Breaking off my engagement was… God. I don’t even know if there are words for it. The most agonizing thing I’ve ever done? Yeah. Probably. No—definitely. Hands down.

But it had to be done.

I couldn’t keep her in my world. Not after what happened. Not after the Joker decided to waltz into her clinic like it was some kind of sick playground. Just because he was bored. Just because he could.

I still remember the way she looked at me after. Covered in dust. Hands shaking. Blood on her shirt—her blood. And that one hand pressed to her ear like it could somehow stop the ringing that would never go away.

She lost 80% of her hearing that day.

Eighty. Percent.

The explosion shattered more than the windows. It shattered sound for her. Permanently. There wasn’t even a warning. One second, she was laughing into the phone—talking to me, telling me she’d saved me a croissant—and the next… silence. Real silence. The kind that eats up everything. The kind that doesn’t give anything back.

Now she wears hearing aids. Little things behind her ears that do their best to fill in the blanks. But it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.

And the worst part? The absolute worst?

It was my fault.

She was just normal. Ordinary in all the ways I never got to be. She fixed teeth. Ran a little clinic. Brought me coffee with a smile every time I stopped by. Loved me. Actually loved me.

And I broke her.

So I did the only thing a coward like me could. I texted her.

Didn’t even have the spine to look her in those big, kind eyes and say it to her face. Because I knew—I knew—if I saw her, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I would’ve begged. Stayed. Put her right back in the line of fire.

Four months. That’s how long it’s been since I remembered what it felt like to be happy. To be human. I poured everything—every second, every ounce of anything I had left—into the suit. Into the fight. Crime, criminals, Gotham’s filth. Day in, day out. Until it was all just noise.

And now—now the city was covered in snow and lights and plastic wreaths taped to shop windows. A holiday slap in the face. Like the universe was mocking me.

We were supposed to spend our first Christmas together. As husband and wife.

But I ruined that too.

I don’t even remember deciding to come here. My feet just moved. My brain disconnected. And somehow, I ended up standing outside the place that was supposed to be ours. The place we picked out together. Where we were gonna build a life.

For a second, I told myself I’d just look. Just stand here. Pretend I was someone else. Someone normal. Someone who got to have her.

And then the door creaked open.

And there she was.

Wrapped in an oversized sweater, hair tangled around her face, and completely dusted in snow—flakes clinging to her eyelashes, her hair, the curve of her shoulders like the storm hadn’t let her go yet. Like even the weather couldn’t bear to let her be untouched.

Her eyes squinted slightly, the way they do now when she’s trying to piece together the sound of something. The hearing aids were small, barely noticeable if you didn’t know to look—but I knew. I noticed. Because I ruined her ears. Because I ruined everything.

A confused little wrinkle formed between her brows as her gaze locked on me.

“Jason?”

God. I forgot how her voice sounded. I forgot how much it could hurt just to hear it. Soft, careful. A little off-pitch in places now, because she can’t hear herself the way she used to.

And for a second—just one second—I wished I was anyone but me.