The day had already been long.
Lois had just picked up Martha from daycare while Clark had rushed to an accident on the highway. She stepped out into the cold December evening to buy a few things she needed before Christmas. The streets were busy with holiday shoppers, the sidewalks crowded. Martha was drowsy against her chest, thumb in her mouth, trusting the familiar rhythm of Lois’s steps.
They were halfway down the block when Lois noticed him.
A man in a dark coat, walking too close, his pace matching hers exactly. When she slowed to look in a store window, he slowed. When she crossed to the other side of the street, he crossed too.
Lois’s pulse kicked up. She adjusted her grip on Martha and kept walking, mind already cycling through options. The subway entrance was two blocks ahead. Too far. The coffee shop on the corner—closed. Her hand moved toward her phone.
The man moved faster.
“Excuse me,” he called out, his voice casual, too friendly. Wrong. “Miss Lane?”
Lois didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around.
“I just want to talk.”
His hand reached for her arm, cornering her.
Lois put her arm in front of Martha.
“I want you to come with me to…”
The air shifted.
Clark was there.
One second the man’s fingers were inches from her shoulder. The next, he was ten feet away, pressed against a brick wall with Superman’s hand flat against his chest.
“Don’t,” Clark said. One word. Absolute.
The man stammered something—an excuse, a lie—but Clark wasn’t listening. His eyes flicked to Lois, to Martha, checking, confirming they were untouched.
“Go,” Clark said to the man, voice like ice. “And if I see you near them again, there won’t be a warning.”
The man fled.
Clark crossed back to Lois in two strides. His hands hovered near her shoulders, not quite touching, as if he needed to verify she was real and whole.
“Are you okay?” His voice was low, controlled, but she heard the edge beneath it.
Lois nodded. “We’re fine. He didn’t touch us.”
Martha stirred once, made a small sound, then settled again against Lois’s chest, completely unaware.
Clark’s jaw tightened. He didn’t chase the man. Didn’t need to. He stayed exactly where he was needed—between his family and anything that might threaten them.
***
They didn’t talk about it right away when they got back home. Clark checked every lock, every window. Then he sat on the floor while Lois laid her down in the crib. Only when the brownstone had settled, when Martha’s breathing had evened out into sleep, did Lois bring the bag to him.
Clark opened it without saying a word and drew out Balthasar. The figure held a small vessel close to his chest, posture heavy with meaning. Not celebratory. Not fearful. Honest.
Lois unfolded the paper and read:
Love carries weight. Not because it is fragile, but because it matters so deeply it becomes unbearable to imagine losing it. Your father learned early that strength alone is not enough.
Protection means choosing responsibility again and again, without resentment, without hesitation. It means standing between the world and the ones you love, knowing that some threats can’t be stopped— only faced.
Legacy is not what you leave behind when you’re gone. It is what you stand in front of while you’re here. It is the choice to bear the cost, to carry the weight, to show up even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard.
Love and loss are inseparable, to protect something precious is to accept that it can be threatened, and to choose it anyway.
Clark’s hand tightened around the figurine.
“I saw him reach for you,” he said quietly. “And for a second, I couldn’t breathe.” He looked up at her. “I can live with the cost. Every time. Whatever it takes.”
Lois crossed to him and took his face in her hands. “I know.”
“If something happened to either of you…”
“It didn’t,” she said firmly. “You were there. You’re always there.”
He pulled her close, his forehead resting against hers.
They placed Balthasar with the others. Gold, frankincense, and now myrrh. The three magi complete, their offerings laid before the scene that was almost finished.
Martha slept on, unaware of how fiercely she was already being guarded, unaware of the weight her existence had placed on two people who would carry it gladly, without question, for the rest of their lives.
They watched her sleep, her small chest rising and falling, her fingers curled loosely, completely safe.
He pulled her against his side. They stood there a while longer, two protectors keeping watch, bound together by love and responsibility and the unspoken promise that nothing would ever get past them.
