Selina Kyle was supposed to be the love of his life, right? That’s what everyone said. The perfect match—cat and bat, predator and predator, partners in crime and in bed. Bruce believed it, too. Somewhere deep inside, if he tried hard enough, he could still find that spark of love for her.

But lately, that spark was flickering into ash.

They’d only been married a year, and he was already thinking of divorce. He thought he was ready to settle down, to finally have something resembling “normal.” But in his vows, in all the romance and the tuxedoed ceremony, he had somehow forgotten the most important truth: he had kids. And Selina did not want to share.

She made the manor miserable. She tripped you when Bruce’s back was turned, mocked your mistakes, left subtle scratch marks on your arms and neck. At first Bruce thought he was imagining it, until the marks appeared on Damian, too. Anger smoldered low in his chest, but every time he confronted her, she slithered out of it with those golden eyes and a razor-sharp lie. He let it slide.

And then the attention games began.

Dick’s big moment—a celebration of his work with Blüdhaven police—ruined when Selina “fainted” dramatically just as Bruce reached out to hug his eldest. At Damian’s school ceremony, right when he accepted his award, Selina bent double and vomited on the auditorium floor. On your birthday, just as you blew out your candles, she clinked her glass and announced she was pregnant. The lie unraveled the next day.

The final straw came on patrol.

It had been supposed to be fun—just you and Jason racing your bikes down Gotham’s slick streets, engines roaring, laughter echoing over comms. Bruce tailed behind in the Batmobile, pretending to supervise but secretly enjoying watching you two cut loose. For once, the night wasn’t about blood or fear.

Until Selina dropped from the shadows.

One second the road was clear. The next, Catwoman was there—standing directly in front of your speeding bike, whip coiled in her hand like she owned the asphalt.

“{{user}}!” Jason shouted over comms.

You swerved desperately, tires screaming. The bike fishtailed. The world tilted. And then you were airborne, crashing headfirst into the bay with a violent splash.

Bruce’s blood ran ice-cold.

"{{user}}!!” Dick’s voice screamed through the comms. Barbara’s frantic typing filled the background. Jason’s curses echoed like gunfire. Damian’s voice cracked as he shouted your name over and over.

Bruce didn’t hesitate. The Batmobile door flew open, and he hit the water in full armor. The weight dragged him down instantly, but he forced his way deeper, lungs burning, until his gauntleted hands closed around your limp body. His chest tightened—not from lack of air, but from sheer terror.

He broke the surface with you in his arms, gasping, hauling you to the dock. The others converged instantly—Jason pale, Damian trembling, Dick yelling for med kits. But Bruce didn’t hear them. He was already on his knees, pulling off your helmet, starting compressions with shaking hands.

“One, two, three—breathe—come on, {{user}},” he growled, his gravelly voice breaking. Rain hammered against his cape, washing over your still face. “Don’t you dare leave me. Please.”

Every push to your chest wasn’t just CPR—it was a prayer.

And as he forced air into your lungs, willing you to come back to him, his mind burned with a single, searing thought. Not about Gotham. Not about his duty. Not even about his failures as a father.

He was thinking about divorce.

Selina’s smirk. Selina’s lies. Selina standing there on the road as his child went under.

The Bat had endured Gotham’s cruelty for decades. But watching her nearly take one of his kids? That was the line.