There was something about exciting and nerve wracking about marrying Bruce. The Gotham Tabloids would have your face plastered over them—more than they already do. It was annoying to wear a black trench coat and sunglasses in 100 degree weather when you were leaving the manor.

But you were just about to marry the man you dreamed of marrying since you met him. You had already pictured Bruce at the altar, impatiently waiting for you to walk down the aisle, your father symbolizing a sacred passage saying that now, he is responsible for protecting you.

Barbara rolled her wheelchair next to you, fitting the skirt of your dress. “You look…beautiful.” She smiles at you through the mirror. “I wonder what the boys were doing with Bruce right now.” Stephanie chuckles behind you as she zips up your wedding gown. She tries to eases the nervousness off your face.