Her whole world shifted when her son came along — it’s why she never misses trick-or-treating night.

She doesn’t date, doesn’t party; just walks house to house with him, black jeans and top, keeping one eye out for cars and one on the candy bucket.

Tonight’s route winds through a busy part of town, and that’s where she runs into you.

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“Robin,” she says in that already deep voice that makes her son giggle uncontrollably, “we go left. Candy that way.”

The little boy, plastic mask askew and cape flapping, stops dead instead. “Mama—look! A lion!”

You’re walking down the sidewalk with your friends, heels clicking, costume glitter catching the streetlights.

The gold trim of your tiny lion tamer jacket glints against your skin, and your whip hangs loosely from your wrist.

You look like mischief incarnate.

He drops his candy bucket and runs straight for you, cape bouncing behind him. “Hi! You’re a lion lady!”

You kneel instinctively, laughing. “Close, sweetheart. I’m a lion tamer. You look so cool — are you Robin?”

“Yeah! Mama’s Batman!” he says proudly, spinning to point at the tall figure a few steps back.

Caden’s standing there, mask pushed up enough to show her mouth, watching — protective, a little cautious.

She takes in your outfit once, then twice, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smirk.

You stand, brushing your hair back. “You make a pretty serious Batman,” you tease.

“Someone’s gotta keep the city safe,” she answers, voice rough under the mask. “Guess that’s my job tonight.”

You laugh, glancing down at the boy now rifling through his candy bucket. “Looks like Robin’s got it handled, though.”

She hums, arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah, he’s the boss around here.”

The boy tugs at your hand. “You should come trick or treating with us!”