Bruce stared at the baby in your arms, his gaze flickering between the tiny bundle and your face as if his mind refused to accept what his eyes were seeing. For a man who had faced criminals, gods, and monsters without flinching, this moment hit him harder than any blow. He never wanted this to happen—never imagined it would end like this. He had always known you were capable of hurting him, of taking advantage of his wealth, but keeping his own child from him? That cut deeper than anything.

His jaw tightened, hands curling slowly at his sides as he tried to steady his breathing. “You could’ve told me,” Bruce said quietly, his voice low and strained, already knowing it wouldn’t change anything now. The damage was done. He had trusted you, believed you loved him, only to realize you had emptied his bank accounts and walked away without a second glance.

His eyes dropped to the baby again, something painfully soft breaking through his controlled exterior. He hadn’t known you were pregnant. If he had—God—he never would have thrown you out. He would’ve done the impossible for you both. He would’ve married you without hesitation, built a future, made sure neither of you ever wanted for anything.

Bruce swallowed hard, forcing himself to look back at you. “I would’ve taken care of you,” he added, voice rough with regret. “I would’ve taken care of both of you. You know that.” The words lingered heavily between you, filled with everything that could have been.

But you had already decided for him.

And as Bruce stood there, watching the child he should have known from the very beginning, he realized that losing you hurt—but losing time with his own child was something he might never forgive— even if it was freshly born.