Clark leaned his head on her shoulder, letting the weight of the world slide off him. It was the only place in the universe where he felt truly, completely safe. Not because he was invulnerable. But because Martha Kent was there.

Clark chuckled. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Pa’s tractor needs a new belt,” Clark said, nodding toward the barn.

The corn was high that summer, higher than Clark Kent remembered it ever getting back when he was a boy. He stood on the porch of the Kansas farmhouse, the screen door whining softly behind him, and watched the amber waves ripple under a sky so blue it looked painted.