escaping her lips.
Agustín didn’t mind it then. Thinking about Julieta and her comfort brought him peace of mind for the time being, if only briefly.
As the hours passed and he remained the only one still awake, he pondered if it was how Luisa felt all her life after receiving her gift.
Some hours before, their middle daughter told them about the never-ending pressure she felt upon herself and about how it was slowly crushing her, threatening to break her.
It probably broke her. Mirabel’s death probably was the final blow.
Just after Luisa’s confession, Isabela told them, however with great hesitation and some sadness, maybe even regret, that being the perfect child for the family was forcing her to ignore her true self. That it made her unhappy.
It wasn’t the perfect time for such confession but, on the other hand, what time could have been a good one?
Julieta was an emotional wreck after that and Agustín saw the regret and guilt on their daughters’ faces after seeing their mother’s reaction and yet, he couldn’t really blame them.
Mirabel’s death… It was hard for everyone in their family.
It made them act irrational sometimes.
Just like it made him be in a lethargy for many hours before all those emotions started to come back to him.
Quite late he realized that his eyes watered and he had to intake a sharp breath to stop any other sounds from escaping him.
He didn’t want to wake up any of his girls.
Yet, Julieta stirred.
She clenched her hand tighter on his shirt, hugging him even closer. Her hair, now free of the bun, was lying all around her head with some locks covering her face. Yet he knew her cheeks and soft skin around her eyes was still quite reddened and puffed from crying.
Agustín stroked her waist with his hand, then covered his face with his free hand.
The last time they spent a night like that - all in one bed - was in their Casita, the very night that Mirabel hadn’t got her gift. She had been so upset, and she had cried so hard, that they hadn’t had the heart to leave her in the nursery. They had brought her into their bedroom and after that, Luisa and Isabela had come to them too, wanting to be a comfort for their little sister.
But it was a happy memory for Agustín. Not because of Mirabel not getting a gift, of course, but because his whole family, his all four girls were there, laying close to him.
It had been the last time they laid in one bed together. After that day, Mirabel had distanced herself from her sisters a little and it was quite obvious that being the only one of the children who hadn’t got the gift was hard for her, especially at her vulnerable age of five.
He had loved to make her smile then. He had loved to make her laugh. He had been doing everything to make her happier, to make the frown on her forehead or sad glimmer in her eyes disappear.
He and Julieta had done everything they could have to make her feel loved and not less special than any of her sisters.
Yet, sometimes he thought it wasn’t enough.
Julieta stirred again - it was a sign that her dreams weren’t the most pleasant, so he kept stroking her waist, hoping it would calm her a little. She stopped after a few seconds.
He sighed.
It was easy to blame someone for their tragedy. It was the easiest to feel the anger towards Alma, specifically.
How many times did he stand up for their daughter? How many times did he have to remind Alma that their daughter wasn’t less useful because she had no gift? Sometimes, he felt as if Mirabel was invisible in her grandmother’s eyes.
But he knew it wasn’t her fault. Well, at least not her whole fault.
Because it was Mirabel’s decision and only hers to stay in Casita, despite their house pushing all the others away, to get to the Candle.
Mirabel had always tried so much, too much. She had always wanted to do something for her family, to prove her worth. He and Julieta had always worried for her, worried that she would hurt herself in the process.
But they hadn’t dared to think it would end like that, it would end with her–
Death.
His throat squeezed painfully.
“Tino,” he heard a soft whisper and he took his arm away, looking down at Julieta. She glanced up at him, pushing her hair away from her face lazily, her eyes and voice both sleepy. “Had a nightmare.”
“About what, querida?”
“Mirabel,” she said softly, looking at him, though her eyes were closing yet again. “It was awful. She was– dead.”
Her voice trembled and he almost shivered. It was hard to keep it cool. To not betray his emotions, but he succeeded. “Go to sleep, mi amor,” he said instead. “Mirabel’s asleep.”
“Si,” she answered, resting her head on his chest once again. “It’s night.”
She was so tired and sleepy that she didn’t even notice that Luisa and Isabela were in the bed with them. It was good. It really was. If he was to comfort her once again when she cried, he knew they both would sob, and both their daughters would wake up. And he wanted them to rest.
“Sleep well, Juli,” he whispered. She hummed but didn’t even move.
He listened to her breaths, waiting until her breathing deepen and stabilize, meaning she fell asleep again.
He wondered what the next day would bring them.
Agustín was nervous. He was terrified . Because…
Because before, there were things that even Julieta’s gift couldn’t help with.
There were demons that plagued people, slowly destroying their minds and spirits and bodies.
There were issues that her arepas couldn’t heal because they’re weren’t of physical matter.
And Julieta didn’t have the power to bring people back from the dead. She always got upset when she wasn’t able to help someone and such things happened sometimes.
There were a few people that died or took their own life because what she was able to do hadn’t been enough.
Once, Julieta received a letter from one of the townspeople that she had tried to help. She was doing everything she could, but it just wasn’t enough.
A few hours later, that man was found dead by his sister. He hanged himself.
Julieta tended to blame herself whenever such a thing happened. She took it as her responsibility to heal people and if she didn’t succeed - even if there was nothing she could have done, which Agustín used to tell her whenever she got desperate - she wasn’t herself for quite some time.
And all of those people weren’t her daughter, her own flesh and blood.
They weren’t her beloved child, someone who she would give her life for if it meant saving them.
He couldn’t tell what would happen now. He couldn’t predict what impact Mirabel’s death would have on her mother.
It scared him, it scared him so, so much . He couldn’t lose his wife too. He couldn’t lose anyone of them.
He kissed Julieta’s head, praying in his mind, that God would give them, give her , strength because no parents should outlive their children.