You were already grinning when Bruce walked in, holding three gifts like he hadn’t been warned.

“I said simple,” you said, eyeing the stack.

He smirked. “This is simple.”

You pointed to the table where your gifts were waiting: a handwritten love letter folded into origami, a custom vinyl of songs that reminded you of him, and a rare vintage watch he’d mentioned once—eight years ago.

He raised an eyebrow. “So we’re both showing off.”

Gift One from him: a first edition Count of Monte Cristo, navy leather, gold initials.

Gift Two: a custom coat, perfectly tailored, your name stitched inside.

Then: “Come with me.”

You followed him to the driveway, where a silk cover hid something underneath. When he pulled it away, your mouth dropped. A matte gray car, sleek and futuristic.

“You got me a car?”

“You started it,” he said, smug. “I had to raise the stakes.”

You stared at the car.

Then at him.

Then quietly handed him the final thing you’d been holding: a small envelope.

Inside, a card. One line in your handwriting:

“Driver’s license optional. Baby Wayne arriving October.”

Bruce froze, eyes wide.

“You’re…?”

You nodded.

He pulled you into his arms, hand trembling against your stomach.

“You win,” he whispered. “You win everything.”