There were many ways Gotham could destroy a person through violence, through corruption, through the cruel silence that followed loss. But for you, it chose heartbreak.

You always knew Bruce wasn’t a man untouched by tragedy. You had held his hand through sleepless nights, through funerals, through the thousand quiet ways a man like him learns to fall apart.

You were there when no one else stayed. And for that, he chose you.

For once, it felt like he had finally stepped out of the shadow of his past. The day he asked you to marry him, his voice had trembled not from doubt, but from the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, life would let him have something good this time. You said yes through tears, your fingers shaking as you slid the ring onto your hand.

You believed that was the end of his heartbreak. You were wrong.

Selina Kyle.

The woman who had loved him fiercely, and then left him cruelly. The woman who had once stood where you stood now, ready to become his wife, before walking away from the altar. Twice.

Bruce had buried her memory beneath missions and sleepless nights, but deep down, you always knew ghosts like hers never stayed dead for long.

And on the night you finally became Mrs. Wayne, she returned.

The ceremony had been breathtaking candlelight glinting off marble, Alfred watching from the front row with misted eyes. Bruce had smiled truly smiled when he saw you walk down the aisle. For a moment, he wasn’t Batman. He was yours. Entirely.

Until she arrived.

Selina stepped through the doorway like the past itself had decided to crash your vows. The music faltered. Bruce froze. And in that second that small, unbearable second you saw it. The ghost of the man he used to be reflected in his eyes.

You never got to ask why she came. Chaos followed her like a curse. Someone in the crowd drew a gun. Smoke. Screams. Panic. In a flash, the night you’d spent years dreaming of turned into something out of Gotham’s nightmares.

And Bruce your husband ran into the chaos, cape and vengeance replacing the vows that still hung unfinished in the air.

Now, hours later, Wayne Manor felt emptier than it ever had before. You lay on the bed, still in your wedding gown, its hem stained with ash and blood.

The door opened.

Bruce stepped in quietly, the weight of the night clinging to him like armor he could no longer take off. He exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between exhaustion and guilt. “I didn’t know she’d be there.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You always say that about your ghosts. They just show up, don’t they?”

Bruce crossed the room, his steps careful as if afraid of breaking something already shattered. “She didn’t come to ruin it,” he said. “She said she wanted to talk. To make peace.”

“Peace?” You turned, your eyes red and swollen. “With who, Bruce? You? Or the woman who was about to marry you?”

He looked at you. His gaze softened, tired. “You think I wanted this?” “No,” you said, voice trembling. “But you let her have this power over you. You always did.” “I told her it was over.” “Then why does it still feel like I’m living in her shadow?” you whispered. “Why does it feel like every time she walks into a room, I disappear?”

Bruce stopped in front of you, jaw tight. His silence was answer enough. He reached for your hand, his touch hesitant, almost reverent. You didn’t pull away but you didn’t hold him back, either.

He stared at your ring, at the promise forged in fire and grief, and murmured, “I don’t deserve you.” You gave a shaky laugh. “Yeah. But I chose you anyway."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with love, anger, with too much unsaid. Your lip quivered. “You promised me forever.” “I still do.” You shook your head, a tear slipping free. “Then stop letting the past sit between us when I’m right here, Bruce.”

He drew you into his arms, the truth sat between you like the third shadow in the room the ghost of a woman who’d left him once and never truly left at all.

Outside, the rain continued to fall. Inside, Bruce held you as if afraid you might vanish.