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She was still as beautiful as the day he married her.
Bruno Madrigal wanted nothing more than to leap out of hiding and scoop you in a warm embrace, away from the tragedies that he had caused. Yet he had to persevere. He didn’t want his favorite sobrina to be like him; casted out like the bruja from his telenovelas.
You sit in front of his family, head in your hands as you break apart right then and there. Julieta gave you words of consolation, patting your back like the nurturer that she is.
“We’ll find him, hermana. He won’t leave you like this.”
Pepa nodded in agreement, a graying cloud above her head. She spoke whispers of clear skies, pacing around nervously with her fingers wrought and stretched. Felix was there to reassure his anxious wife, peppering her with kisses and words of encouragement.
You seem to perk up at Julieta’s reassurance. Surely your husband will not leave you a widow. He was far too precious to ever attempt such an atrocity.
“Y-you’re right. He won’t leave me like this. He couldn’t just leave.”
But he did, Bruno thought to himself woefully. He did leave you. For the familia, for the miracle, for his sobrina.
For you, he tells himself. It’s all for you.
You stay with the children in casita as the search for your husband continues. You wanted nothing more than to go out there and scour the jungle if needed. You wanted to find your husband, your life, the one you vowed to be with until death would you part.
Your husband’s ring felt cold to the touch.
Tears gather in the corner of your eyes at the memory of your wedding. Oh how joyful that day was. Bruno, your love, was an anxious wreck, throwing salt over his shoulder and fiddling with his formal ruana. Agustin would place a comforting hand on his shoulder while Felix tried so hard to make him smile. Yet when you walked down the aisle, it’s as if the world stopped for the both of you. He was no longer the anxious wreck, nor was he the bundle of nerves who would pick at a loose thread from his ruana—
He was going to be your husband, and you his wife.
The night you consummated your marriage was the greatest moment for both of your lives.
You were broken out of your thoughts when one of your sobrinas took hold of your hands. Dolores stared at you, teary eyed. She looks like she wanted to say something, stuttering over her words and making an occasional squeak. Yet she resorted into giving you a big hug.
You chalked it up as one of your favorite sobrina’s way of comforting you.
Of course, you never knew how the man you love was muttering pleas to Dolores. Pleas of keeping his presence a secret, for you and for the familia. He begged under his breath, an erratic mumbling and stuttering of; “Please do not tell my wife. Please do not tell mi amor that I am here. Please Dolores, I’m begging you...”
The eleven year old could hear her tio’s pounding heartbeat, the wringing of his hands, the fiddling of his ruana, the drop of sweat from his brow as he begs and begs under his breath. It scared Dolores, in a way. She had not heard such fear in a man’s voice.
She was slightly relieved when the mumblings stopped after she opted to hug her tia.
The days that followed were hard on you. All the able-bodied men would gather up in the morning in front of casita to start the search, yet when they returned, they would give you words of apology. Your husband was nowhere to be seen.
You stayed with your sobrinas and sobrino throughout the day, trying your best to keep your thoughts occupied. Mirabel, especially, needed as much love as she could. After all, the night her door disappeared left her broken.
She needed her familia during her darkest times, so you gave her all the love you could give.
Two weeks into the search, Abuela called off all the search parties. Bruno was still nowhere to be found.
You cried with your hands tightly against your mouth that night. You did not want Dolores to hear.
That night, Bruno sat with his back against the wall to your room, listening to your silent sobs. His heart ripped in half. How could he, the man who vowed to make you happy, to keep you safe, break you like this? He had broken every vow he had promised on your wedding.
He needed to protect the familia. He needed to protect his sobrina. He needed to protect you.
That did not lift the weight of his grieving heart.
Now he sits there, his own tears streaming down his face. He curls into a ball as he cries with you, wallowing at the fate he decided for himself.
The days that followed were a blur. Casita had given you a guest room to sleep in. After all, Bruno’s room left too much memories of your love. That, and the stairs were deemed to much for the familia who wanted nothing more than to help you through your grief.
And the fact that his door did not hold its magical shine—you did not want to think of the worst.
You held on tightly to the shawl he had given you during your 25th birthday. It was a beautiful shade of jade, just like the jade of his eyes when he uses his gift. A beautiful sight to see, yet he always thought it was a curse.
You did not think a gift that would show you the day of your wedding as a curse. It was a blessing. And you made sure to tell Bruno everyday.
As the days went by, you pretended that the shawl is his embrace—wrapping you tenderly with the smell of campfire and sand. You always loved that smell, a comforting mix that would leave you leaning on his shoulder to rest whilst you look at the stars together in your hidden meadow.
The shawl no longer smelled of campfire and sand.
You noticed something within yourself that you were oh so desperately denying. Yet when you collapsed during breakfast, and when Julieta checked up on your worsening condition, it only confirmed your suspicions.
You were pregnant.
You were five weeks pregnant.
You would’ve celebrated something so joyous and sing songs of praises for this new blessing, yet you find yourself in a pit of despair. Bruno, oh, mi pobre Brunito. He would not be here to hold your hair back when you puke out your breakfast. He would not be here to help you carry your bags when you go to the market for Julieta. He would not be holding your hand as the midwife urges you to push your newborn out.
Bruno would not be here to see his child.
He would be an amazing padre, you thought. He was so gentle with his sobrinas that it made your weak to your knees. He was the perfect man to be called a father, yet he was not here to celebrate your bundle of joy together.
You cried again that night, this time while caressing your still flat stomach while covering your quivering lips with one hand.
You were hoping Dolores could not hear you.
Unbeknownst to you, as you always were, Bruno knows everything. He had heard Pepa gushing to her husband about your pregnancy. Now he kneels behind the wall adjacent to your room with his forehead against the wood. He wished he could hold you close, talk about names for their child. He wants to coddle you with all the love he could give and nurture your unborn child together.
Yet he couldn’t.
It broke his heart to know that he couldn’t.
Now he lets silent tears flow whilst he listens to your cries; pleas to the stars and the candle that sits on your bedside for your husband to return.
He couldn’t, he answers you in his thoughts. He couldn’t come back.
The months of your pregnancy were difficult, yet the familia was there to help you. Alma, especially, had created a bond with you over the months. It looks like having a child with the absence of a father had sparked a feeling of connection between the both of you. Alma had become one of your greatest pillars despite how stoic she might seem.
Your sobrinas and sobrino would jump around you and prod you with questions of your growing stomach. They always made your day so much brighter, helping you out with tasks while you struggle with your bulging stomach. Isabela would give you fresh flowers everyday in your room, Luisa would follow you around and do even the most mundane tasks for you, Camilo would shapeshift into different people and make you laugh, and Mirabel would sit with Dolores while they sing soft lullabies to your belly. They would sometimes switch to reading stories, which they still stutter from time to time.
Bruno watched all of this unfold behind the walls, praying for health to you and his child. He would daydream the moments he would have with you whilst you were pregnant; instead of Isabela giving you flowers, he would be the one to change the flowers everyday. Instead of Luisa, he would be the one doing mundane tasks for you. He would feed you, carry your bags, push your seat when you sit. Instead of Camilo, he would set up a mini stage to act out his telenovelas. You always loved Marisol and Hector’s forbidden love. Bruno realizes that he hadn’t told you the next part when Ronaldo tries to poison Hector. His heart lurches at the fact that you would never know Hector had survived the poisoning.
Instead of Mirabel and Dolores, he would be the one to sing little tunes to your belly while he caresses the growing bump. He would be the one to feel the kick, the one to lie next to your stomach while he whispers sweet nothings to his child. He would kiss your stomach, assure you that your stretch marks were perfect, and the both of you would discuss names together, like a married couple should.
But he couldn’t do any of that, no. He resigned to his fate where he lives in the walls, finding comfort of daydreaming the what-ifs of his life if he hadn’t left.
The day the twins were born was bittersweet for you.
They looked exactly alike; a girl and a boy. They had their father’s nose and his soft features. They had your eyes and your lips, and they were perfect. Julieta provided you with enough food to get through the pains of labor. You were thankful for your hermanas support, though you hoped she would focus more on herself than you.
When your children’s cries first greeted the world, you knew you would protect them from all the dangers life would throw at them.
They had their first feed, yet with the stress—both physical and emotional—you were too tired to move. So, after you were done feeding them. you slept like a log with your hermanas tucking the children in their cribs.
That night, Bruno had heard the first cries of his children. Twins, you had twins! He was an anxious ball of nerves in the walls, hearing you cry out in pain during the labor. He cheered for you in his head, imagining himself right beside you, holding your hand. Instead of Julieta being the one assuring you, it would have been him. He would have held your hand as you hissed in pain. He would have kissed your forehead when the first cries of his child greeted the world. He would have been there, rocking both of them whilst you slept soundly, tired from the pains of child birth.
He wanted nothing more in this world than to hold his children.
So he did.
In the dead of the night, where he was sure that everybody was asleep, he crept into your room as quiet as a mouse. He couldn’t resist fixing your blanket and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You still looked as beautiful as day he married you, where everything stopped and all he could see was you.
Bruno stares longingly at the ring on your finger, and the one that hangs around your neck.
He turned his attention to his children, his beautiful, beautiful children. They were perfect. He could see the resemblance of his and your features present, and they were the most perfect he could have ever seen. His heart swelled with overwhelming happiness. These are his children. His!
Bruno oh so gently caressed their chubby cheeks, making sure to wipe his hands on his ruana before he reaches out. They were incredibly beautiful, just like their mother.
The twins stirred and stared at the man before them. Bruno held his breath and crossed his fingers when they began to coo, wanting to be carried up.
He held his children protectively under the witness of the full moon, and his heart was full with nothing but overwhelming love and joy.
“If I could be with you, mi vida, I’ll give you everything I have, I’ll teach you everything I know,” Bruno whispers to the twins. He thinks to the moment he would be able to be with you once more, yet he lightly shakes his head at the impossible scenario.
“I cannot be with you, but I promise, if somehow fate decides for me to hold you once again, I promise I’ll do better.”
You were awoken by the sound of your crying children, and the door slightly ajar,
...and there lingered the scent of campfire and sand.