#alma may have been awful to mirabel but she was doing what she thought was best for the family

[shittycartoonmomshowdown]

Shadow Weaver (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) vs. Alma Madrigal (Encanto)

[miracles-and-butterflies]

The final chapter - featuring Alma and Mirabel bonding! Thank you so much for all the love and support, and I apologise for it taking so long, I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 15

Mirabel felt a lot better when she woke up. Physically, at least.

Her parents were the first to see her. Making sure she was okay and that she knew Casita, their family and community were all okay. Now being changed into clean clothes and propped up in bed, with a plate of fresh, warm arepas sat on her lap, Mirabel sighed.

“I think I may have overreacted before,” she says. “I think you may have been right about me.”

“About what?” Her father asked.

“About me. About me being… insane.”

“No, Mirabel, we don’t think you’re insane.” Her mother said. “We… from what the doctors have said, we think you might be suffering a mental health condition, as a result of getting caught in Casita’s collapse.”

Mirabel didn’t quite understand. “What?”

“What you went through was a very distressing experience; trauma. And trauma can effect your mental state.” Her father explained, taking a seat on the bed beside her mother.

“As I’ve said, we have been speaking to one of the doctors in town. He specialises in matters of the mind. We have arranged for you to speak with him later today, so that he can help us with what’s troubling you and how we can make it easier.” Her mother finished.

Mirabel didn’t really want to, but she clearly wasn’t going to be getting the choice.

For now, she focused on eating and trying to keep herself calm. She later asked her parents to leave her, they seemed hesitant to do so, though they did eventually leave her in peace. Isabela and Luisa came to replace them - though they said they were only here to briefly check on her before heading to work for the day.

She wasn’t in the mood to do much. Though she was less exhausted than before and had been healed of any injury, she still felt weak and tired. But she didn’t want to think about what might await her in her nightmares if she went to sleep. She couldn’t calm herself enough to sew or read or write, so she simply listened to her sisters chatting away like she was normal.

Luisa did leave for work after a while - promising to be there for the appointment later. However, Isabela decided she’d stay for the whole day and that new blossoms could wait until tomorrow. Isabela said anything and everything that was on her mind, from plants to accusing Camilo of stealing her makeup to what she thought of various tea flavours. She stayed well clear of any sensitive topics and didn’t push Mirabel to respond or contribute with anything.

It was almost nice. Almost because Mirabel still couldn’t shake her fear. Her mind always crawled back to cracks and death.

~~~

She had insisted that her sisters both come with her. Her parents, who had both decided to go, didn’t reject the idea. Though as soon as they arrived in the building, they did make it clear that they and her sisters were going no further. Mirabel didn’t understand why they hadn’t said anything sooner - she wouldn’t have made Isabela and Luisa come otherwise, her sisters probably had more important things to do.

That was the point though, wasn’t it? If she had realised she’d have to speak to the doctor completely on her own, she would have freaked out and insisted she wasn’t going.

The doctor was Alfredo Navarro. He said it would be a good experience for her to talk about everything, even if she didn’t have a mental health condition. Just to get it off her chest.

He was wrong.

It was not good. It was awful. She hated the experience and swore she was never doing this again. What was the point of this? Just having her think of all those horrible things and being made to feel embarrassed as she sobbed and chocked on tears in front of him.

When he had finished, he sent her out and invited her parents in. She settled back between her sisters. When Luisa asked what had happened in there, she buried herself in Isabela’s side, not wanting to talk about this any further.

She was later called back in. She refused to go back in, not until she was told her sister could come with her for this. Her parents were still there when they entered - it looked like her mother had been crying, she was dabbing a handkerchief under her eyes. Her father looked very grave and uncharacteristically quiet.

Isabela looked between them in confusion. “What’s.. going on?”

“Take a seat, please,” Alfredo insisted.

Once they were all sat down with Luisa on the floor as there hadn’t been enough seats, the doctor cleared his throat and explained to the girls.

He confirmed that Mirabel definitely had suffered mentally from her experiences. She now has something called PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. How when she sees the cracks or Casita falling, they are flashbacks. Her nightmares were made based off said traumatic memories. Her difficulty sleeping, sense of guilt and increased anxiousness and paranoia were all a part of the condition.

Her mother continued crying as he continued to explain everything. Her father had to excuse himself from the room once or twice. Luisa left the room to at one point, allegedly smashed a window and then came back. Isabela just held Mirabel’s hand, keeping perfect composure.

Mirabel had to remain there. She didn’t want more attention on her, so she didn’t cry.

She asked when this would go away. It was an illness, wasn’t it? Her mother could heal her? It would pass on and she could continue as normally as she had before.

No.

Mental illnesses don’t work like physical ones. This is something she will live with forever. There is no cure.

“I’m broken,” she concludes, when nobody else does. “I can’t fix it?”

“You aren’t broken, Mirabel.” Her father speaks up. He sounds very hoarse for someone who hasn’t said a word at all.

“There are things you can do to make it more manageable, such as therapy or medication.” Alfredo offers, as if it’s a consolation. “The medicine your mother has currently can help when you are having a PTSD episode like this and let you sleep when it’s difficult. But we can discuss what you might prefer at a later date, I understand you might want some time to think about it - I’m sure your parents will want to talk to you about it.”

But there is no way for her to erase what happened to her and the damage it’s done. That’s it. It’s done.

“This time next week okay for you?”

“Yes. Thank you, Señor.” Her mother says quietly.

~~~

After a short debate between her parents and her sisters, they decided they would take Mirabel back home. She remained quiet and still; in shock and crushing reality. Even as the rest of the family stared, prodded and questioned her and the others on their return. What happened? What was it like? Was she going to be okay? Was she going to be like this forever?

Abuela was the last to approach, her mouth drawn in a neat line. Her eyes looking sad and thoughtful. She raised a hand and silenced the rest of the family.

“Don’t crowd her. She isn’t some spectacle,” she said. “Take any of your questions to Julieta and Agustín. Camilo, you should know better. Antonio, why don’t you go out with Isabela for a bit? You could help her with the work she hasn’t done. Luisa, there is some fresh coffee in the pot for you. Mirabel?”

The girl in question looked up distantly, after Dolores nudged her arm.

“Come. I’d like to take a walk. Casita? My walking stick, please?”

There were no objections to any of her instructions. Everyone did as they were told with no delay.

Mirabel went without thought, moving her body. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She wouldn’t have known if she had been left alone in her room at home, even less so walking with Abuela. With every tree they passed, a fear began to bubble away inside of her. This is it. She’s really done it now. She’s become the family disappointment she never wanted to be.

She vaguely notes the nature-filled path they are taking, probably one Isabela enjoyed with Abuela. Though it was quiet, so perhaps Dolores did too. And it was very spacious, perfect for animals or sport, so she can imagine Luisa, Camilo and Antonio would love to come along here. Abuela herself must enjoy the view of their entire little village, full of life and love and well-protected and hidden in the depths of Colombia.

And it isn’t even protected, Mirabel thinks. It had all been destroyed so quickly by just her own words. She has done this to herself. She has no one to blame but herself for her own misery and suffering. This is her punishment for ruining her family and—

“I am sorry, Mirabel,” her Abuela says eventually.

“What?” She manages weakly, tone heavy with confusion.

“For what has happened. Your trauma, what has happened to you, is my fault.” The old eyes flicker away into a nearby butterfly; a spot of yellow amongst all the greens. “I never would have wanted anyone to experience what I did when your Abuelo died. A child does not deserve to be weighed down by such grief and fear and yet… I am so sorry.”

Mirabel’s brow furrows, slowly. “I don’t understand…”

“I never went back to that river where I lost my Pedro. I knew you understood that because you’re wise and sympathise because of your empathy.” There was a moment of hesitation. “I now think you understand because you feel the same way about our Casita.”

They met each other’s eyes for a moment. Mirabel turned back, her eyes searching for theirs amongst all the houses. Tears stung.

“I know it’s our home and I shouldn’t feel like I’m constantly going to die,” she whispered but couldn’t finish.

Gently, Abuela pulled her into a hug. One hand just holding her close, the other in her hair and brushing. Somewhat caressing the top of her face. Mirabel returned the embrace shakily, crying. Just letting it out, desperate to not feel so scared and stressed. Wanting her pulse to settle and be calm, for her to breathe steady and normal, able to concentrate and do things without constantly returning back to her memories of the broken remains.

The older woman held her for what felt like hours, softly giving her reassurances. She’s okay. She’s here. She’s loved. At one point, though Mirabel can’t be sure with all her crying, she thinks Abuela had started humming quietly. Some lullaby she use to sing to the triplets.

And it does feel nice.

She never imagined anyone would come close to understanding her. Much less Abuela. She was so convinced she was about to be rejected and disowned out here. She can’t even imagine how Abuela must have felt - having been alone for so long, not having people trying to help the way Mirabel did, not having anyone to reassure her and let her know everything is okay. Sure, she does now, but what about before then? She always knew it must have been hard, but having experienced some of that herself, she can’t…

But Abuela has managed with the new found love and communication and support. This isn’t going to go. There will be times that are better or worse, talking about it felt like hell to that doctor, but having such a wonderful family… Maybe it won’t be as bad as she thinks? Maybe it is possible? Maybe she can do this?

Once Mirabel is calmer and quieter, they separate a little. Abuela’s hands still cradle her face, drying away the odd tear with her thumb. Smiling at her, as warmly as ever, so there can be no doubt in Mirabel’s mind that she isn’t loved and accepted.

“You’re okay, nieta.” Abuela insisted. “It may be a hard road ahead, but we will all be there for you and help you with whatever you need or want. We are your family. Nothing will ever change that.”

Sniffling, Mirabel nods.

Offering her hand, stepping in the direction of home, Abuela continues, “And nothing could ever be broken that we can’t fix together.”

Mirabel smiles, taking the hand.

Yes, she can do this.