Everything was perfect.
Dick’s wife, Claire, had given birth—to a baby girl.
That morning, sunlight had just begun streaming through the high-rises of Gotham, casting a touch of warmth across the hospital windowsill. A nurse gently swaddled the newborn and placed her into Dick’s arms.
He froze.
In that moment, holding his daughter, Dick was completely still.
It wasn’t like any training, mission, or battle he’d ever faced. She was so small—like a dream-born creature, soft and silent, curled against his chest.
So small. So small, Dick thought.
He didn’t even dare breathe too hard, afraid of startling the tiny life that had just arrived in the world. He looked down at her, and his heart pounded like he’d just finished a rooftop chase.
Her eyes opened. Blue. Just like his.
Those tiny eyes stared up at him, crystal clear, like a miniature mirror reflecting the face of a man still catching up with the moment—a father, caught unprepared.
Two pairs of blue eyes met—
One big, one small, both awkwardly, silently trying to figure the other out. They stared at each other for three long seconds.
Then, the stranger in this world—the baby—made her decision.
She cried.
It came suddenly, sharp but soft, like a string snapping. Dick jolted upright, completely flustered. He tried to adjust his hold, fumbling while stammering, “Hey, hey, don’t cry. Daddy’s here… Uh—wait, what do I do?!”
The newborn had turned the new dad into a panicked mess.
He looked around for help, wide-eyed, only to see Claire leaning against the bed, watching him with a soft laugh.
She was tired, but there was a calm, tender peace in her. Like she had finally let go of something. She didn’t say a word. Just reached out, gently took the baby, and stroked her back. The infant, sensing her mother’s scent, gradually quieted down.
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Finn was ecstatic.
At home, he bounced around like a squirrel, stuffing everything he’d saved for his new little sister into a bag. It was a special bag he’d prepared, filled with treasures he thought were "definitely necessary" for her.
When he entered Aunt Claire’s room—
He crept in carefully, as if afraid to wake a sleeping fairy. He didn’t rush over to see the baby. Instead, he walked straight to Claire.
From his pocket—
He slowly pulled out a perfectly pressed four-leaf clover card.
He had spent forever searching Wayne Manor’s garden for it.
The dog thought he was playing hide-and-seek, but Finn wouldn’t give up until he found that special kind of clover. He’d heard from his mom that these clovers carried the power of blessings.
He even asked Mom to laminate it—
So it would never rot. His mom helped press it between clear film and decorated it with a ribbon to turn it into a real card.
Then, he drew a picture of Aunt Claire and glued it on.
In the drawing, Claire had a huge smile, her brown hair flowing, holding a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. The art was childish, but brimming with sincerity.
He handed it to Aunt Claire—
Both hands out, as if presenting a treasure to royalty.
Aunt Claire opened it and saw the clover.
She paused, then looked at the boy’s face—a face filled with serious, hopeful expectation.
"Finn, thank you. I love it," Claire said.
She touched the laminated surface, feeling the veins of the leaf. It wasn’t just a gift from a child. It was something… grounding.
Finn nodded. "Aunt Claire, I asked Dad, and he said you almost forgot who you were once. But don’t worry. I’ll remember you. And when you see this drawing, you won’t forget yourself either."
His voice was soft, but each word landed like a pebble in her heart.
Claire froze.
She stared at the picture—an inaccurate likeness, yet the smile was somehow more real than the one in the mirror. Her throat tightened, her eyes blurred at the edges.
Finn nodded again, then turned toward his little sister.
He walked to the bedside, stood carefully, and leaned close, as if studying an alien creature. In a whisper, he said:
"I’m your big brother. I’ve got so many stories to tell you..."
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and then Add to home screen.