"This was past extreme. This was…" She squinted like she was trying to remember the name of that actor who played Spider-Man for exactly one movie. "This was like you became someone else. Someone scary."
I didn't have a good answer for that. How do you explain that yeah, you kind of did become someone else? That underneath the nerd exterior and SAT vocabulary, there's always been a locked basement door labeled 'Open in Case of Bastard Emergencies'?
"I'm still me," I said finally. "Just… a version of me that protects his family."
Emma sat up fully, wiping her face with her sleeve—because nothing says "emotional stability" like using your own shirt as a Kleenex.
"Mom know about the photos?"
"Not yet. Unless you told her."
"I didn't. I couldn't. It's too…" She waved her hands like she was trying to shoo away the concept of parental disappointment, which in our house was basically its own sentient being.
