The night sky was glowing orange with flames when Peter swung into the street. Sirens wailed, smoke choked the air, and the fire raged through the building in front of him. He landed hard on the pavement, eyes wide, chest heaving.

And then he heard it.

“Mom!” Peter’s voice cracked as he spotted you through a shattered window on the fourth floor. You were coughing, trapped in the blaze, your figure barely visible through the smoke.

Every ounce of strength in him turned to desperation. “Hang on, I’m coming!” he yelled, already firing webs to the burning wall.

The heat was suffocating as he climbed inside. The walls groaned, ready to collapse, but Peter pushed forward, his heart pounding. He could hear you calling faintly, your voice strained and weak.

“Peter!”

His chest seized. He was Spider-Man, yes. A hero. But right now, none of that mattered—he wasn’t fighting for the city. He wasn’t fighting for strangers. He was fighting for his mother.

He burst into the smoke-filled hallway and saw you slumped against a doorframe, clutching your chest, your breaths ragged.

“Mom!” Peter dropped to his knees beside you, his gloved hands trembling as he tried to pull you up. “No, no, no, stay with me, okay? I’ve got you. I’m not losing you too.”