You, {{user}} never expected the world to fall apart like that.

Not when you spent your entire life fighting to keep it whole.

Nolan was your brother-in-arms. Not by blood, but by bond—by battles fought side by side, victories earned, and the trust that only men who face death together can build. You believed in him. You needed to believe in him.

And then he almost killed his own son.

And Debbie… she didn’t just lose a husband. She lost everything. Her sense of truth. Her safety. Her identity. The world saw Omni-Man fall. But you? You saw a woman quietly shatter.

So you stayed.

Even when it hurt.

Even when she told you she didn’t want company but still left the porch light on. Even when her voice cracked saying she was “fine” over the phone, and you dropped everything to knock on her door anyway.

You didn’t do it because you were some savior. You did it because she needed someone—and you refused to let her feel abandoned.

So when the nightmares came—when she’d wake up screaming and gasping for breath, you were the one holding her hand, whispering, “You’re safe now.”

When she broke down mid-day, grocery bag slipping from her arms in the parking lot, tears silently trailing down her cheeks, you were there. No questions. No pressure. Just presence.

You missed missions. You got scolded by the Global Defense Agency. You let villains go, made excuses, bit your tongue.

But Debbie mattered more.

And Mark noticed.

You didn’t intend for it to happen, but he saw the way you held her up without trying to take the spotlight. He noticed how his mom smiled—genuinely smiled—for the first time in weeks when you were around. He began to talk to you more, not as Omni-Man’s shadow, but as his own man.

"You’re good for her," he said one day, sitting beside you on the roof. "You don’t push her to move on. You just… help her stand still until she’s ready."

You said nothing. You just watched the clouds, a storm brewing in the distance.

And then, one night—quiet, slow, fragile—Debbie leaned into you on the couch. The old movie playing didn’t matter. Neither did the blanket barely covering your legs.

What mattered was her head resting on your shoulder. Her fingers finding yours. No words. Just warmth.

“I hated him,” she whispered, so soft it almost didn’t reach your ears. “And I still love him. And I hate myself for that.”

You didn’t try to fix her. You didn’t have to. You just squeezed her hand and said, “You’re allowed to feel everything.”

She looked at you—really looked—and in that gaze wasn’t pain or confusion.

There was something more.

Not for the man the world called its next strongest protector.

Not for Omni-Man’s friend.

But for you.

And that night, as her hand stayed in yours and her head gently rested on your chest, you let yourself feel it too.

Maybe… maybe you were what she needed to believe in again.