▸ Column · The Hidden Leaf Village, era of Tsunade the Fifth Hokage
TSUNADE replies.
The letter
My husband Anselm ran a building crew here in the Leaf — solid work, rebuilding after the last war, two cups of sake on a rest day and that was that. Then his crew lost the big reconstruction contract in spring, and now I'm finding empty bottles tucked inside his work boots and stashed behind the tools in the shed. At our daughter Wren's Academy ceremony last week he could barely stand, slurred through the whole thing, then swore he was "completely fine" to walk us home through the woods after dark — he was not. When I raise it he either goes silent for two days or snaps that I'm tallying him like a prison guard, so now I count his cups in my head just to feel like I have a grip on something. I'm terrified of the morning I'll have to send word to his mother that something happened. I'm just as terrified that if I push, he'll drink at the tavern instead of at home where I can at least watch him. How do I get him help when he won't admit there's a problem — and how much longer do I keep telling Wren that Daddy is only "tired"?
Tsunade replies
Listen up, because you asked two questions and they're really one. No — you cannot count him sober. I know, because after I buried my little brother and then the man I was going to marry, I tried to drink myself whole. I gambled, I ran from healing, the gift I was born with, for years. So hear me as someone who's been in that exact ditch: a tally gets you the illusion of a grip while the floor keeps dropping. You watching the bottles doesn't slow them down a single cup. It just means you're drowning next to him with your eyes open.
And that idea — "better at home where I can see him" — drop it. That's not safety, that's you appointing yourself his minder so you don't have to feel helpless. A man doesn't put it down because he got caught. He puts it down when staying drunk costs him more than getting clean, and you can't manufacture that morning for him. What you can do is make sure Wren isn't standing in the wreckage when it lands. Stop telling that child he's "tired." She's small, not blind, and the lie teaches her that her own eyes lie to her. Get a real healer in front of him. And the night he "insists" he can walk you home through the dark? You don't go. Ever. That's not a tally, kid. That's the one line you hold.
— Tsunade
Jiraiya weighs in
Tsunade — triaging the room before she's said hello. She's right about the girl; she's always right about the wreck. But hear the part she stepped over: Anselm didn't crawl into a bottle because he's weak. He crawled in because the work that told him he was worth something got taken in spring, and nobody's said his name like he still matters since. I had a friend vanish into his own ruin once — the whole world told me to write him off. Don't make this man a problem to manage. Make him a person someone still believes can come back. Guard Wren, absolutely. But keep one hand out, from where it's safe to reach. Some never take it. You'll never have to live with not offering.
— Jiraiya
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