As the evening settled over the city, the Lane-Kents returned home. The streetlights outside cast a dim glow into the room, and the old radiator rattled and hissed. Lois sat on the couch, waiting for Clark to finish changing Martha.
He stepped into the room a moment later, their sleepy child on his shoulder. He’d changed into jeans and a grey pullover.
Lois held up the next advent bag. “Day two.”
Clark’s expression softened. He crossed the room, handed Martha over, and took the bag.
He untied the string and reached inside. A folded paper slid out, along with several loose pieces of wood.
He looked at the small pile, then up at her. “What’s this?”
“A stable,” she said. “It wouldn’t fit in the bag assembled.”
He unfolded the paper:
Jonathan and Martha found the crashed boy and decided in that minute to take him in. The old farmhouse became his home. They didn’t see an alien or a threat or something to fear. They saw a child who needed them. They cared for him. Not out of duty. Out of humanity. Out of heart. From this day on, he was their son.
The paper dipped slightly in his hand. “They really did. Without hesitating.”
Lois shifted Martha, who began fussing, the small, unmistakable sign that she was done with the day.
Clark watched them for a moment, then straightened. “While she eats, I’ll work on her surprise.”
He crossed to the corner where he’d laid out thin rods, wooden shapes, colorful pieces. The parts of a mobile, crescent moons, stars, a cloud, a little bird, a curved leaf.
Clark sat cross-legged on the rug and began threading cord through the first rod’s notch. Every knot tied by hand.
“You know,” Lois said, her voice low, “they wanted Superman at that charity thing tonight.”
“I know.” He didn’t look up. “They’ll make it work without me.”
“What made you skip it?”
Clark tested the balance of two pieces, adjusted them. “She won’t always be this small. I don’t want to miss it.”
That settled in Lois’ chest. She didn’t answer, just watched him work while Martha nursed.
Piece by piece, the mobile took shape. A crescent moon on one end, a tiny painted bird on the other. A cloud, then a blue star. The structure swayed each time he tested it.
Martha made a small sound and burrowed closer. Clark looked up, smiled, returned to his work.
By the time Lois eased Martha upright to burp her, Clark was fastening the final string. He lifted the finished mobile. The rods shifted, the shapes turning in slow loops.
Lois stood and walked over, Martha resting against her shoulder. “It’s perfect.”
He glanced at Martha. “Want to see where it goes?”
They carried it upstairs together. Clark climbed onto the small step stool and secured the mobile to the hook above the crib. When he stepped back, the pieces floated in silent circles.
Lois lowered Martha into Clark’s arms so he could show her. The baby blinked at the shapes, eyes widening. Her tiny hand reached up.
Clark smiled. “I think she likes it.”
“She’ll love it. Because you made it.” Lois kissed him on the cheek.
They stood there another moment, Martha’s eyes already drooping. Clark carefully lowered her into the crib, and the mobile swayed gently above her.
Lois reached for his hand, and they slipped quietly from the room.
