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“Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully across my memory. Far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember; things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember…And a song someone sings…Once upon a December.” - Once Upon A December, Anastasia
Age: 6 months
If there was one thing Alma could count on in regards to her baby triplets, it was that they seemed to soothe each other like nothing else could. Right from birth, their bond had been something special, something to marvel at.
And, oh, had she marveled. Her three little babies, her miracles, the greatest gifts Pedro had ever given her. So small, so delicate, so beautiful.
Julieta, her eldest, the calmest of the three. So long as Julieta had her siblings close-by, she was content. When she woke up wailing at night, she would quickly be calmed by the mere sight of her siblings. She was a smiley baby, often smiling at nothing at all, waving her little hands and giggling at anything and everything. Give her a cuddle and something pretty to look at, and she was content.
Pepa, the middle triplet, the heaviest baby; the most robust, the loudest. Pepa was born opinionated. She’d shriek and wail when unhappy, waving her fists and kicking her legs. Her giggles were louder than Julieta’s, more high-pitched, almost like gleeful screams instead of giggles. She’d pull on Alma’s hair, squeeze Pedro’s nose, sometimes slap at her brother and sister for attention.
Bruno, the youngest- “the baby-baby,” as Pedro had teased. He was the smallest of the triplets, the most timid. When introduced to something new, he’d bury his face against Alma’s shoulder, whining until he was certain it was safe. He didn’t like to be put down; like Julieta, he loved a good cuddle, maybe even more so than his big sister. He was happiest curled up against his sisters or in Alma’s arms, making his displeasure known whenever she put him down. He used to cling to Pedro like that, but…But…
Don’t think about it.
But the thought was never far from her mind, not really. Try as she might, she could never truly banish the image of Pedro, her beloved Pedro, walking to his death. Walking into that river, hands raised in surrender. Pleading for mercy.
His blood staining the machete, spiraling in the water.
It was one of those nights, Alma thought, resigned. She couldn’t sleep like this. She felt too wound up, too tense. Prepared to grab her children and flee at a moment’s notice. She sat on the edge of her bed, wrapped in her black shawl and trying to keep her breathing slow and steady. She couldn’t afford to break down. She had a village to lead, a miracle to protect, her babies to keep safe…
Her babies.
They were so quiet. Normally Pepa snored, Bruno snuffled and Julieta tossed and turned. But they were quiet. Why were they so quiet?
Sudden terror seized her and Alma practically leaped off the bed and hurried to the three cribs. In her exhausted, anxious state, she’d placed them all in Julieta’s crib earlier.
The sight that greeted her made tears sting her eyes. Not tears of grief, but relief. Gratitude. Joy.
Her three babies were all fast asleep, squished together in a way that didn’t entirely look comfortable. Bruno was in the middle, just as she’d left him; he and Julieta were holding hands. Pepa twitched in her sleep and kicked slightly, tangling her leg with her brother’s, her cheek squished against his. Julieta’s mouth hung open, there was a little drool on her chin, but she was sleeping soundly. Bruno’s nose momentarily scrunched up (He’s dreaming, Alma thought) before his expression smoothed back out.
They were fine. They were safe. Alma would make sure they stayed that way.
But for now she stayed there, watching her little miracles sleep soundly, their precious candle casting a soft glow over them.
They were okay. So long as they had each other, they were okay.
Age: 10 years old
Julieta was the eldest. She was Responsible and Grown Up. She was sweet little Julieta Madrigal, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
And right now, she was steaming. If she was Pepa, there would have been a storm cloud above her head. If she was Bruno…Well, truth be told, her little brother’s glare could actually be pretty scary. Julieta wished hers was. Mamí used to laugh and say Julieta looked like an angry puppy when she tried to scowl on purpose or look intimidating.
Julieta didn’t want to be a kicked puppy. She didn’t want to be any kind of puppy, but she sure felt like biting.
She stomped into Casita and called out for Mamá. No response. Okay, good, if Mamá was still in town that meant Julieta was free to be annoyed. No lectures on responsibility or serving the community. Sweet, blessed silence.
Until Pepa and Bruno poked their heads out of Pepa’s room anyway.
Pepa had a stormcloud over her head, thundering and occasionally flashing with lightning. Bruno looked tear-stained and tired.
Julieta wasn’t sure if she wanted to burst into tears at the sight of how upset they were, run to them and hug them, or scream at them to leave her alone.
But Pepa only said, “You too, huh?”
And it all came pouring out.
“Today was awful!” Julieta stomped her foot, something she hadn’t done since she was five, when everyone started saying how Mature and Well Behaved she was. “I ran out of food and had to keep coming back here to get more because people kept coming to me for such- such- such stupid things!” There, she’d said it and she wasn’t sorry either. “I had five people come to me to heal paper-cuts. Who needs an arepa for a paper-cut!? They’ll heal fast on their own, but nnnnooo, let’s waste Julieta’s time and waste the time of people who actually needed help! One boy broke his leg falling out of a tree and, okay, that’s fair, I’ll help! But the boy right after him just had a bruise and it was almost gone anyway!”
Bruno was nodding as she spoke, cheeks puffed out in annoyance. Pepa’s cloud darkened further as her eyes narrowed.
“I’m…I’m tired,” Julieta admitted and her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, trying to hide it, but she knew they noticed. “I’m so tired and…” And maybe it was such a stupid thing to be sad about, Mamá would surely tell her off, but…
“No one even said thank you,” she said in a whisper. She pressed her hands against her eyes, willing her tears not to spill.
Her siblings were quiet. Then there were hurried footsteps and Bruno’s little hands gently pulling Julieta’s own hands away from her eyes. He looked so worried and Julieta wanted to kick herself. Triplets or not, she was the eldest, the Big Sister. She wasn’t meant to worry him.
And Pepa, she stood there with her hands on her hips, her hair and skirt starting to whip around in the wind she’d summoned.
“They’re all jerks, ” Pepa declared.
“That’s not fair,” Bruno said quietly to Julieta. “They should always thank you, hermana.”
She’d like to think so, but maybe that was selfish. Childish. Silly. Julieta couldn’t afford to be silly, or selfish, or-
Bruno flicked her forehead, giving her a tiny smile.
“I can hear you thinking,” he said.
“Liar,” Julieta huffed.
“Triplet magic.”
Okay, maybe he had her there.
Pepa tugged on her arm. “C’mon,” she said. “We’re going back to my room.” She dragged them both towards the stairs, a stubborn set to her jaw and anger still plain in her eyes. At least the wind and lightning had stopped, and Julieta quite liked the thunder.
“You had bad days too, right?” Julieta asked. Pepa had, after all, said You too, huh?
“Yup,” Pepa said. She didn’t elaborate. Bruno didn’t say a word, just sighed in that really tired, sad way he had sometimes. Julieta hated that sound. It shouldn’t be allowed.
Pepa literally pushed them both onto her bed, then flopped in between them and pulled them close to her, holding on tightly, a girl on a mission. The wind chimes in her room made lovely soft, musical sounds. The decorations of coloured glass cast rainbows on the walls. On the ceiling, clouds passed slowly overhead; they were dark, but didn’t quite manage to block out the magical sun.
Slowly, Pepa’s own cloud dispersed.
“People suck sometimes,” Pepa said abruptly. She still had them both in a death grip, her gaze firmly on the ceiling. Her big green eyes narrowed and the clouds moved quicker.
“They do,” Bruno whispered.
Julieta nodded. She swallowed hard and leaned in even closer to whisper to her siblings; “They really do.”
After all, they’d never tell on her. They agreed with her. They were The Madrigal Triplets and it was always the three of them fighting in the same corner. No matter what else happened, no matter what sort of day she had, Julieta knew that Pepa and Bruno wouldn’t hold her feelings against her.
She was meant to be grown up. The eldest. Responsible, reliable, sweet, well-behaved Julieta Madrigal.
But with Pepa and Bruno, she didn’t have to be.
She just had to be Julieta.
Pepa nodded, still grinding her teeth. Despite her clear anger, she fell asleep first; her head lolled, knocking against Julieta’s. Bruno curled up smaller and fell asleep with his head on Pepa’s shoulder.
Julieta watched as the clouds turned from grey to white; they got smaller and slower and finally disappeared.
Smiling, relaxing in her siblings’ presence, Julieta joined them in sleep.
Age: 16 years old
Agustín felt dreadfully nervous as he made his way to Casita. He was, as always, hoping to see Julieta, but he’d heard her year had an absolutely awful exam today, so who knew if she’d even be up for company? Still, even if she didn’t want to see him, she’d be nice about it. He could count on that much.
It seemed like every kid in Julieta’s year at school was complaining about this exam. Every kid he’d seen was moaning about how tough it was, how unfair and last minute it was. They said half the material hadn’t even been covered in class yet, or completely glossed over. And, considering their teacher Profesor Blanco was known to be a complete and utter gilipollas, Agustín didn’t doubt the story one bit. Profesor Blanco was a truly awful teacher. Parents complained about him left and right. Agustín desperately hoped he wouldn’t be stuck with him next year, but considering his awful luck, he probably would.
Maybe he should copy Bruno and knock on wood.
The town had also been shrouded in fog for the entire hour of the exam, so it was safe to say that Pepa, at least, hadn’t been a fan of it.
So he’d gathered some of his mother’s best teas and snacks and made his way to Casita. The triplets would have been home for a while by now. Julieta would be home. He hoped.
He hoped Dona Alma wouldn’t be home, she didn’t seem to like him much and she made him nervous.
Agustín felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking it. Scary or not, she was still Julieta’s mother.
But he didn’t have any more time to worry about it, because the next thing he knew, he was at Casita’s front door.
“H-Hola, Casita,” Agustín said. At first it had felt a little strange to address a house, but it was a sentient house, and Casita seemed to appreciate it. Julieta had completely beamed at him the first time he did it and even Alma had nodded in approval.
The shutters opened and closed, like Casita was waving.
“Is Julieta home?”
The front door opened, then waved back and forth, inviting him in.
Agustín stepped into the courtyard, clutching his gifts tightly. “Julieta?” he called. No answer. He bit his lip and tried again; “Julieta? It’s just Agustín! Are you home?”
Nothing. Why would Casita let him in if she wasn’t here?
“Julieta?” Still nothing. He peered into the kitchen. “Uh- Bruno? Pepa?”
As he reached the dining room, the floor tiles suddenly danced around, pushing him along.
“Woah- hey! Casita! I don’t need any help with falling, thank you!”
The tiles shuddered again, some paintings swayed from side to side. He had the distinct impression that the house was laughing at him. The tiles pushed him to the back doors of the dining room; they were wide open, leading to the patio and garden.
This time, the shove was more gentle, but Agustín still staggered and windmilled his arms to keep from falling over. When he straightened up, he couldn’t help but grin at what he saw.
There was Julieta alright, lying on her back, fast asleep on the grass. Her dark hair was fanned out around her and she had her siblings with her, an arm around each of them. She looked utterly peaceful, a little smile on her face. Perfectly content and relaxed, in a way Agustín wasn’t quite used to seeing from her. She was beautiful. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought so and it wouldn’t be the last, but it struck him how utterly lovely she was. She was like a painting or a statue from church. He’d have to ask Félix for help with finding the right poetic and perfect description for her, but it was all he had for now.
Pepa was on her left, her head on Julieta’s chest. She was snoring and one arm reached down, still holding Bruno’s hand in her sleep. Her hair wasn’t in its usual braid, curling around her face and shoulders. If she’d been stressing out earlier that day she certainly wasn’t now. She was totally out cold, flopped bonelessly against her sister. No clouds, no thunder or fog to be seen. Was he imagining things, or was there a faint glow of sunshine around her head? No doubt, Félix could compose at least ten songs about the image before Agustín, praising Pepa’s beauty to the skies. Agustín would have to tell him. He’d be sorry he missed it.
Bruno was curled up even smaller than normal, his head on Julieta’s stomach. Julieta’s hand was still in his hair; he and Pepa were still holding hands. Agustín was used to his friend looking wan, sad and tired with eyes that were far too knowing, a smile that didn’t always reach his eyes. A prophet or not, Bruno usually looked…Well, breakable. Not to say he somehow looked big now, but he seemed more grounded. More substantial. More real. Maybe it was a silly thought (it wasn’t as Bruno looked fake when he was awake) but Agustín couldn’t shake the feeling.
They looked peaceful. Far too peaceful for him to disrupt.
Agustín set the bag of teas and snacks down by Julieta’s head and backed away slowly, quietly.
He immediately tripped over a tree root and fell backwards with a shout, landing on his ass.
Pepa groaned and hissed, “Shut up,” but didn’t seem to actually wake up properly. Her eyes were still closed and she pressed in closer to Julieta, hiding her face. Bruno made a muffled sound of discontent and didn’t move at all.
But Julieta’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at the sun, looking slightly bewildered. She tilted her head, saw Agustín and offered a sweet, sleepy smile. Her brown eyes seemed to glow, not the way Bruno’s did or the way Pepa sometimes did; this was something non-magical, something soft and happy.
Agustín's heart skipped a beat.
“Hola,” she whispered.
Agustín swallowed hard and gave an awkward wave. “H-Hola,” he stammered. “I, uh…Casita let me in.” He pointed at the bag by her head. “Those are for you. And, uh, for Pepa and Bruno too I mean, I just…” He waved his arms and shrugged, smiling sheepishly.
If she at all thought him dorky or silly, or awkward, she didn’t show it. She grinned and said, “Gracias,” then slowly sat up, gently poking at her siblings.
“Come on, you two,” she said, stroking at their hair. “Time to get up.”
“Do we have to?” Bruno asked.
“Afraid so, hermanito.”
Sighing, Bruno sat up, rubbing at his eyes. He pushed his hair behind his ears, sighing again when it only fell back into place, curling over his forehead and cheeks. He gave Agustín that wan smile, eyes still sleepy.
Pepa hissed like an angry cat, batting at Julieta’s hand, but Julieta just kept running a gentle hand through her sister’s hair until Pepa sighed in defeat and sat up. She smoothed the creases in her dress and smirked at Agustín, but she looked intrigued when Julieta held up the bag of treats.
“Agustín brought us treats,” Julieta announced, shooting him that wonderful grin again. He stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers and tried to smooth his hair.
“Gracias,” Bruno murmured. Pepa gave him a thumbs up, yawning.
Julieta stood first and pulled Bruno to his feet, then Pepa. She held her hand out to Agustín.
“Well, come on,” she said. “You have to share with us.”
He was certain he was blushing terribly. “I do?”
“It’s a law,” Pepa said, nodding sagely.
“A Julieta Law,” Bruno added with a mischievous smirk. Julieta slapped her siblings’ arms and led the way inside, calling for Agustín to follow.
With the sun shining overhead, Pepa loudly calling dibs on her favourite cake, Julieta continually shooting him that sweet smile and Bruno climbing onto the counter to grab some mugs (utterly ignoring Julieta’s fretting and Casita’s help) Agustín couldn’t quite shake the sense that he’d just been allowed to witness something beautiful.
That now, somehow, he was invited to be a part of it.
Age: 50 years old
They spent most of the day trying to clear the remains of Casita, but there was an inevitable question to be answered: where would the Madrigals go?
As Camilo had bluntly pointed out, they didn’t have a house. They could hardly sleep outdoors. Well, maybe some of them could. Most of them even. But making Abuela sleep on the grass? Absolutely not.
To their neighbours’ credit, many of them offered space in their own homes, but Casita had been the biggest home in the whole of Encanto. No one else had enough room for all the Madrigals, not even Agustín or Félix’s families and considering the events of the day, it was safe to say none of them wanted to split up. Not just yet.
Padré Martinez, for once without his toupee, stepped forward.
“Senora Madrigal,” he said. “There is more than enough room in the church for you all.”
“Gracias,” Alma said with a small, worn-out smile. She glanced over her shoulder continually, keeping her triplets in sight. “That is very thoughtful of you.”
It would be enough for tonight. Tomorrow, when they all weren’t so exhausted, they’d make real plans.
As promised, their family were brought sleeping bags, blankets and pillows galore. Padré Martinez found an old cot which, by unspoken agreement, went to Abuela Alma.
Everyone else scrambled to sort out sleeping arrangements; did they have enough to be comfortable, would anyone need to share, would they be too cold?
Alma was ushered to a pew by Julieta. Their matriarch, despite her commanding presence, was clearly exhausted. Her voice still carried authority even now, her bearing elegant and refined…But there was a droop to her eyelids, a slowness to her movements. All of them were half-afraid she’d collapse on the spot.
Then there was Mirabel, already fast asleep on the pew, her head on Bruno’s lap. Isabela had gently plucked Mirabel’s glasses from her face and set them aside safely. Mirabel slept like the dead when, normally, she was quite a light sleeper.
And Bruno. Bruno, somehow restored to them. Stumbling into the light, back after ten years of silence and mystery. He was slumped against his mother’s side; he kept nodding off and shaking himself, trying to stay awake. The fourth time it happened, Alma gave an amused huff and pulled him back down to her shoulder, her arms around Bruno’s thin shoulders. When he nodded off again, this time he stayed asleep.
Whatever those three had been up to, it had clearly done a number on them.
“Mamá?” Julieta approached as quietly as she could. Antonio was already asleep in Dolores’s arms and she didn’t want to wake Mirabel either. “Time for bed, I think.”
Alma looked around at their family and gave a decisive nod. “Sí, I think so too, mija.”
Dolores and Antonio were sharing a sleeping bag, Camilo right next to them. Luisa spread out blankets in front of the pew that Mirabel, Alma and Bruno were on, constantly glancing at her little sister. Isabela had set up camp near Alma’s cot. Félix and Agustín were by the altar, positioned in such a way that they could keep an eye on everyone.
Alma nudged Bruno, squeezed his shoulder. “Brunito?”
“Hm?” Bruno blinked sleepily, pressed his hand over his mouth as he yawned and Julieta couldn’t look away from him. “Wha’? What’s goin’ on?”
“Bed time,” Julieta said. Bruno just blinked at her and Julieta gave an amused huff, holding her hand out. “Come on, hermano.”
“Go with your sister, mijo,” Alma said, squeezing his shoulder again. Bruno gently moved Mirabel and took Julieta’s hand, letting her haul him to his feet. Luisa hurried to settle Mirabel properly, getting a pillow under her head and arranging a soft blanket around her. Isabela was sitting up, hands clasped, watching them all. She stood when Alma approached and helped her grandmother settle down; only once Alma was lying down did Isabela let herself lay down too.
“Psst!” Pepa gestured at them impatiently from the spot she and Julieta had arranged.
Julieta looked to Agustín and smiled. “Good night,” she whispered; in the church, her voice carried anyway. Agustín gave a fond smile and thumbs up.
“Good night,” he called back, just a little too loud and Luisa hushed him, jerking her head at Mirabel. There was no need: Mirabel was utterly dead to the world.
Félix blew Pepa a kiss and her sister made a show of catching it and putting it in her pocket. She blew one back and Félix dramatically grasped at his heart.
Julieta, trying not to giggle, led Bruno to their sister. He still seemed half asleep, rubbing at one eye and looking around like he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there.
Julieta knew the feeling. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d gotten here either.
Their Casita was gone, their magic was gone…But her little brother was back, her missing triplet was right there, warm and alive in her arms.
If that wasn’t a miracle, Julieta didn’t know what was.
“Took you long enough,” Pepa said when they reached her. She pulled Bruno down, ignoring his yelp and pushed him onto his back. Julieta laughed at the indignant look on his face, lying down on his right. She pulled the blankets up and flung an arm around him, pulling him in close.
Pepa, on his left, was practically lying on top of him, clutching him in a death grip.
Bruno raised his head, eyes flickering to Félix and Agustín.
“What about-?”
“If you think we’re letting you out of our sight,” Pepa said. “You’re sorely mistaken.”
Bruno went very still and utterly silent. For a moment, Julieta wondered if he was going to argue, or burst back into those frantic apologies. She braced herself to quieten him, to insist they had their own apologies too and it could wait until they weren’t all so bone-deep exhausted and in shock.
Instead, Bruno just gave a quiet sigh and lay back down properly. He grabbed Julieta’s hand, and Pepa’s, and held on tight.
“I missed you,” he whispered, so quietly that Julieta nearly missed it.
She had missed him too, so very badly. She’d only ever truly talked about it to Agustín and Pepa- when Pepa could be persuaded not to storm at the mere mention of their brother’s name. Ten years was a long time. A long time to mourn. A long time to try- and fail- to get used to missing him, to that feeling of a limb missing, a piece of her heart just gone.
But he was back now. No matter what else happened next, Julieta had her brother back.
Her daughters were safe; Mirabel had come home in one piece, a certain lightness to her steps that Julieta hadn’t seen in a long time. Isabela was covered in pollen stains and dirt and had a new gleam to her eyes, a spark that Julieta wanted to see more of. Luisa had quietly admitted to Julieta and Agustín that she was worn-out, that she’d been feeling overworked, tense and anxious. No more of that. Julieta would make sure Luisa got the rest she needed.
Her mother had apologised, and wasn’t that a shock? She’d so rarely heard the words I’m sorry pass Alma’s lips and never in relation to something serious. It was always a polite, “I’m sorry, I’m busy,” or “I’m sorry, but I need…” But. But, but, but. That was the thing, wasn’t it? There’d always been a but.
Not now. Now, Alma had apologised for her behaviour.
They had a long way to go, Julieta knew that all too well.
But (and she had to smile at herself for it) she liked to think they were off to a good start.
“We missed you too, luciérnaga,” Julieta said.
“So much,” Pepa added, her grip on Bruno tightening to the point it looked painful, but he didn’t once complain.
Slowly, the sounds around them died down. There was just the silence of the church, the occasional cricket outside and the moonlight shining through the windows.
Then Pepa snored and Bruno shot Julieta an amused grin, snickering quietly.
“Like thunder,” he whispered. “I don’t know how Félix puts up with it.”
“Ay, it’s beautiful thunder!” Félix called, sitting up in his sleeping bag and grinning. “It’s a song of its own, hermano!”
“Félix,” Julieta hissed. “Keep your voice down.”
“Everyone,” came Alma’s imperial voice. “Kindly set an example for the children and go to sleep.”
Félix immediately lay back down with an exaggerated look of fear, clearly meant to make Julieta and Bruno laugh- and it worked. Bruno pulled the blanket right up over his head to muffle himself, biting his lip. Julieta pressed her face against his shoulder, giggling.
Pepa kept snoring.
Julieta fell asleep like that, tangled up with her brother and sister, holding them close to her, Bruno squished between them. Pepa snoring and Bruno holding her hand.
It was the best night’s sleep she’d had in years.
Agustín woke first. Or, almost first.
Félix was still snoring (even louder than Pepa); Luisa was spread out, limbs akimbo on the floor. Mirabel was in the exact same position Luisa had left her in. Isabela lay on her back, her hair fanned out around her, so much like her mother in that regard. Dolores was still holding Antonio in her arms; the youngest Madrigal sucked his thumb in his sleep. Camilo snorted and turned over.
And Alma-
Alma wasn’t in her cot.
Agustín stood and looked around. It was still so early, the sun barely rising, but Alma was gone and- oh, no, wait. There she was.
She was standing by the triplets and Agustín could see her shoulders shaking.
He’d been so angry with her only twenty-four hours ago, but now his heart went out to her. He could only imagine how overwhelming the sight must be, after ten years.
Slowly, he made his way to her side, being as careful as possible to not step on anyone.
Alma stood at the triplets’ feet. There were tears in her eyes, her fingertips pressed to her lips. She clutched her locket tightly with her free hand. She didn’t look away from her children even once, but when Agustín stood next to her she gave a somewhat shaky laugh and gestured to Julieta, Pepa and Bruno.
“Some things never change,” she said hoarsely.
Agustín looked at them and, once more, he was struck by the thought that he was being permitted to witness something beautiful, something precious.
It had been far longer than ten years since he saw a Madrigal Triplet cuddle pile. Far too many years. Life had gotten in the way, relationships had strained; everything had built up and up until it all came crashing down in one of the worst ways imaginable.
Bruno’s door turning dark. Bruno, vanishing into thin air. Bruno, gone in the night.
He could still remember Pepa’s scream that morning. Because despite everything, despite the fraying edges and tense silences, they’d still been The Madrigal Triplets. There’d still been a bond there, a bond none of them could ever wholly understand.
They finished each other’s sentences. Practically seemed to read each other’s minds. They seemed to have a sixth sense for when any of the three were hurt, or upset, or ill. They could sit in silence for hours on end with each other, never needing to say a word. By contrast, they could scream in each other’s faces, trade insults and jabs until Agustín’s ears rang. They joked and laughed and pranked, as energetic as their children.
Three parts of a whole.
He smiled at the sight, gratitude warming him.
Bruno was squished in between his sisters; Julieta was draped over his back, Pepa held him against her front. How Bruno and Julieta could sleep with Pepa snoring in their ears was beyond Agustín, but he supposed they had plenty of practice.
The blankets were pulled up to their chins and, judging by the lumps and bumps in the blankets, their limbs were all tangled. The sun continued to rise, shining on the triplets; the stained-glass windows cast rainbows on them: red, blue, green, purple and yellow. Three broken pieces, slotted back together, a puzzle complete. Even in their sleep, they looked happy.
Content, Agustín thought. Content was the right word for it.
“Yes,” Agustín agreed with a smile. “Some things never change.”
There was so much that needed to change. Their whole family needed to work towards change, a lifetime of habits needed to be broken. They needed to heal.
But this?
Oh, Agustín hoped this stayed the same.
