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“Oh, Rosalind,” Papá said gently, “we would be proud of you no matter what path you chose, as long as it was truly yours.”

“Would you?” Rosalind looked directly at Mamá, her voice raw with years of unexpressed doubt.

Mamá stared at her daughter, then down at the notebook in her hands, tangible evidence of her own abandoned dreams. Something shifted in her expression, a realization dawning that seemed to age her and soften her all at once.

“Yes,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the tears gathering in her eyes. “I would. Because I don’t want for you what happened to me.” She held up the notebook.

The sincerity in her voice seemed to surprise everyone, especially Rosalind, whose tears flowed freely now.

“I don’t even know what my heart wants,” she admitted.

“Then take the time to find out,” Abuela said, gentle now that her point had been made. “But do not punish your sister for having the courage you’re still finding.”

Rosalind nodded, then turned to me, naked vulnerability in her expression. “I really thought I was doing the right thing. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

The apology was simple but I was going to need some time before I would be ready to forgive her. I would, in time, but Ros was going to have to do some groveling, and honestly, work to figure out who and what she wanted to be.

“I know what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations,” I said. “I spent years hiding parts of myself because I thought they wouldn’t be acceptable. Trust me when I say, you won’t be happy until you figure out who you genuinely want to be.”

I had to admit that Abuela’s particular brand of dramatic intervention had accomplished what years of tension and unspoken resentments could not.

Sometimes a family needed a little telenovela drama to find its way to the truth.

“Now,” Abuela announced, clapping her hands together as if the matter was settled, “I believe we have a graduation to celebrate. Ophelia has made a beautiful spread of food, and the mariachi band is waiting to play. Tempest has achieved something remarkable today. She has graduated with honors and found the courage to live authentically. That is what we celebrate.”

Following Abuela’s directive to return to the celebration, Flynn leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Your grandmother is terrifying in the best possible way.”

I laughed softly, leaning into his strength. “She gets results.”

We sat down around the tables in the backyard, celebrated, and devoured Ophelia’s food.

Mamá’s gaze shifted to me, and I saw the struggle playing out behind her eyes, the clash between her lifelong expectations and her newfound understanding.

“I’m... adjusting to the idea of you moving to LA to be a writer,” she said carefully.

“But I cannot deny that your writing brings joy to others. Or that it clearly fulfills you in a way that any other career would not.” She took a deep breath.

“And yes, I will even admit that young man cares for you deeply. Even if his career involves an unnecessary amount of physical violence and likely TBIs.”

Coming from my mother, this was practically a blessing.

“Thank you, Mamá,” I said softly.

As she walked away, Freddie let out a low whistle. “Did that really just happen? Did Mamá actually support everyone’s life choices in a single conversation?”

“I think Abuela slipped something into her drink,” Ophelia stage whispered.

“I heard that,” Mamá called over her shoulder, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice that made us all exchange surprised glances.

“Hey, can I come visit you guys?” Freddie asked. “LA has a great queer scene, and I need to scope it out before the Olympic trials.”

“I’m coming too,” Abuela announced, appearing beside our table with the dramatic timing she’d perfected over decades in telenovelas.

“You know Los Angeles is where you’re Abuelo and I met.

” She winked at me. “And someone needs to help you plan all the parties you’ll host for the wives, girlfriends, lovers and partners of the Bandits. ”

Abuela loved a party. “I’m counting on it.”

A commotion at the front of the house signaled the arrival of the Kingman contingent. Even from the backyard, I could hear Jules’s excited voice, Declan’s deep laugh, and the distinctive sound of Bridger Kingman calling for order like he was back on the sidelines.

“Brace yourselves,” I murmured to my sisters. “Kingman family chaos incoming.”

Flynn appeared at the patio door, grinning as he held it open for his family to stream through. Jules immediately made a beeline for Freddie, the two youngest siblings having formed a friendship based on their shared love of causing trouble.

Flynn tugged me away from the crowd, leading me to a quiet corner of the yard near where Burrito was now dozing under a tree, graduation cap askew.

“I can’t believe you didn’t mention your abuelo is Leo Ramirez,” he said.

“I didn’t think you’d care about the other kind of football.”

“He’s a legendary athlete. He and my dad are basically already besties.” He jerked his chin to where the two patriarchs were talking.

It was really nice to see our families blending together like this.

He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my ear. He whispered, his voice low and warm in my ear. “Did I tell you how hot I find your whole family rebel turned inspirational speaker thing?”

I laughed, leaning into him. “It feels like I’m finally becoming who I was always meant to be.”

“I like who you’re meant to be,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Even the parts that write smut about fictional athletes having fictional orgasms?” I asked, referencing Rosalind’s earlier jab.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Especially those parts. Though I do have some notes on technical accuracy for your next book.”

“I bet you do.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, rising on tiptoes to kiss him properly. “Maybe we should schedule a research session once we’re in LA.”

His arms tightened around me. “I’ve already blocked off my entire calendar for the foreseeable future.”

It was a future I could hardly wait for. One where I got to write the best kind of happy ever after. My own.