Lois stepped into the hallway, careful not to make any noise. Martha was slowly waking up, bundled under the quilt her grandmother had sewn.
She carried a basket pressed close to her chest. Inside were the same cloth bags Clark had prepared for her last year, each tied with a fresh red string she had added. Clark had no idea she’d taken them.
That was the point.
She descended the stairs and set the basket on the table, next to the couch.
She was just turning around to start the coffee machine when footsteps sounded behind her.
Clark.
“Lois? You’re up early. Everything okay?”
She rotated the basket toward him and stepped aside.
Clark, wrapped in his grey robe, hair sleep-ruffled, bouncing a very drowsy Martha on his hip. His gaze landed on the basket immediately. “I wondered where these went.”
Lois folded her arms, trying not to smile too widely. “I made something for you. For us. Mostly for Martha, but… I thought you might like it too.”
“You did all this last night?”
“And the night before. Whenever you were out on patrol or saving the world.” She nudged the basket toward him. “Take a look.”
Clark put Martha in her crib and untied the string on the first bag. A familiar silver ornament slid into his palm: the tiny Krypton globe he had shaped, reflecting the room in soft curves.
“You chose this for the first day,” he murmured.
“It’s where your life began.”
Clark lifted his eyes to hers. Then he noticed the folded page still inside. He reached for it and began to read:
Once upon a time, the sky above Kansas brought something special. A light fell, brighter than any meteor, faster than any man-made vehicle. Jonathan and Martha Kent saw the trail and followed its path.Something about this light felt like a call.
It was the beginning of your family, long before your own journey started.
Clark let out a slow breath and smiled.
Lois tapped the stack of remaining bags. “This is only day one.”
He leaned in, forehead touching hers. “You’re wonderful,” Clark whispered. “You know that?”
“Only because you’re bringing out the best in me. You taught me Christmas is more than chaos and consumerism.” She nudged him gently. “I’m just returning the favor.”
Clark kissed her. “We still have time before daycare.”
“And you’re cooking breakfast,” Lois said. “Because if I try, we’ll be late, and you’ll end up eating stale cereal.”
“I’ll make something good,” he promised.
“You always do.”
He headed for the kitchen while Lois sank onto the couch, taking Martha from the crib to give her breakfast as well.
She unbuttoned her pajama top and shifted Martha into place.
Lois watched Clark as she fed their daughter. He retied his robe, it kept slipping, and reached for the cinnamon, knocking over the pepper in the process. No powers here, just the ease of someone who’d been doing this long before he learned to fly.
Martha’s small fingers curled against Lois’ skin. Her slow breaths matched the scrape of Clark’s whisk against a bowl.
Lois brushed her thumb along the ornament on the table beside her. Martha had no idea how extraordinary her origins were. Not yet. Someday.
Clark glanced over his shoulder. “Almost ready.”
Lois smiled. Martha, still nursing, made a small content sound.
