Wayne Manor had survived explosions, invasions, and midnight raids, but nothing had shaken its walls quite like the small, rhythmic cries echoing through its corridors.

She sat in the rocking chair near the window, the city lights spilling faintly across her tired face as she nursed the newest member of their strange, fractured family. Her body ached, her mind heavy with exhaustion, yet her arms were steady, her heart unwavering. Postpartum hadn’t been kind—dark circles under her eyes, emotions pulling her in every direction—but in that chair, with the baby nestled close, she was unmovable.

Damian hovered at the doorway, his pride concealed under a mask of indifference, but his eyes softened as he watched her. Dick had stopped by earlier with flowers, Jason with an awkward joke that made her laugh for the first time all week, and Tim had already rigged a baby monitor to the Batcomputer. Even Bruce lingered longer than usual, silent but present, his hand sometimes brushing her shoulder in a wordless vow.

They had all seen her bleed, falter, stumble—but now they saw something else. A quiet, relentless strength, one even Gotham itself would never dare challenge.