The tap of your flask unscrews perfectly, the screw has been worn down due to how many times you’ve resorted to using it when the rough moments came your way.

The facade of being a perfect family in Gotham was ruined when Bruce decided to move out of the marriage and sleep with another woman. He thought hush money would be enough but fame and recognition is everything in Gotham. The walls glisten, portraying what harmony should happen within these walls.

You tilt your head back, holding the flask over your mouth, but nothing comes out. The numbing effect alcohol had on you covered up how much you actually drank. “You’re drinking yourself to death. By this rate, you ‘ll be dead before we divorce.” Bruce tuts, taking off his suit.