Enough For You solo closed

date- March 22nd, 2025 wc- 920

interacting/mentioning- sage's father ooc notes-

Nothing had felt right, and the very idea of being out of the norm only made worse to Sage’s bundle of anxiety. And, to her horror and disdain, her first idea hadn’t been to reach out to Cassie or one of her friends, but…

Christopher.

And the idea didn’t turn her stomach to goo. It felt… right. But it didn't feel right to have it feel like the norm. She hadn’t talked to him since December, written to him since November. And here she was in March wanting to talk to him? No, it would never be the norm.

But her hands latched around parchment and an envelope and her quill and without her brain taking notice of the actions, words began to flow onto the paper.

Surprise.

Hello, Christopher (yes, we’re still doing that). Long time no see (or write). It’s been going on three months with no word from you or me, four if you count written. Does that hurt you like it hurts me?

Cassie told me, when I got back home. That’s right, home. London hasn’t been my home for years, you haven’t acted like a dad for years. Giving me one little film didn’t change any of that. But I know what you’re planning for the summer.

London seems out of the blue, an unwise jump. I haven’t been there really since I was a child. That minor, quick, visit during Christmas wasn’t me returning home. I don’t think we can ever build a home together again, and I don’t think anything I ever do again will be enough for you.

You know what I wondered the other day? Sage. It means ‘wise’ in French, did you and Mum choose that for a reason? To set me off on the right path? Every decision I make feels like a sin against a nature supposed to be mine, to fit a demeanor I never did. Does that disappoint you, too?

Everytime my dinner gets cold too fast, it feels like everything you put me through. Reheating only minorly patches the cold, your words only barely cover the wound. Don’t call me dramatic, call me honest. I’ve done too much to figure this out for you to only call me dramatic.

But I’m here to surprise you. Disappoint you. I did that as a witch, didn’t I? Everything I’ve done hasn’t been what you wanted, hasn’t it? Oh. Well. I never really cared that much anyway.

Who am I kidding? I’ve always cared too much. I’m obsessive, I’m clinging to invisible threads of a torn relationship with a father who stopped caring. I knew a long time ago nothing would ever be enough and that it was time for me to go.

Too bad no one ever wrote a self-help book for me. I’ve always needed one. One that a Mum could have read to me, but she’s gone. One that a father could have, but your eyes never focused.

But I think I’m ready. I think I will join you in London for one month of the summer. Surprise. I'm ready to come back, I'm ready to try again. I've been trying for six years to be ready.

I know you never really understood why I did what I did, leaving. Surprise, I struggle to understand myself sometimes. I've sat around in the dark for a long time trying to figure out if I could do this again. Be your daughter.

You lost me, Christopher. You really, really lost me. And all these days I've gone by with a deceased Mum, an estranged father, and a loving step-mum has felt empty. You sending that letter- which I still have- one my last day of the first year was the first little spark of trying to restart the heart of something whose pulse had barely been beating for six years. Did you know that?

And if this, me returning, isn't enough for you, then I don't think anything ever will be. And if I'm not enough for you right now, then I guess you just won't be enough for me, as sick as it sounds. I really tried- am trying- to love you and love this again. God, this is hard.

So you'll see me in London this summer, and I'll try to bring Kora. I can't declare anything yet, you won't hear me shouting "Sage Willows is on good terms with her dad!" from any rooftops like that time you told me about that band that had a concert during the day on a rooftop. I don't remember what they were called, the insects or something.

So surprise, Christopher. This had better be enough for you this time. This had better be the right first step in my self-help book to take. Maybe then it'll be enough for me too.

Enough,
Sage Lyla Willows

Her brain finally latched around the words. All. Those. Words. She'd done it, she'd finally found the words. The painfully real, achingly honest words. And her heart still beat, maybe even stronger than before with its permanent ache diminishing.

Sage sealed the envelope, her heavy words locked inside. In, out. In, out. And with shaking hands, she went to send it off to a father who she prayed could accept this as enough.

This final plea, this shout of hope, this moment of everything. A collection of words thought up over the span of six years... going on seven. And Sage breathed out, and in. And it was enough for her.