Rose pushed the door to her home open. Sweat was pouring down her face, and her muscles were burning from exhaustion. Her father’s head lolled limply beside her. His body had grown slack, seeming to become heavier the further they traveled. Even as they entered the safety of her house, she could tell her father’s breathing was slowing.

She rushed over to the dining room table. Luckily, she had cleared it after Emma’s visit that morning. She helped push her father into one of the chairs. Then, she rushed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She didn’t know why, but it felt like the only thing she could do.

“Ose,” her father croaked from the chair.

Rose returned, holding a cup filled to the brim with clear liquid. She put it to his lips, but he shook his head. His lone eye was a deep crimson color, and tears were beginning to spill from it.

She put the glass on the table. “What is it, Papá? What can I do? How do I help you?”

Luis shook his head and put his hand on her shoulder. Rose felt a flurry of emotions tear through her entire body as he did. She pushed back the hot dampness accruing behind her eyes.

I’m not going to cry. He’s going to be fine. There’s no need to cry. Emma’s gonna get here and then I’m gonna take him to the doctor and everything’s going to be fine.

Luis pulled her in closer, and Rose strained to hear what her father was saying. At first, no words came; his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, but all that she could hear was a dull, croaking rattle emanating from deep within his gut.

Then, words came: “Ose.” He was practically whispering. His breath was quickening in his chest, but his eye remained calm. “Ose, I a’ so prou’ o’ you. Your -” He struggled to push his lips together to make an M sound.

“Mom?” Rose asked. She couldn’t fight the tears anymore. They were welling even as she tried to hold them back.

Luis nodded. “Sh’ would ‘e so prou’ o’ you,” he said. “Your ‘o ‘trong. Your ‘o ‘rave. Sh’ would ‘e so prou’.” He smiled through his wounds.

Rose shook her head, still trying to deny what her father had already accepted. “You’re gonna be fine, Papá,” Rose said. “Emma’s gonna get here, and you’re gonna be fine.”

Luis shook his head.

“You can’t go!” Rose demanded through her tears. Her vision was blurring as salt stung her eyes. “I just got you back! You can’t go! No me dejes, papá, no me dejes!”

Luis pulled his daughter’s forehead to his lips. He gave her a soft, weak kiss. When Rose looked back at her father, he was still beaming.

“I’ll ne’er ‘e gone,” he said. “You’re ne’er alone.”

Just then, Emma walked in the door. She was covered in blood from head to toe, and her knife was missing from its sheath. Luis gestured for Emma to join them, and she made eye contact with Rose. She could tell that her friend – perhaps the closest friend she would ever have – was asking her permission to be with her father. She gestured, too.

Emma seemed to understand what Rose did not want to accept. As she walked over, she took Luis’s hand in her own and held it tight.

“You girls ha’e to protect eac’ ot’er,” he said. “’romise ‘e.”
“I promise,” Emma said without hesitation.

“I do, too,” Rose echoed.

Relief came over his eyes. He leaned back in his chair. His chest began to rise and fall slower and slower with each passing second. Rose looked at her friend and saw she was crying. She reached out, and they held each other’s hands. That seemed to make Luis smile wider.

Rose watched as her father used the last of his strength to reach his hand up toward her face. He wiped away the hot tears that had streaked down her cheeks.

“Oh ‘aría, no llores, no llores, he whispered.

His hand fell to his side, and his eyes glazed over with a peaceful pall. The women stood before him. Stood tall.

Stood strong.

Stood together.

Next Chapter: Emma