Alma settles on the bed with a groan, her daughters secure in her arms, sleeping peacefully at last. Normally her babies were remarkably good sleepers -- for months leading up until their births, Alma and Pedro had been warned at what felt like every turn to cherish the sleep they could get, especially once it got out that they were expecting multiples. Pedro, ever the light-hearted dreamer, had always said that the extra hours awake would simply be more opportunity to bond with their children.
Alma had agreed, for the most part, but she had also made sure to take notes when her abuela sat her down to teach her how to swaddle a baby to make them feel secure and get them to sleep as quickly as possible. In the end, their little Josefa (Pepa for short, Alma had already decided to call her), Julieta, and Bruno had been born quickly -- for triplets -- healthy, and perfectly happy to sleep when it was time for them to sleep. The midwife had been the first to declare them perfect, with their friends and family agreeing after meeting the triplets.
(Years later, Alma would occasionally lay awake and wonder if the triplets had somehow known. Known that their time as a family of five would be limited to little over a month, known that their time in the village she had been raised in would be equally limited, and been on their best behavior to get as much time as possible with them all. She doesn't question how they could have known, this being before their miracle, just if they had known. Maybe it was a blessing from above. Or maybe Pedro just had that effect on them).
This day, Bruno had been unusually fussy (another thing that keeps Alma up, years later, wondering). Normally, Pepa had been the one with the most extreme moods, jumping from demanding to angry to happy in seconds. Julieta was in turn the calmest of the three, learning how to eat the fastest and always turning her head to make sure her brother and sister were with her. She would always settle down with a satisfied huff when she located them, which made Pedro laugh and say she wanted to keep them under her protective watch. He would then kiss Alma's head and say he knew Julieta needn't worry, that he knew Alma would protect all three of them easily.
Bruno, even if he was the worst sleeper when compared to his sisters, was usually the quietest. His big eyes were always darting around, trying to focus on everything around him even if, Alma knew, his eyesight wasn't that good yet. He would often wiggle his tiny fist from his swaddle to grip the blanket closer, seeking out Alma and Pedro, but he wouldn't fuss, wouldn't cry, and even when his sisters had long since fallen asleep, he would simply watch in silence before he too drifted off.
So young, yet so well behaved and showing such big personalities already. Still, even if they screamed and cried and refused to be calmed everyday, she wouldn't care. No matter what, she knew this: they were perfect .
This day, though, Bruno had been whimpering on and off, a heartbreaking sound. When she had tried to put him down for his naps, and later, to sleep for the night, he had resisted before finally breaking into sobs that had kept his sisters up until Pedro had taken him.
Alma turns her head to the open window to watch the sunset, the sky turning from blues to yellows. It was going to be a warm night, but not hot. A butterfly flutters onto the windowsill, landing there for a moment, and Alma gives it a small smile.
Her smile grows when Pedro's soft, melodic voice rises up from the open window.
" ...Hay que crecer a parte y volver/Hacia adelante seguirás/Vienne Milagros, Vienne chrysalides/Hay que partier y construer su propio futuro... "
Pedro had written this song before their wedding, whispering the words to her at their reception as they stood in front of the church with their town. They had always known they would have a large family, and he wanted something to pass onto them, a lullaby at the ready.
Pedro's voice drifts, and she knows he's walking away from the window back into their little house. Absently, she starts humming the song, picking up where his voice left off, as she turns her attention back to her daughters. A nagging worry she hadn't been able to shake when pregnant was the fear she wouldn't be able to tell them apart, something that had been put to rest quickly once they had been born. Even if their personalities hadn't been so different, their looks already were. Pepa, with her light hair, favored Pedro's mother's family, while Julieta already sported her father's curls, though Pedro insisted she was already growing into Alma's face.
Bruno, anyone could see, was clearly going to be identical to Pedro one day.
Pepa shuffled in her sleep, her eyes dancing behind her eyelids. A good dream, Alma hopes. She shifts her daughters gently, holding them closer.
Looking up, the butterfly was still there, as if it was watching them. Alma saw people in the street.
The bedroom door opens behind her, drawing her eyes. Quietly, Pedro steps in, Bruno held protectively in his arms. Asleep, she can see. At last.
"Did he give you much trouble?" She asks softly -- usually, once the triplets are out, they're out, and noise alone is rarely enough to rouse them. Still, better safe than sorry, she thinks. Besides, there's a quiet calmness that fills the room suddenly, as if the birds and people outside are holding their breaths, and she doesn't want to break it.
"Of course not," Pedro says, equally soft -- he must feel it, too, the near peaceful hush. He smiles down at their son, though she can see uncharacteristic stress tugging at the corners of his eyes. "He probably just didn't want the day to end. He's curious." Pedro huffs a soft laugh. "He'll probably want to explore the world one day, to see it all."
"As long as he comes home to his mother at the end of it."
Pedro sits on the bed beside her, handing Bruno over. He doesn't wake, and the triplets, even in their sleep, naturally shift towards each other. She hopes their bond stays strong as they grow.
Alma frowns, despite herself. "Are you sure he's alright? No fever or-?"
"It's probably my fault," Pedro says, looking down. He runs a finger along Bruno's cheek before brushing back one of Pepa's curls.
"Fault?"
Pedro doesn't answer right away, just watching their children. Normally, he shines so brightly, lighting up rooms with his smiles and laughter. Now, there's a dimness to his eyes that sets her on edge. Unconsciously, she shifts her babies closer again.
Finally, he sighs. "I've been... anxious, and I know he could sense that. I'm scaring him, because I'm scared. The village a couple miles up the river...."
He doesn't need to finish his sentence. She already knows -- refugees had filled the church and walked the streets all week.
If she had a free hand, she would have raised it to his cheek, to cup and caress his face.
"We," she says firmly, "won't end up like them."
They had a bag packed by the door, ready in case they needed to flee. They had each other, and always would.
They would be fine.
Pedro gave her a smile, which she easily returned. Sitting on their perfect bed in their perfect house in their perfect town, holding their perfect children between them, the young Madrigal parents felt safe for a moment.
The butterfly on the windowsill flies off.
A moment later, screams tore through the night, and they saw fire in the street.
