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"…loss of executive function, likely aphasia, right-side weakness, high probability of seizure disorder…".
Bruce heard it all, a constant, high-grade anxiety humming in his veins.
Loss.
The word echoed with every footfall.
Loss of the quick, wicked grin. Loss of the passionate, furious debates about Dickens versus Dostoevsky. Loss of the boy who would rather die than be pitied.
The loss of the future. No university. No arguments about him taking over Wayne Enterprises. No watching him fall in love. No quiet pride in watching him become a better man than his father would ever be.
Bruce wasn’t just grieving for the son he had. He was grieving, all over again, with a fresh knife-sharp pain, for the son he had lost.