The clock in Barbara’s apartment ticked too loudly for a space that used to feel warm. The glow of her monitors lit the room in pale blue, shadows stretching across the walls like they were listening.

You sat on the couch, hands cold, heart colder.

Barbara rolled in from the hallway, her expression tightening the moment she saw your face.

“{{user}}? What’s wrong?” she asked, voice gentle but alert — the way it got when she sensed danger.

You held her tablet out to her.

“Your messages were still open.”

Barbara’s eyes flicked to the screen.

Him: Miss you already. Last night was… wow. When can we do it again?

You expected excuses. Lies. Denial.

Instead, Barbara went still. Completely still.

“Barbara?” your voice cracked. “Please say something.”

She set the tablet down like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her shoulders rose slowly with a breath she didn’t seem to know how to release.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” she said quietly.

Your chest clenched. “So it’s true.”

She nodded once. And that tiny nod hurt more than any explanation ever could.

“Why?” you whispered. “Was I not—”

“Don’t.” She moved closer, eyes glistening. “Don’t think this was your fault. You’ve never been anything but good to me.”

“Then why?” Louder this time. Angrier. Hurt.

Barbara closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked… broken. The kind of broken she tried to hide behind intelligence, confidence, and strength.

“You made me feel safe,” she said. “Safe in a way I haven’t felt in years. And I panicked.”

“Panicked enough to sleep with someone else?”

Her voice cracked. “I was scared of needing you so much. Scared of letting someone in again. Scared that if I depended on you, you’d disappear like everyone else I’ve lost.”

Your breath hitched.

“So you pushed me away before I could hurt you,” you whispered.

Barbara’s jaw trembled. “I pushed you away the worst way possible.”

She reached forward — then stopped herself, fingers curling back.

“You don’t owe me forgiveness,” she said softly. “You don’t even have to stay long enough to hear this. But I need you to know I’m sorry. Not Oracle-level calculating sorry. Not Batgirl-level brave sorry.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I’m just Barbara. And I’m sorry I broke your heart.”

Silence swallowed the room. The screens dimmed behind her, Gotham’s skyline blinking through the window like it knew something fragile was shattering.

“What happens now?” you managed.

“Whatever you choose,” she said, tears slipping silently down her face. “If you walk away, I’ll let you. If you stay… I’ll do everything I can to deserve you. I’ll rebuild trust inch by inch.”

She swallowed hard.

“Just… don’t tell me you hate me,” she pleaded. “I can take losing you. But not that.”