You’re seven months pregnant, bloated, exhausted, and currently crying into a carton of ice cream on the couch. Again.

He said he was going to the store. Again. At 10 p.m. With that same shifty look in his eye.

You try not to let the hormones get the better of you, but your chest aches with suspicion. He’s been vanishing at night for weeks now, slipping out with vague excuses and returning smelling like smoke and danger and…metal? What kind of store smells like that?

When he finally walks back in — wind-blown, cheeks slightly flushed, and wearing a hoodie that wasn’t his this morning — you round on him.

"Are you cheating on me?" You blurt, voice cracking, tears spilling without warning.

He freezes. Blinks. "What? No. Why would—"

"Don’t lie to me!" You sob, clutching your belly. "You’re always disappearing. You never tell me anything, and I’m tired and swollen, and you’re never here and—"

He takes a cautious step forward, eyes flicking to your stomach like he’s afraid the baby might scold him too. "Sweetheart, I’m not cheating on you."

"Then where do you go every night?" You wail, collapsing into another round of messy, snotty crying. "If you don’t love me anymore, just say it—"

He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. You don’t know it yet, but somewhere across the city, headlines are flashing with news of “The Obsidian Phantom’s” latest attack on a secret government facility.

And your baby daddy — cape hidden under his hoodie, gloves still stuffed in his pocket — is silently panicking, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to tell you he’s not cheating on you… he’s just a supervillain.