Clark came home later than planned.
Lois heard the soft rush of air as he landed, then the quiet click of the door. He was trying not to wake Martha. She watched him pause in the doorway, still in the suit, his shoulders carrying weight that had nothing to do with physical strength.
“How was it?” she asked.
He crossed to her and sat down heavily, already changed back. “Heavy,” he said. “But necessary.”
She waited.
“There were families there,” he said finally. “People who’ve lost everything, homes, countries, the language they grew up speaking. Some of them have been waiting years for a place to land.” He rubbed his face. “And the kids… they looked at me like I could fix it. Like Superman could just make it better.”
“But you can’t,” Lois said gently.
“No. I can talk to governments, I can move supplies, I can be visible so people remember they exist. But I can’t give them what they really need, a home, papers, a future that feels certain.” He paused. “Everyone at the summit agreed that helping refugees is the right thing to do. But when it came to commitments, to actually opening borders or funding programs, everyone looked to someone else to go first.”
Lois reached for his hand. “There’s something else.”
He nodded slowly. “I kept thinking… I’m a refugee too. An alien who crash-landed with nothing. And I got so lucky, I landed with people who didn’t ask questions, who just took me in.” His voice dropped. “But what if I hadn’t? What if I’d landed somewhere else, with people who saw me as a problem to solve or a threat to manage?”
Lois pulled him close. He leaned into her, letting himself be held.
They sat like that for a while, her hand running slowly through his hair, his breathing gradually evening out.
“Come on,” she said eventually. “Let’s open today’s bag.”
He nodded and she reached for the advent basket.
Inside was a small figurine, different from the others, several figures grouped together, mid-journey, carrying bundles on their backs.
Clark stared at it.
Lois unfolded the paper and read:
He came to this world with nothing. No choice in leaving. No promise of safety. A child sent away so he might live. He was a refugee before he was a hero, displaced before he was home, lost before he was found.
This planet gave him shelter when he had none. It gave him a name, a family, a future. And because he was given everything when he had nothing, he cannot turn away from those still searching.
He sees himself in every person waiting at a border, in every child who doesn’t understand why home disappeared, in everyone who hopes that somewhere, someone will say: you can stay. Refugee is not weakness. It is survival. It is the beginning of every story worth telling.
Clark’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak for a long moment.
“I thought about tonight,” Lois said quietly. “About what you’d be carrying home with you.”
“Thank you,” he managed. “I…” He stopped, then started again. “I was given everything. A family who chose me. A country that became mine. The chance to become who I am.” He looked at the figurines, the small group of travelers. “How can I have all that and not stand with people who are still looking for the same thing?”
“You can’t,” Lois said simply. “That’s who you are.”
They placed the figurine among the others on the mantel. It didn’t look out of place. It belonged there, part of the larger story.
Clark pulled Lois back against him on the couch. She settled into his arms, feeling the tension slowly leave his body.
“Martha’s going to ask questions someday,” he said. “About where I came from. About what it means.”
“And we’ll tell her the truth,” Lois said. “That you came from somewhere else. That people here gave you a chance. And that you spend your life trying to give that same chance to others.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Yeah.”
They stayed there together, looking at the pieces, each one a part of the story they were telling, to Martha, to each other, to themselves.
