"He’s one. One year old. He can’t even say full sentences yet. And yet, somehow, I’m convinced he’ll look at me and see a traitor."

---

Dick slept soundly in his crib, his tiny fingers curled into a fist, his little chest rising and falling with each breath. He was the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen. Even now, even after a long day of tantrums and teething, he was perfect.

And he was mine.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him. The soft glow of the nightlight bathed his face in gold. His dark lashes fluttered, lost in some dream I’d never be able to see. A good one, I hoped.

I wanted this again. I wanted another baby. A sibling for him. A child for us.

And yet, my stomach twisted with guilt. What if he hated me for it? What if he thought I was replacing him? What if he hated his little brother?

A hand rested on my shoulder. I knew the touch before I even looked.

"You’ve been standing here for a while," my husband murmured.

I exhaled slowly. "I was just thinking."

"About?" He stepped closer, his warmth pressing against my side.

I hesitated. "About giving him a little brother."

There. I said it.

My husband's arm slipped around my waist, pulling me against him. "I figured."

Of course he knew. He always did.

I stared at our son, at the life we had built, at the love that had filled the spaces inside me I never even knew were empty. I should have been happy. I was happy. So why did the thought of telling Dick make my hands shake?

"What if he hates me for it?" I whispered. "What if he thinks I don’t love him enough?"

He let out a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Bruce, he's one."

I shot him a look. "You know what I mean."