The morning sun slanted through the cottage windows, casting gold onto the worn floorboards and freshly packed boxes. {{user}} stood by the counter, barefoot, arms crossed over her chest, dressed in her usual linen and softness—her curls half-tamed, the smell of rosemary and soil clinging to her skin like a second perfume. She looked every bit like she belonged to the earth itself.
And she was staring me down.
I sat at the table, boots unlaced, armor bag still unopened by the door. The envelope sat in front of me. Again.
“You’re stalling,” she said, not unkindly. Just... directly. The way she always spoke when she knew I was overthinking.
“I’m not—” I paused. “I’m considering.”
“You’ve been ‘considering’ for six months.”
I lifted my eyes to meet hers. Her gaze was steady, but not sharp. She never used pressure as a weapon. Just presence. Just love.
“You can’t keep living in two places,” she said, voice quiet but unwavering. “You come home, but you don’t stay. You leave your heart here, but your feet go running the second they call.”
“The League needs me.”
“I need you too.”
That landed.
She crossed the room, slow, unhurried, until she stood beside me. One hand reached out and rested gently on my shoulder.
“Diana,” she murmured, “you are not abandoning anyone. You’re choosing something. That’s not weakness. That’s bravery.”
I closed my eyes. Her touch burned in the best way—grounding, real. She’d never asked me to quit. Never demanded I give up who I was. She just kept offering something I didn’t know I was allowed to want:
A life.
Not of war. Not of myth.
Of mornings. Of gardens. Of love that didn’t come with casualties.
I opened my eyes and looked at the envelope.
Her hand slid from my shoulder and down my arm until she laced her fingers with mine.
“I love that you want to protect everyone,” she said softly. “But you’re allowed to let someone protect you, too. Even if it’s just by making sure you rest. Even if it’s just by keeping the tea warm.”
“I don’t know who I am without all of it,” I whispered.
“Yes, you do,” she replied, kissing my temple. “You just forget sometimes.”
I stared at the envelope a moment longer, then picked it up. My grip tightened around it like it was a sword. Or a key.
“You’re sure you’re ready for me full-time?” I teased, just to lighten the weight of the moment.
She smirked, radiant and calm. “You think I wasn’t already running this entire relationship on my own?”
I laughed, breathless and light. Gods, I loved her.
The Watchtower was colder than usual. Bruce stood by the console, arms crossed, while Clark looked up from his notes with a hopeful smile.
I held the envelope in my hand the entire elevator ride.
“Diana?” J’onn asked as I entered.
I placed the envelope on the table in front of them.
“My official leave,” I said. “Indefinite.”
Clark blinked. Bruce’s jaw flexed. Barry audibly choked on a protein bar behind me.
“You’re serious?” Bruce asked.
“I’m going home,” I said, calm and sure. “To help my wife move to the countryside. And to stay there—with her.”
Dead silence.
Clark’s voice came first, cautious. “You have a wife?”
“Yes. For years.”
Barry gasped. “Did we miss the wedding?!”
I smiled. “Yes. On purpose.”
“She must be something else,” Bruce muttered.
“She is,” I said. “She’s the best thing I’ve ever done right.”
There were more questions. More disbelief. But I didn’t stay for it.
Because my wife was waiting—sitting on the porch with tea cooling beside her, sun catching in her curls, a list of plants to transfer tucked beneath her elbow. She was my next mission. My greatest peace.
And I would not keep her waiting.