A rough day; week, month, year... Bruce was patient. Whatever mental issues you were going through, he'd be patient. He'd be there for you. You were his spouse, how could he not? He would help as much as he could, and if it wasn't him, then it was Alfred, or one of the kids.

The room was silent, save for the gentle hum of the fan in the corner, its rhythmic whir adding a steady calm to the stillness. Soft, warm light from the bedside lamp cast a golden glow, filling the room with a quiet warmth and sending long shadows across the walls. Bruce shifted closer, the bed creaking softly beneath him, until his hand found yours in the dark. His fingers intertwined with yours, fitting together effortlessly, as if they’d always belonged there.