I sit quietly, waiting for Father to begin. His eyes are aimed at his hands folded on the desk. A soft sigh rolls from his lips as his eyes move up to meet mine across the dark wood and stacks of papers.

"I know you came back for the letter," he begins and I already want to deny it but I will let him finish. "But first we need to talk about what happened earlier."

"I agree," I say, taking my first breath since we sat down.

"I do not intend to disinherit you and I surely hope a contract is not necessary to implement my rules." I nod as he inhales deeply. I already know what is coming next but neither of us seems to be able to address it. "I-" he pauses. "Do you believe I would celebrate finding out that--"

"No," I cut him off. He doesn't have to say it out loud. For the first time ever he appears relieved that I interrupted him. "I don't think that and shouldn't have said it," I add.

Despite our difficulties, I very much still love Father. I may daydream about Impa's family or ponder about living with Urbosa, but I would not dream of having another father. 

I must find a balance of exoneration and accommodation. I want to please Father and convince him that I am not a disappointment but I have to make him understand that his expectations are too high. He needs to see that I am at my limits, whether he is satisfied by those limits or not is as much up to me as it is up to Link to win the soccer game against Lorule.

"Whether it should or shouldn't have been said is irrelevant," Father speaks calmly. "It has been said and I would like to know why." I gulp. "You may not agree with the rules I set but everything I do, I do for you. I am not your enemy. And loathing me will not impact my disciplines. I know what is best for you and I will pristine your attitude until you see the value in my decisions."

How is it possible to start so caring and still end up sounding like a dictator?

"I don't loathe you and I certainly don't condemn your rules," I begin. His features soften but I'm not done yet. "Most of your decisions are indeed in my best interest, such as living at home opposed to living on campus to keep distractions to a minimum. Even the curfew and the no boyfriend rules spring from good arguments, but, and here's the big but, what I am not okay with is you enforcing those rules on me."

His face twitches, signaling me that he wants to utter his objection. It must come as a challenge to let me finish but I'm grateful that he is patiently hearing me out.

"I strongly believe that I have proven to be mature and rational enough to be home at a decent hour and to keep my performance at its absolute best. Never have I anticipated anything below a 100, and had you just asked me to keep my grades up I would have gladly ensured you that anything other than a 4.0 GPA never even appeared as an option to me. Yet you felt the need to coerce me into perfection. It didn't change my will to succeed. All it did was give me anxiety and panic attacks and led me to believe that you do not trust me."

My voice is beginning to shake as I speak but I need to put the cards on the table. It's now or never.

"The day people saw me crying on campus, you confronted me to find out whether I was failing my classes. I wasn't. I was doing good. Better than good. And still, I was so frightened of failing you that I had a breakdown when my friend pointed out that I missed a question on an assignment. I-I actually broke down. And I'm sorry that I caused a scene and that people saw your daughter like that but it was out of my control."

My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes. Why is it so difficult to say these things out loud? I feel weaker by the second. Father is still looking at me with sealed lips.

"I don't want to be scared every time I hand in my work. I don't want to run away every time a boy talks to me. I don't want to choose speeding and risking a car accident over missing the curfew. And most importantly, I don't want to lie to you about any of it. So let me just tell you this one thing and then you can say whatever needs to be said and I will listen and oblige, but promise me, Father, promise you will comprehend my words, or at least try to." 

My breaths are shallow and fleeting. I swallow and take a long breath before I continue eye contact.

"I am fallible. I am fallible like you, like anyone. I will, inevitably, make mistakes. But those mistakes are essential to my growth."

I stop myself when it's clear that Father is not going to cut me off. He hasn't said anything, nor has he really looked me in the eye for more than a second at a time. I cannot read his face, is he growing furious or is he silently agreeing with me? Did I hurt his feelings again? Is he even listening? I have so many more things to say but somehow I am desperate for his forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, unsure what exactly I'm apologizing for but it feels appropriate. He looks up at me and shakes his head.

"You're right," he says to my surprise. "Both of you are."

"Both? Who else--"

He opens the top drawer of his desk and reveals the letter he was holding at dinner earlier. My eyes jump back and forth between the paper and his worn out face. For a second there I could have sworn a spark of comfort slipped through his stoic exterior.

"You and your mother," he answers my unfinished question.

His eyes wander off and I can sense that he is escaping to a memory for a few seconds before he hands me the letter and gets up from his chair.

"She said something very similar in her letter. When you spoke to me just now it was as if it was her sitting in front of me. You have grown so much, Zelda."

"Why are you giving this to me now, after all these years?" I want to know.

"I only recently found this letter. I visited Mammoth Lakes last week for a meeting with the real estate agent. There, I found this letter at our lodge. We haven't been there in at least a decade, it makes sense that we never found her little note."

"Why were you meeting your agent in Mammoth Lakes?"

"Because I am selling the property."

"You can't sell, we used to go there every winter," I exclaim.

"Used to."

"But, Father--"

"It's already been decided," he says, slightly agitated. "I am meeting with the real estate agent again next week to analyse the bids."

"This upcoming week? When do you leave and when will you be back?"

"I will be gone Tuesday through Thursday."

I shouldn't be surprised...

Without a response, he walks around the desk toward the door. "Perhaps we can dine together tomorrow night? After you have read that letter. I'd like to talk and find a way for us to come up with a solution for our frequent miscommunication."

I just nod at him and then he leaves the room. I can't believe Father wants to sell our lodge. So many memories lie up there. But I can't focus my mind on that right now. I don't want to wait a second longer to read Mother's letter but I don't want to read it in Father's depressing study either. 

I rise from the chair, steadily, waiting for my legs to collapse but they don't. I take a deep breath and head to my room soon after. My bag is sitting next to my desk and without letting go of the paper for even just one moment, I find my phone to call Impa. Just as I think the voicemail will answer, Impa picks up the phone.

"Princess!" She answers in a hearty laugh, loud music playing in the background.

"Come on, it's your turn!" A male voice speaks to her. I think it might be Prissen but I'm not sure. It could be Karson.

"Hey," I speak, trying not to sound as insecure as I feel. I don't want to interrupt her fun but she told me she wants to be called when I need her. So I am taking her up on that.

"What's up? How'd the dinner go?" She asks.

"There was no dinner."

"What?" She yells, I can barely hear her. "Hold on." The volume of the music decreases and the other voices that were competing with hers turn into background noise.

"Impa? Hello?" Is she still there?

"Sorry, I'm here," she answers, much clearer now. "So, what's up? How was dinner?"

"There was no dinner," I repeat.

"Why not? Did your dad change his mind?"

"No, that's not it."

"Then what happened?"

I've been asking myself the same question all night. What happened? What went wrong? Father was trying out small talk and asked about my day and my friends, not to spy but to show that he cares, and I lashed out my anger on him as I always do. Does he really want to dine with me for the sole purpose of spending time together or is he up to something? Am I the villain or is this all just a messy misunderstanding? What should I do? My eyes return to the letter in my hand. Maybe this will have some answers.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?" Impa's voice sounds through the speaker, pulling my mind back to her.

"Actually..." I pause to reconsider inviting her here but I really want her with me right now. "Could you come over? I need you."

"Say no more."

"Do you need me to pick you up?"

"No, I can drive."

"Did you drink?"

"I've only had two beers," she swears and I believe her but still.

"You shouldn't drive."

"Yeah, no, of course not. I'll get an uber. Be there soon."

After we hang up I let go of the letter for the first time to place it on my bed. I need to take a hot shower and relax my muscles. I want to have a clear head when I read the letter.

Standing beneath the burning water I am showered by thoughts and assumptions. I can only guess blindly but what if that letter is addressed to me? I kept thinking it was Father's but if it's mine, then that means a message that has been waiting for years to be read is only now finding me. What if it's too late now? Why would Father read it anyway if it's addressed to me? He wouldn't do that. Yes he would. But Mother wouldn't write to a six year old, it's probably addressed to Father, but then why would he share it with me? So many questions are flooding my head at once and the answers are only a few feet away.

I turn off the water after a long and steaming shower. Dressed in a bathrobe I return to my room with Impa sitting on my bed. She has the piece of paper on her lap as she scrolls through her Instagram feed. I knock on my open door, making her head snap in my direction.

"Hey," she puts her phone down.

"You're already here," I say surprised.

"You said you needed me, here I am. This is from your mom, isn't it?" She holds up the paper.

"You didn't read it, did you?" I gasp.

"I mean. I thought it was a note for me or something. So I, yeah, I kinda--"

"No," I hurry over to my bed to remove the letter from her hands. "You weren't supposed to read it. Not before I did!"

"You haven't read it?" She tilts her head in confusion.

"No, I was waiting for you so I wouldn't have to be alone when I read it. Is it bad? Wait, don't tell me. Don't say a word about it. I will read it in a second, let me get dressed first."

As I hastily walk to the walk-in closet, Impa jumps up to follow. She takes both my hands into hers and forces me to look at her.

"Hold on a second," she tells me ineffectively. My eyes keep searching the room for the clothes I want to wear. "Hey, calm down, take a deep breath," Impa instructs. "There is absolutely no rush. Take your time with this, it's not going anywhere. Neither am I. You're okay. Okay?"

I nod, having calmed slightly. She is right. I shouldn't rush this. With my head cleared I find the sweatshirt I was looking for. It's Mother's. And it's the only Hyrule University merch I ever wore. Well, apart from Link's soccer hoodie and jacket. Mipha pops into my head and my heart stings. I replace the thought of her kissing Link in the pool with the old, faded design on Mother's sweatshirt. She used to say it was her favorite thing to wear and whenever I want to feel close to her I wear it proudly.

"Okay," I breathe. "I'm ready. Should I read this here on my bed? That feels so casual."

"Nothing wrong with casual," Impa assures me. "But you can read it anywhere you want."

"Maybe the library? Mother liked to spend her afternoons reading there. But now Father spends a lot of time in there too so it's not really her room anymore."

"Is there a room nobody really used besides her?"

"Not really, I don't th-- Oh, actually, there is. It's not a room but Mother was the only one who used the tennis court."

"Let's go there then," Impa suggests.

We don't pass Father on our way out the back. I wonder where he is. The house is so big, there are too many possible rooms to find him in.

The tennis court behind the pool is lit. It's at the edge of the property and far enough from the house to lie in perfect silence. I don't ever come here, it's odd to stand here at night looking over the hills with a letter from Mother in my cold hands.

We sit down against the net. I am beyond grateful that Impa came even though she had planned to spend her night at the frat party.

"How was the party?" I try to be polite.

"Seriously?" She laughs. "Just open the letter already."

I exhale slowly. "Okay."

My fingers unfold the paper but my eyes flee to the landscape. Am I truly ready to read this? I blink a couple of times, then I look down at the paper. Two thoughts fill my head immediately.

"This is not her handwriting," is the first. Mother wrote in flawless cursive, and while this handwriting is just as flawless, it's not cursive.

"And it's not a letter," is my second observation. It's not addressed to anybody. So this was written for neither Father nor me. I don't know if I should feel disappointed or relieved. Perhaps it's okay to feel both.

"So your mom didn't write this?" Impa asks curious.

"I don't think she did."

"Read it anyway, it's about you."

I chew on my cheek and think about it before I act carelessly. Would it not be rude to read something that was not written for my eyes.

"Do it," Impa encourages me. 

I exhale a long breath and begin to read.

Rhoam allowed me to keep Zelda company as she went to the spring for her training. There, she prayed and prayed in the spring's icy waters until the sun set. I told her many times to stop, but she wouldn't listen. I eventually had to drag her out of the water. Zelda gazed at me for the longest time with heartbreaking vulnerability. Eventually, in a tiny voice, she told me of the pressure and panic she feels at not being able to fulfill her responsibilities. She whispered over and over, "Why can I not do as my ancestors have done? What is wrong with me?"

I remember this. We were at the lodge during the winter holidays. But it wasn't Mother who accompanied me that day. It was Urbosa. She was the one to carry me home through the snow after I was near unconsciousness from the cold waters. Mother passed the year before. Mother used to smile and tell me, "Zelda, my love, all will be well in the end. You can do anything." But she was wrong. I remember feeling like a failure back then because my grades were imperfect and my piano audition and dressage demonstration that year were faulty. No matter how I try or how much time passes... I remain the let-down of the family.

"Are you done already?" Impa questions. I shake my head and continue reading.

All I could do was hold her close and listen... I pray that is enough. She is still so young, forced to carry herself like a true princess. I worry for her. Striving for perfection is a self-destructive act and when she reaches her inevitable breaking point there will be no one else to blame but us; her parents, her friends, her mentors.

We must accept that there is a great difference between wisdom and intelligence, just as there is a difference between courage and bravery. Or power and strength. Courage doesn't equal the absence of fear, it is the act despite your fear that makes you courageous, and only those who make mistakes and are willing to learn from them, obtain wisdom. Nothing is pure and every great achievement comes with its flaws. Even power does not guarantee the absence of weakness. Nobody is faultless, and we have erred in expecting as much. Zelda is an extraordinary girl. For now she may be scared, weak, and fallible, but these are the qualities necessary for growth. In many ways, Zelda is a flower; you cannot force a flower to grow but you can help it. If we take the roles of light, water, air, nutrition, and space upon ourselves, Zelda will bloom more beautifully than any other flower in the bouquet.

I reread the last sentence a couple of times, trying to understand what Urbosa's metaphor means. While Father has been forcing me to perform well academically, Urbosa has been the one providing all the help I truly needed to grow, and I think Father is starting to see that too.

"How are you feeling?" Impa asks, seeing that I've finished reading.

"I-I don't know. Urbosa was the one who wrote this."

Father thought it was from Mother and in a way I suppose it is. Urbosa has been a mother to me in more ways than I can count. In all these years she has never left my side but was always willing to give me the space I needed. I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't remember composing this note but I want to at least thank her by sending her a quick message. I should take her out for lunch one of these days.

*Hey, just wanted to say how grateful I am for you and everything you do for me. Love you.* I send her via text.

I turn off my phone and get up from the hard court to go back inside.

"Are you going back to the party tonight?" I ask Impa when we reach the patio.

"Not necessarily. Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not at all. I thought you could spend the night if you want."

"A sleepover? Hell yeah," she cheers and I smile. "Speaking of which, what do you want to do for your birthday on Wednesday? It's a weekday but maybe we can convince your old man to authorize a sleep over?"

"Father won't be here. So you can come over Tuesday after Link's game and stay the night. But no gifts."

"Sweet. And shut up, you always say that even though you already know I'm giving you something."

I roll my eyes at her and nearly bump into Father standing between the Jacuzzi and the patio door. I really have to watch where I'm going. The image of Ganon's face flashes before me. I still have to find a way to tell Father about the assault.

"I heard voices coming from the backyard and wanted to see what was going on out here," Father explains his sudden appearance.

"Just us," Impa replies.

"I see you've read the letter," he observes, emotionless as always.

Should I tell him that Urbosa wrote this or let him believe it was Mother? Would it make a difference? I am afraid so. I don't know if Urbosa's opinion matters to Father as much as Mother's did.

"I have. Do you agree with her words?" I ask him straight forward.

"I agree that the pressure you're under is unhealthy and deteriorated."

"Does this mean you will abolish your rules?" My heart beats faster as my mind produces the image of Link and I spending time together publicly without anxiety as our loyal companion.

"Change is in order, yes," he say. "A curfew was not necessary during High School and I believe that it is not necessary now."

The excitement within me is increasing rapidly. I could spend more nights with Link, go to the pier with Impa, and stay out longer without having to check the time every couple of minutes.

"Could you give us a moment?" Father asks Impa. She looks at me and waits for me to nod at her before she walks inside and upstairs.

"Is something the matter?" I ask nervously once we're alone.

"Zelda, you have been working restlessly every day, you have gone beyond your limits and proven to me that you are capable of greatness. I want you to know how proud I am to have such a beautiful and smart daughter. You have displayed incredible determination in the past couple of months and I recognize your efforts."

Am I dreaming? I never thought I'd hear him say those words. I was always looking forward to it, it was something I was hoping for for so long, but now that those words have been spoken, I don't feel fortunate at all. I feel premonished.

"But I also recognize that some of my expectations were improbable," he continues. "Everything you are presumed to accomplish is swelling to inordinate measures. It is too much for you and I see that now. That letter... It gave me an epiphany. I now understand your feelings, painfully so. You lost your mother, your teacher, before you could learn from her. And while I spent my time doing business, you were left behind, dealing with your struggles all by yourself. Ten years of pointless self-training... All that is going to change now. I will personally guide you, I will teach you in any way I can and be here to console you."

"What do you mean... you will teach me?"

"Political science is a highly competitive and intellectually challenging major. I am very knowledgeable in the subject, so I will share my experience with you rather than expecting you to understand it all by yourself."

"What about biology?"

"Biology?" he ponders as if he had forgotten all about my initial major. "If you still want to study biology once you've received your master's degree I will not stand in your way. But for now we will focus on one major at a time to decrease your stress."

"I, I don't..." I shake my head in disbelief.

"Zelda, dear."

"No, I don't- I don't understand. I can still study biology, right?"

I will not accept his silence for an answer.

"Right, Father? Speak to me, say something."

"No, you will no longer be majoring in biology," he says in utter sincerity.