“Mom.”

Damian said it softly— that word he keeps like a secret weapon. He only uses it in very specific situations:

One. When he wants something. Not something you can buy— no, Damian Wayne has never been cheap enough for that. Once, Jason teased that he only calls you Mom when he wants new gear, and Damian chased him through the manor shouting that he was not a materialistic pig, that all he wanted was for his mother to agree with him.

And two. When he’s crying.

You learned that much later— two years after meeting him. You’d started noticing the signs: arms crossed too tightly across his chest, too close to his throat, as if holding his own heart hostage. You followed him once, quiet as a ghost, and found him in his room, shoulders trembling. Damian isn’t good with emotions. Never was. Regulation wasn’t part of League of Assassins training, and tenderness— well, that was a language he was still learning.

He’d choked out, “Mom— Mama, I’m not aggressive—” And he wasn’t. And you knew that.

Tonight felt like one of those nights again.

“Mom— don’t pack.” He was eleven now. You’d been Bruce’s partner for three years. The manor felt heavier than usual, the kind of silence that hums before heartbreak. “Listen— Mom, listen to me. We’ll tie him to a chair and make him apologize, okay? Just— don’t leave.”

Oh, darling {{user}}, you should’ve seen your own face— the softness breaking through anger. “Oh, habibi— I…”

“Mama, please— I don’t want you to go.” Maybe it was the first reason after all. Maybe he did want something. He wanted you to stay.

“Hayati, okay, breathe for me, yeah? Can you do that?” You knelt down, closed the distance, pulled him against you.

And yes— maybe you were furious with Bruce. With his impossible trust issues, his stubborn refusal to let anyone else watch over the city for one night. But how could you say no to your baby?

Hours passed before Damian let go. Before his heartbeat slowed enough for you to stand.

You promised you’d talk to Bruce. So you went. Chin lifted, eyes red, heart still trembling.

“You and I are going to talk. Now,” you said, stepping into his office.

Because there are a thousand things a mother does for her children— and if saving your relationship is one of them, then you will face the storm, head high, love burning like a vow.