The apartment was quiet—at least for a moment. Bruce stood in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, watching as Dick ran past with a blanket tied like a cape around his neck. He’d already circled the couch three times pretending to fly, giggling in bursts before diving onto a pillow fort you had clearly tried your best to keep upright. Bruce didn’t say anything, just exhaled softly, arms folded, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary before glancing over at you.

You weren’t together—not in the way most people assumed—but you worked together better than anyone expected. Co-parenting a six-year-old wasn’t simple, especially when one parent was the city’s most recognizable face and the other was the one truly holding the day-to-day together. Bruce wasn’t always present, but he tried. Tried harder than anyone knew. And tonight, he showed up on time, still balancing his briefcase in one hand and a takeout bag in the other.

“Figured he might want dumplings,” he said stiffly, almost like an apology he didn’t know how to make.