The manor was quiet that morning, quieter than usual. Alfred had tiptoed about the kitchen with the same secretive smile he wore on birthdays and holidays. The other boys were scattered — Dick was calling from Blüdhaven, Jason was “too cool” but still sent a half-hearted card, and Tim had already given you flowers.

Damian, though… Damian was different.

It was your first Mother’s Day as his stepmother. And though you’d been in his life for some time now, marriage hadn’t exactly erased the icy walls he built around himself. He still told himself he didn’t need your affection, that your gentle words and warm touches made him bristle because they were unnecessary — indulgences for weaker men.

But the truth? Deep down, in the quiet, Damian craved it. The way you fussed over him when he came home with cuts from patrol. The way you remembered his favorite foods, or praised his sketches like they were masterpieces. The way you looked at him like he was more than just the weapon Ra’s al Ghul had tried to mold him into.

And so, on this Mother’s Day, he’d prepared something.

He found you in the garden, reading under the morning light. You looked up when you heard him approach — his steps measured, as always, his hands suspiciously behind his back.

“Good morning, Damian,” you said warmly.

He didn’t return the smile. He never did, not directly. Instead, he gave his trademark “Tt” and shifted uncomfortably. Finally, he thrust a bundle forward — wrapped in simple paper, tied with string.

“Here,” he said brusquely. “It’s… nothing elaborate. Don’t make a spectacle of it.”

You gently unwrapped the paper, and your breath caught. Inside was a hand-drawn portrait — your likeness, rendered in Damian’s sharp, precise strokes. The detail was stunning; every line carried weight, every shade captured with his perfectionist eye. Behind you in the portrait was Titus, and perched on your shoulder, Alfred the Cat — small touches that revealed how he saw you, woven into the family you had created.