Bruce doesn't enter his room. He stands silently, arms over his chest, shoulder leaning against the door frame—you are sitting on the edge of your shared bed, in your arms your beautiful baby. You sway, gently humming a quiet tune, lost in your own world and not even noticing his presence.

He takes the view in. He has faced cruelty beyond words, but this? This is to him what light is.

"Sweetheart," he says as he approaches the bed, a rare, unguarded aura on him. "I'm home."