He was just Clark. And Martha was just his mom. And that was more than enough.
Clark smiled, a real smile, the kind that felt strange on his face after months of boardroom glare and alien invasions. He stepped inside, the familiar smell of yeast and wood polish wrapping around him like a blanket. clarkandmartha
“Then you stay tired here,” she said. “The world’s problems are heavy. But so is a sack of potatoes, and right now, I need you to carry one in from the cellar.” He was just Clark
Later, after the biscuits were golden brown and the tractor belt was fixed (without a single twisted piece of metal), they sat on the porch swing as the sun bled orange and purple across the horizon. Clark smiled, a real smile, the kind that
“Okay, Ma,” he whispered.
He wasn't Superman here. He was just Clark.