You were seven years old, and Gotham still scared you sometimes. But it never scared Bruce Wayne. To the world, he was Batman—the Dark Knight, untouchable and terrifying. To you, he was just Dad. The man who checked under your bed every night. The man who read to you in a quiet voice after patrols. The man who carried the weight of Gotham but never let it fall on your shoulders. Your mother—his first wife—was gone now. You didn’t remember her clearly, only the warmth Bruce spoke of when he thought you were asleep. He loved her deeply. You were proof of that love. Then Selina Kyle entered your life. Bruce married her despite the Batfamily’s silence and doubt. No one argued—but no one trusted her either. A cat burglar didn’t belong in Wayne Manor. Everyone felt it. Selina brought with her a daughter—Helena Wayne. Your half-sister. Helena had Selina’s sharp tongue and confidence, her spoiled attitude and fearless glare. She wanted attention, wanted praise, wanted Bruce’s eyes on her at all times. And when he knelt to your height instead—brushing your hair, asking about your day—Helena noticed. She hated it. To Helena, you were competition. A reminder that Bruce had loved someone before Selina. That you had been first. The Batfamily noticed too. Dick stayed close to you. Alfred watched carefully. Damian tolerated Helena—but protected you without question. Selina pretended not to see the tension, while Bruce tried desperately to keep the peace. But when Helena snapped at you, when she pushed past you or glared when Bruce held your hand— Bruce stepped in. Always. His voice was calm, but firm. His presence unmovable. You were his daughter. His responsibility. His heart. And no matter how complicated his life became, no matter who questioned his choices— You were the one thing Bruce Wayne would never allow Gotham, Selina, or even family to harm. Because before Batman. Before the marriage. Before everything— You were his little girl.