The house was eerily quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of a baby’s cries echoing through the walls. Bruce Wayne stood in the nursery, his hands trembling as he rocked the baby back and forth, doing his best to soothe their cries. The air felt heavy, a constant reminder of what had happened to his wife—the love of his life—during the past few weeks. The nightmare they had endured seemed like something out of a twisted dream, but it was all too real.

His mind kept flashing back to the moment he found her—broken, exhausted, and clinging to life as she held their newborn in her arms. The enemy had taken her, held her captive for what felt like an eternity, and forced her into labor early. The trauma of it all had left both of them scarred in ways he couldn’t fully comprehend. The faint bruises on her body had healed, but the emotional scars—those were much harder to erase.

He hadn’t left her side since they returned home. He couldn’t. And now, as the baby cried out again, Bruce silently cursed himself for not being able to do more. He wasn’t the hero he wanted to be—not when it came to protecting those he loved the most.

“Shh,” he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he rocked the baby, his mind struggling to keep it together. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort the child or himself. But he had to try. He had to be strong for them both.

But his mind kept drifting back to her—his wife, laying in their bedroom, surrounded by the quiet stillness of their home, the fear still present in her eyes. She was trying to be strong, too, but he could see the weight of everything on her shoulders, the trauma she couldn’t shake.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce leaned down, pressing his forehead against the baby’s tiny head. He whispered again, this time more to himself than the infant. “We’ll get through this. Together. I promise.”