The Metropolis skyline shimmered in the early morning light, the Daily Planet globe catching the sun like a promise. Inside a cozy corner apartment overlooking Centennial Park, the Kent household was waking up to a new day—well, two-thirds of it was.

Jonathan Kent, a mop-haired three-year-old with a mischievous grin and Lois Lane’s sharp curiosity, sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of toy dinosaurs. His little voice filled the room, providing roars for each plastic predator as though the fate of the prehistoric world depended on him.

Lois padded out of the bedroom, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing one of Clark’s old flannels over her pajamas. A mug of coffee steamed in her hands, and though the hard-nosed reporter in her would never admit it out loud, mornings like this were her favorite—quiet, domestic, normal.

She glanced toward the kitchen, where Clark was pretending to struggle with a stubborn jar of strawberry jam. He exaggerated his effort just enough for Jonathan to notice.

“Daddy, you’re strong!” Jonathan declared, giggling, before returning to his dinosaurs.

Clark shot Lois a small, conspiratorial smile. If only their son knew just how strong his father really was—strong enough to hold up collapsing bridges, to carry entire trains, to fly faster than a jet across the world. But to Jonathan, he was just Dad, the man who read bedtime stories in funny voices and could reach the cookies on the highest shelf.

Lois leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee. “You know, if you keep pretending jam lids are your greatest challenge, one day he’s going to figure it out.”

Clark chuckled, lowering his voice. “Let him be three for a little longer. There’s plenty of time for the big stuff.”