oswin/john.
My dad hates that I'm here. Every week, I get a phone call — oh, did I tell you he's recently learned how to FaceTime? God, so embarrassing. It's always the top of his head. Anyway, he always says, "Oswin Oswald, when are you going to come home?" And I always tell him, "Dad, I am home. Storybrooke's my home now." He's got his new wife, and I love her. She's great for him, but being there was just a big reminder of losing my mother.
A little bit of hope makes for a good story. A lot of hope makes for a better life, I suppose. I sort of feel like I should write this out.