They had slept in today. Even Martha had been quiet for half an hour longer than usual.
After breakfast, they walked to the basket.
“Ready?” Lois asked quietly.
Clark nodded and loosened the string. Inside lay the small figurine: Caspar, cloak swept back as if caught mid-step, head tilted upward.
Lois lifted the paper and unfolded it slowly:
Parenthood teaches something new every day. Not through commands or explanations, but through small gestures. A glance across the room. A hand reaching out before the other asks. Your father and I learned to move this way, as a team shaped by attention rather than instruction. By noticing before reacting. By choosing to lean in instead of turning away. Solidarity begins like this: someone sees a light and decides it matters, even without knowing where it leads. They start walking toward it. And then others join them, one by one, until a single light becomes a shared destination.
Clark reached out and placed Caspar beside the others, angled slightly toward the star. Still seeking.
“Caspar didn’t know the destination,” he said. “He just knew not to ignore what he saw.”
Lois nodded. “That’s how it starts. Paying attention. Staying curious. Standing with someone because it feels right, not because it’s easy.”
Clark smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Ready for a walk?”
“Yeah. Let’s go see what the neighborhood’s up to.”
They had heard about the gathering from a flyer posted at the corner market, several of Metropolis’ neighborhoods coming together for a winter solidarity event in the park.
Clark took the stroller from its storage while Lois zipped Martha into her jacket. They walked a few blocks to a small community park near the river. Temporary banners were strung between bare trees, hand-painted signs fluttering in the cold air.
The gathering was bigger than they’d expected. Tables lined one edge of the park, each representing a different community group: a refugee welcome committee, a food bank, a tenant organizing collective. People moved between them, signing up, asking questions, offering to help.
Near the center, someone had set up a speaker and microphone. A woman was talking about shelters for the homeless. When she finished, a man stepped up to talk about the Kasnia journalist, the one who had been in the news, a few days ago. A petition was circulating. Donations for the legal fund.
“Look,” Lois said quietly, nodding toward a familiar face.
Bertha Avery stood near the food bank table, handing out information sheets to a young couple. She looked up, spotted them, and waved.
They made their way over.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Lois said, smiling. “Are you feeling better?”
Bertha shrugged. “As good as new. Someone told me about this at the senior center. Figured I could help.” She glanced down at Martha, who was watching everything with wide eyes. “And you’re going to be a big helper someday too, aren’t you, sweetie?”
A volunteer approached, asking if they wanted to sign up for the food bank route. Lois glanced at Clark. He nodded.
“Put us down,” Lois said.
They stayed for over an hour. Clark carried boxes for a shelter while Lois stayed with Martha, who dozed in her stroller, bundled against the cold. People they recognized from the neighborhood stopped to talk, the woman from the coffee shop, the man who fixed bikes on his stoop, families from the community center.
No speeches. No cameras. Just people signing clipboards and carrying boxes because their neighbors needed help.
As they walked home, the sun was starting to set, casting long shadows across the street.
“That’s what Caspar did,” Clark said after a while. “He saw something that mattered and started walking. He didn’t know what he’d find. But he went anyway.”
“And he wasn’t alone,” Lois added. “The other magi went too. They followed the same light.”
They reached the brownstone just as the streetlights flickered on. Clark brought in the stroller and Lois laid Martha in her crib. They settled on the couch, tired but content.
He sat beside her. “Good day?”
“Really good day,” she said, leaning into him.
Sometimes the journey started long before you knew the destination. But you walked anyway. And you walked together.
