The day had been long, but not dramatic. No collapsing buildings. No sirens tearing through the air.
Jimmy stopped by in the late afternoon with research they’d asked him to do.
He said hello too brightly, then fell silent once he sat down. Lois had noticed earlier that something was wrong with him but hadn’t found the time to ask when they were still at work.
“Sally left me last night,” he said finally, eyes fixed on Martha, who was trying to fit her fist in her mouth. “Left a note.”
Clark stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, giving Jimmy space to speak. Jimmy talked about the apartment, about how quiet it felt, about realizing he didn’t know what to do with the evenings anymore.
Martha made a small sound and rolled onto her belly, watching Jimmy with wide, curious eyes. Jimmy glanced at her and something in his expression softened.
“She’s getting big,” he said.
“Four and a half months,” Lois said. “Growing too fast.”
Jimmy managed a small smile. “She’s lucky. Having you two.” His voice wavered. “I really thought Sally was the one. But she said I was a mistake.”
Clark crossed the room and rested a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Martha, as if sensing the shift, pushed herself up on her arms and babbled, loud, insistent, completely unbothered by the heaviness in the room.
“You’re not a mistake,” Lois said. “Jimmy, you’re a great guy. Don’t let Sally tell you otherwise.”
Clark added, “And you’re a great friend.”
Martha kept babbling, waving one hand in Jimmy’s direction. He reached down and let her grab his finger.
“Thanks, guys,” Jimmy said, his voice steadier now. “I needed to hear that.”
He stayed a little longer, playing with Martha on the rug, and when he left, his expression was lighter than when he’d arrived.
With Martha content on the rug, Clark pulled the fourteenth bag from the advent basket.
“Now, let’s see what you have hidden for me today,” he said.
Clark untied the string and reached inside. He smiled at the small sheepdog figurine.
Lois unfolded the note and read:
He offers comfort with a gentleness he himself hardly notices. A hand on the shoulder when words won’t come. A steady presence when the world feels unsteady. A silence that says: I’m here, and you’re not alone. He doesn’t announce it. Doesn’t ask for recognition. He simply stays.
Sometimes being strong means knowing when not to speak, when listening is enough, when your presence is the only answer needed.
Like a shepherd watching over those who wander, he guides without pushing, protects without smothering, and reminds others, quietly, that they matter.
Clark looked at the figurine, thoughtful. “I never think of that part as… anything special.”
Lois leaned into him. “That’s because it’s who you are. You don’t see it as heroic, but it is.”
“Jimmy needed someone today. Not Superman. Just… someone who cared.”
“And you were there,” Lois said simply.
They placed the sheepdog with the other figurines. Clark lifted Martha into his arms, and she settled against him immediately, fingers curling into his shirt.
He stayed still, letting her rest, exactly what she needed.
