Kate came home from the hospital after three days.
Not to her own flat. To the Wayne house.
It had been Berlin's idea. Berlin had proposed it so naturally, so simply, so without ambiguity, that nobody in the room had found a way to push back before the moment to push back had passed.
"She has no one to look after her," Berlin had said. "She is recovering from a poisoning. She is eight weeks pregnant. She is not going to an empty flat."
Karlos had looked at the wall.
Mrs. Lydia had looked at Karlos.
Prissy had looked at her phone.
And Kate had looked at Berlin with eyes that were wet at the edges and entirely unreadable to anyone who did not know what to look for.
"You do not have to do that," Kate had said softly.
"I know I do not have to," Berlin had said. "Come home with us. The guest room had been aired and prepared."
