The sound of the engine shutting off broke the farm's silence. The old pickup stopped in front of the porch. The heat made the wood creak faintly. The smell of roasting meat wafted from the kitchen window, mingling with spices and the stifling noon air.
Martha set the spoon against the pot's edge and moved to the window. She saw her son step out of the truck. His stride firm but slow. Dust rose from the tires, as if part of the scene.
She smiled, softly.
"He's here."
Clark removed his sunglasses, hooking them on his shirt collar. He walked to the door, unhurried. Body relaxed, but eyes alert. The sun beat hard on his back. He opened the door without knocking.
"Hey, Mom."
"Hey, son."
She opened her arms. The hug was brief, solid. Clark felt the weight of her belly as they touched. Her heart beat faster than usual. But she was okay.
"It's all ready. Sit down."
Clark stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a chair in the living room. He looked around. Same house, same pictures. Same warmth.
Jonathan emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans. He stopped when he saw his son.
Clark met his gaze.
Jonathan said nothing.
Martha cut through the moment.
"Let's eat. Before it burns."
She served the plates in silence. Meat, rice, vegetables. The two men sat without a word. The clink of spoons against plates was the loudest sound. The ceiling fan spun lazily. The heat made the juice sweat in the glass.
Martha sat too. But she watched more than she ate. Her eyes drifted between her son and her husband. One waiting. The other holding back.
She knew what Clark had done was serious. But she also knew he'd live with it. No one else could fully grasp what went through his mind.
She saw when he returned. When he avoided his father's eyes. When he gripped the fork tighter.
She also saw when Jonathan clenched his fist under the table.
The food tasted good. But it stuck in the throat. Jonathan chewed slowly, eyes on his plate. But his thoughts screamed.
'He killed a girl.'
Clark sat there, a meter away, like any son coming home from work.
But he wasn't.
He was a man who had killed.
Even with justification, even with danger… Jonathan couldn't stomach the ease with which Clark held his fork.
"Why'd you come?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Clark looked at him. Calmly.
"Because it still matters. What you think."
Jonathan leaned his elbows on the table.
"You could destroy this planet if you wanted. Why care about our opinion?"
"That's exactly why."
Clark set his utensils down for a moment. Took a deep breath.
"Because if I start thinking no one can question me, that's when it all falls apart."
Martha watched in silence. Jonathan held his gaze steady.
"She was a girl."
Clark nodded.
"And a threat. She'd have killed others. You saw what she was capable of."
"But did it have to be you? Did it have to end like that?"
Clark rested his arms on the table.
"I had no choice. If I hesitated, someone else would've died."
"And next time? Will it be quicker? Easier?"
Clark met his father's eyes.
"It'll be the same. Quick. And if it has to be, fatal."
Jonathan looked away.
It wasn't easy to hear. But he wasn't dealing with an ordinary son. This was a man who could stop the world with a gesture.
And that man… was his son.
Jonathan wanted to explode. But he couldn't. Martha wouldn't handle another heavy fight.
"So you didn't come out of regret."
Clark shook his head.
"No. I came out of respect."
Martha rested her hand on her belly. Felt the baby stir.
"I think you did what you thought was right, Clark. Even if it hurts us."
Clark nodded slowly.
Jonathan kept his eyes on his plate.
Martha added.
"But that doesn't make you immune to what we feel. To the pain."
Clark looked at her.
"I know. That's why I came. Not to apologize. But so you'd see me. Not as a hero. Not as a monster. As your son."
CLARK
'I never knew what to do with it. This power. This strength. Ever since I was a kid, I was told I was special. But none of it came with a manual. With instructions on how to keep your soul intact while the world demands results.'
'Saving a life has a cost. And when the choice is one life or another, you learn to stop counting. You learn to act. Even if it hurts.'
'I still love them. I still miss the days when my only worry was homework. But I can't live there anymore.'
'They're my anchor. But not my brake.'
JONATHAN
'I see my son and I see a man the world fears and praises. But I also see the boy who couldn't sleep without the nightlight on.'
'How do you teach right from wrong to someone with no limits? How do you demand humanity from someone who can cross the planet in a breath?'
'He's not wrong. But he's not right. And that middle ground… it's killing me.'
'I still love him. But I don't know if I can accept him like this.'
MARTHA
'I see them both and feel like I'm in the middle of an earthquake. One trying to protect, the other trying to justify.'
'I'm carrying a new child. One who'll grow under the shadow of a brother who flies. Who shines. Who kills. Who saves.'
'I love them. But I need to keep this home standing. Even when everything seems to crumble.'
'Love doesn't always understand. But it doesn't give up.'
The rest of the lunch passed in silence. Clark ate little. Jonathan just pushed his food around. Martha cleared the plates.
Clark stood first.
"Thanks for lunch."
Martha walked him to the door.
"You'll come back?"
"When I think it's worth being seen again."
She smiled, sadness in her eyes.
Clark got in the truck. Started it. Didn't look back.
Jonathan leaned against the sink, silent.
Martha returned with his plate.
"He won't change."
Jonathan replied softly.
"Then we'll have to learn to see him differently."
The food cooled in the serving dish. The smell still filled the room, but the appetite had left with the sound of the truck driving away.
"I just wish he'd hesitated, even for a second."
"Maybe he did. But the world didn't see it."
Martha set the plate on the counter and leaned beside her husband. Her hand rested on her belly, feeling the faint stirrings of the baby, as if it sensed the weight pressing on its parents.
"You still see our son in him?"
"I want to believe I do."
"Then you need to stop treating him like he's become something else."
Jonathan took a deep breath. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor.
"He killed, Martha."
"To protect. You'd have done the same for me."
"I'm human. I mess up, I panic… he doesn't."
"It's not his powers that make him a machine, Jonathan. He feels. He just doesn't show it the same way."
Jonathan pressed his lips, holding back a reply. But his eyes betrayed the conflict.
"You think he still has a place here?"
"I think he needs to know he does. Even when he messes up. Even when we don't understand."
She pulled a chair from the table and sat. Her hand rested gently on her belly.
"I don't want to raise this baby in a divided house. And I won't let this family fall apart over pride or fear."
Jonathan stayed standing, but his body softened. He sat slowly, forearms on the table.
"I don't know how to talk to him."
"Start by listening. And letting him know he can talk. Without being judged right off."
"You seem to know everything."
"I don't. But I feel."
They fell silent for a moment. The hum of the fan filled the gap between words.
Jonathan looked at the door Clark had used.
"Will he come back?"
"He always does. He just needs to know the door's still open."
Jonathan ran a hand over his face, then propped his elbow on the table.
"I just don't want to wake up one day and find I've lost him for good."
"Then fight for him. Even when it feels too late."
She stood, gathering the plates calmly.
"Because if we give up… who'll remind him where he came from?"
Jonathan didn't answer.
But this time… he didn't argue either.
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