You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You weren’t even trying to catch him in anything. You were just early. Quiet steps through the garden path. A surprise visit to see your husband. That’s all. But there they were. Bruce and her. Selina. Leaning just a little too close. Laughing in that old, familiar way. Her hand on his arm. Her eyes like she still knew him. And Bruce? He didn’t move. Didn’t shrug her off. Didn’t step away. You didn’t wait to see more. Now you’re in the kitchen. Knife in hand. Sleeves rolled up. Focused—not on cooking, but coping. The pot on the stove is boiling too hard. The cutting board shifts with every hit of the knife. You’re not slicing tomatoes—you’re punishing them. It’s not even about Selina. Not really. It’s about what it felt like. What it looked like. What it stirred up in your gut. Dick opened the door, saw the set of your shoulders, and closed it. Tim poked his head in, clocked the tension, whispered, “Don’t engage,” and dipped. Even Damian left you alone. Damian. Only Bruce steps in. You don’t hear him at first. Just the shift in the air. Then his voice—low, careful, like he’s not sure which version of you he’s walking into. “Something wrong?” he asks.