Chapter 21

A few months passed by, seemingly at warp speed. By December, everything felt different.

The chaos of summer was long behind us. Work had settled into a rhythm I actually enjoyed. My apartment—once just a stack of boxes and bare rooms—now looked like a home. Not just because of the furniture, but because Luz’s handwriting was on Post-it notes stuck to my fridge, and Marisol’s voice still echoed in my head whenever I found myself reorganizing something she’d already “optimized.”

Marisol had slipped back into her job like she’d never left, though she complained that it was busier than ever. Isa, fresh off finals, was straddling that strange line between relief and anticipation, already researching law schools, already dreaming big. And Luz ... Luz was shining.

Her blog, The Quiet Places, had exploded in popularity, the momentum boosted by our story going public and that Dana Calloway interview months ago. But what kept people there wasn’t the story of what we’d survived. It was her voice. Her words. The way she could make a reader feel stillness in a noisy world. She’d started earning real money—her own money—doing something she loved. And it wasn’t chump change, either. I’d never seen her glow quite like that. And I couldn’t stop telling her how proud I was.

Christmas at Carmen’s was something out of a dream. The smell of tamales and pozole mixed with pine and cinnamon candles. The laughter of a house packed with family, Isa and her parents included. It was tradition woven together with modern touches, with Carmen fussing over every detail, playing host like she’d been born for it.

For me, it was all new. And I loved it. I loved being pulled into photos, teased by Isa, lectured by Marisol about eating too much pan dulce, watching Luz light up with her family around her. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was orbiting someone else’s holiday. I felt like I belonged.

That night, after all the hugs and leftover containers were passed around, after the drive back and dropping Luz at her door, I walked into my own apartment and sat down in the quiet.

The glow of the Christmas lights I’d strung up in the corner cast soft multicolor reflections against the wall. I stared at them for a while, hands clasped, heart beating faster than it should.

It should’ve felt too soon. Four or five months wasn’t long in the grand scheme of things. But the thought that had been circling my mind for weeks finally landed with a weight I couldn’t ignore.

I was going to ask Luz to marry me.

The certainty of it surprised me. But it didn’t scare me. If anything, it settled something restless inside me.

Of course, there were steps. A ring—something she’d love, something thoughtful. And then, the harder part: Beto. I’d have to talk to him first. Ask for his blessing, or at the very least, make sure he heard it from me before anyone else.

That was going to be its own mountain to climb.

I leaned back against the couch, staring at the lights until my eyes blurred, a smile tugging at me despite the nerves.

This Christmas had given me more than just a celebration. It had given me clarity.

It was time.

A couple of days passed by, as we transitioned into that period between Christmas and New Year’s. I’d already bought the ring. Just having it tucked away in my apartment made my heart pound every time I thought about it. But before I could even think of putting it on Luz’s finger, there was that one conversation I needed to have.

When I stopped by the house that evening, everything looked ordinary—Luz and Marisol in the kitchen talking, Beto in his recliner with the TV murmuring in the background, Ellie humming softly while folding laundry. Ordinary.

I caught Marisol as she was walking by. “Hey—can I ask you a favor?”

Her eyes narrowed instantly, sharp as always. “What kind of favor?”

“Can you and Luz ... find something to do outside for a couple of hours? Walk, shop, whatever you feel like.”

To my surprise, she didn’t press. Just studied me for a long second, then nodded once. “Okay.” She didn’t even ask why. That almost made me more nervous.

A few minutes later, the two of them grabbed jackets and slipped out the door. I stood in the kitchen for a bit, palms sweating, before finally walking toward the living room.

Beto was in his usual place—recliner tilted back, TV tuned to some news channel he only half-listened to. He glanced up at me, remote in hand. “Everything okay, mijo?”

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice caught a little. I sat down across from him, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Actually ... I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he muted the TV. “Go ahead.”

I swallowed. “I’d like to ask your daughter to marry me.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the muted television. Beto’s expression didn’t shift much, but I saw the weight of my words settle on him.

“I want you to know,” I continued quickly, “that your family—this family—has become everything to me. You took me in when you didn’t have to. And Luz ... she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t take this lightly. I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t sure.”

Beto leaned back, his face unreadable. Finally, he said, “Marriage is a big step. A permanent step. You know that?”

“I do,” I said. My voice was steadier now.

“And you understand Luz ... she’s different than Isa, or Marisol. She needs someone who sees her for who she is. Not someone who’ll try to change her.”

“That’s exactly why I love her,” I said. “She’s gentle, steady, and she’s stronger than she even realizes. I don’t want to change her—I want to spend my life supporting her.”