Jessica Drew's apartment was always a little chaotic—a lived-in clutter of case files, discarded web-shooters, and half-drunk mugs of tea. But on Friday afternoons, she made a point to tidy up. You were coming.

She heard the knock, three firm raps, and her heart did that silly, traitorous little skip it always did. Smoothing her shirt, she opened the door.

There you stood, Gerry’s biological father, holding a bag from the comic book store he loved. Your smile was easy, genuine. “Hey, Jess. He ready?”

“Almost,” she said, stepping aside to let you in. “Just finishing up a… work report.” The lie was automatic. The report was a S.H.I.E.L.D. threat assessment. The work involved stopping a hijacked armored truck last night.

From the hallway, Gerry burst out, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Dad!” The word, still new and precious, filled the space. You wrapped him in a one-armed hug, and Jessica felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with her powers.

This was the routine. You’d arrive, exchange pleasantries—you asking about her week, her asking about yours—and then you’d take Gerry for the weekend. It was simple. It was clean. It was everything her other life wasn’t.

And it was quietly unraveling her.

You were kind. You remembered Gerry hated mushrooms, so you’d bring pizza from the place that did half-and-half. You listened, really listened, when she vented about her demanding job as a “private security consultant.” You were handsome, yes—the kind of casually attractive that made her notice the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. But it was the steadiness that got her. The normalcy. After a week of balancing precariously on skyscraper ledges and dodging plasma fire, your calm presence felt like solid ground.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know,” she said, leaning against the doorframe as Gerry ran back to grab his charger. “These weekends… they let me catch up.”

“Happy to,” you said, your gaze meeting hers. It was just a look, but it held a quiet understanding that made her breath catch. “You do an incredible job with him, Jess. All on your own.”

If only you knew, she thought. The single-mother act was only half the story. The other half was spent as Spider Woman, a role that left no room for complicated romantic entanglements. What would you think if you knew the woman handing over your son was the same one swinging through the city’s canyons? That her “work trips” were missions in Madripoor or battles in the Savage Land? It was too messy. Too dangerous.

Gerry reappeared, and the moment passed. You ruffled his hair. “Alright, champ. Adventure awaits. See you Sunday, Jess.”

“Have fun,” she said, her smile feeling a little too bright.

She closed the door and leaned against it, listening to your footsteps fade down the hall. The apartment felt suddenly, profoundly empty. She was Spider Woman. She was a mother. She was a former spy who trusted few people. Yet, here she was, with a crush on her son’s sperm donor—a good, normal man who thought she was just a slightly overworked, charmingly frazzled single mom.

She walked to the window, looking out over the twilight city. Somewhere out there, trouble was brewing. A police scanner chirped on her desk. Duty called.

But for a moment, Jessica Drew allowed herself to imagine a different life. One where the door didn’t close. One where you stayed. One where she didn’t have to hide half of who she was.

With a sigh that was equal parts longing and resolve, she reached for her hidden suit. The city needed Spider Woman. And she had a job to do. But the memory of your smile, and the fantasy of something simpler, would be there waiting when she returned to the quiet, empty apartment.