The sun had already dipped behind the hills, casting long shadows over the golden field. The silence was dense, filled only by the sound of crickets and the gentle wind rustling the leaves above.
The front door opened with a dry snap.
Clark stepped inside.
Road dust still clung to the hem of his pants. His face was impassive, but his eyes burned with something only those who knew him well could discern.
Martha was in the kitchen, seated at the table with Alicia. Her hands clasped, her face weary. The smell of dough in the oven had cooled. Not even the promise of warm bread could soften the atmosphere now.
Clark looked at the two of them. Then his gaze shifted to the staircase.
"Mom. Alicia."
Alicia stood but didn't approach him. She stayed by the chair, watching him as if searching for clues in the way he moved. The way he breathed.
Martha rose slowly, her hands still resting on her belly.
"Where's Emily?"
Clark didn't answer immediately. He simply closed the door behind him, turning the key with a heavy click.
The sound echoed like a seal.
Alicia moved first.
"Clark…"
Clark walked to the center of the room. The setting sun streaked his face with hues of gold and shadow.
"She won't hurt anyone anymore."
The response fell like a stone.
Martha blinked.
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was sharp.
"What do you mean by that?"
Clark kept his voice steady.
"She was dangerous. I read her mind. She killed the cab driver. Planned to do the same to Ben. And she was already building a story in her head where the baby… was hers."
Martha took half a step back. Her hand instinctively tightened on her belly.
"You're… saying she was a murderer?"
Clark nodded once.
"Yes."
Alicia approached calmly, stopping beside him.
"She had a power in her touch. Something that burned… to ashes."
Martha shook her head, as if the words were sand slipping into her ears. As absurd as they were cruel.
"But she was just… a sad girl. She lost something. She needed help!"
Clark looked away. His voice came out lower now.
"And if you'd fallen on the stairs, Mom? If she'd been by your side and thought the baby wasn't safe?"
"She wouldn't have done that."
"She would have."
Martha sat again, her hands trembling.
"Did you… kill her?"
The sound of footsteps on the porch cut through the tension like a whip.
Jonathan Kent entered through the back door, his face still sweaty from work, his shirt open at the collar.
"Killed who?"
Clark turned but didn't answer. Jonathan had already sensed the mood—the weight in the air, the way Martha couldn't stop staring at her son.
"Clark?"
Clark held his father's gaze for a second. Then he said:
"Emily."
The silence lasted a second longer than necessary.
Jonathan dropped his hat on the chair with more force than intended.
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No."
Jonathan took two steps forward.
"You took a life?"
"She was a direct threat. I saw what she was capable of."
"And who gave you that right?"
Clark met his father's eyes with the look of someone tired of waiting for permission.
"My mother's carrying a life, and she was seconds away from dying at her hands."
"You should've locked her up. Called someone. Talked to me."
"She couldn't be locked up. Her touch was a weapon. I didn't have time."
Jonathan crossed his arms, his jaw clenched.
"So you became judge, jury, and executioner."
"Yes."
The response was dry, honest. Raw.
Martha breathed deeply, trying to process between one thought and the next.
"My son… that's not what we taught you."
Clark looked at her now, and there was pain in his eyes.
"Maybe not. But maybe… what you taught me isn't enough for what's coming."
Alicia closed her eyes for a moment.
Jonathan stepped closer, his voice now low, filled with something that hurt more than anger.
"You're telling me you did this in cold blood?"
"I did it with clarity. And with necessity."
"The world can't just be about necessity, Clark. You're not God."
"I never said I was."
Jonathan shook his head slowly.
"But you act like one."
Clark lowered his eyes, his fists clenching softly.
"No one else could stop her, Dad. No one."
Martha stood slowly, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Clark… this house isn't a courtroom. We're not soldiers. I love you, but… my heart… it doesn't understand."
Clark looked at her with bitter tenderness.
"I didn't want you to understand. I just wanted you to live."
His voice broke at the end.
Alicia touched his shoulder.
"You did what you had to. But you'll carry it."
Clark nodded without speaking.
Jonathan looked at his son, then at his wife, then at the door.
"We're going to need to talk about this. More than once. But for now… you go to your room, Clark. Wash off that invisible blood. And remember why this house is still your home."
Clark raised his face.
"There's no blood on me, Dad."
His voice was calm. Cold as steel.
"I don't carry the smell of gunpowder. Or the bitter taste of regret. Just decisions."
Jonathan clenched his fists.
"Is that what you think we are now? An obstacle between you and these… decisions?"
"I don't think anything. I know what I had to do. And I know if I'd waited one more second… you and Mom would be mourning another funeral."
The silence cracked inside Martha like an invisible fracture.
Alicia looked at the two, then at Clark.
"Let's go?"
Clark nodded. He turned slowly, walking to the door.
Jonathan followed him with his eyes but said nothing.
"I'll keep watch."
The words stopped at the threshold. Clark turned slightly, his body half-facing the darkness of the porch, still half-tethered to the house that raised him.
"Even from afar. Even if you don't see me. I'll protect this place. And wherever I am."
Jonathan crossed his arms.
"Sometimes protecting also means knowing how to listen, son."
Clark nodded faintly.
"Today wasn't that day."
He pulled the door shut firmly. Alicia followed close behind.
The sound of gravel under their boots was muffled by Martha's long sigh, still standing, her empty gaze fixed on the vacant chair before her.
Jonathan stopped beside her.
"He's not our boy anymore."
"He never was just ours."
She spoke softly, as if conversing with her own thoughts.
"But he still is."
She placed a hand on her belly.
"Even if it's hard… even if it hurts."
Jonathan looked at her, his expression tense, restrained.
"I can't agree with this, Martha."
"Neither can I."
She pulled the chair and sat slowly.
"But what would you have done, Jon? Waited for the worst to happen?"
"Yes."
The answer came firm. And then softer.
"Yes, because that's what separates us from them. Power without patience… becomes tyranny."
She didn't respond.
She just sat there. Listening to the sound of the pickup truck fading down the dirt road. The sound grew more distant. Until it was gone.
---
Alicia kept her eyes forward. Her hands clasped in her lap, her breathing light. But inside, a storm.
Clark kept one hand on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the dark road. The other hand rested open between them, like a silent invitation. She didn't take it. Not yet.
"Do you regret it?"
The question came out low. As if she herself feared the answer.
Clark didn't take his eyes off the road.
"No."
The silence stretched for a few more seconds.
"I wish I did."
Alicia turned to him, surprised.
"Wish you did?"
"I wish I could say I regret it. That I did something… cruel. But that would be a lie."
The road stretched ahead, endless. Like everything between them now.
"Are you afraid of what you might become, Clark?"
He glanced at her for a second.
"No."
"You should be."
The warning came softly, but real.
"You're not a god. And one day… someone will want to remind you of that."
Clark took a deep breath, his eyes returning to the darkness ahead.
"I know."
Alicia leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes.
"But until then…"
His voice cut through the silence with quiet resolve.
"Until then, no one will touch my parents. Or you. Or anyone I've chosen to protect."
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Even if you have to pull away from them?"
"Even if I have to carry the burden alone."
She reached out, finally, and placed her hand over his.
"Then let me carry a piece of it too."
Clark didn't respond.
But the strength with which he squeezed her hand said everything.
---
The night sky opened before them.
And between the field, the weight of truth, and the bitter taste of decision… Clark Kent pressed forward.
Protecting everything.
Even if alone.
Even if in silence.
Even if… misunderstood.
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