Months earlier

"I don't love you anymore."

Had anyone been watching closely, the moment those words left his lips they would have seen Diana, Wonder Woman, daughter of Hippolyta, protector of the human race, champion of the Gods, flinch. A blow she hadn't been expecting slipped past her non-existent defenses. Why were they non-existent? Because they weren't up.

Because you never expect the one you love to hurt you.

Because the one you love can hurt you the most.

If you asked her, Diana didn't remember much after his words. She piloted them home, unable to let Clark do something that to this day she still considered so beyond desperate that stupid didn't even begin to describe things.

She'd tried to speak to him later, but she didn't have the words and he didn't have the time.

Was this how they were to end? A part of Diana was furious. He'd been the one to shove her into this. He'd be the one to initiate this love. He'd been the one to let her hope that maybe…maybe…maybe.

Maybe what? Diana knew love; she was loved by her mother, by her sisters, by her friends, by Clark. Diana knew happiness; she found it in the sunrise over Themyscira, in ice cream, in his arms. Diana knew peace; she found it in the moments before the sun faded over the horizon, in the middle of the sea, in the middle of the night with his breath warm against the back of her neck.

How dare he?! How dare he pull her into this, and then, then once she was ensnared he decided that she wasn't enough. How dare he—he made her love him and then rip the love he demanded from her away.

How dare he treat her this way!

The sound of breaking glass brought her back from the depths of her mind. Chest heaving, she looked down at the ruined glass in her hand and watch the blood drip around the shards. Even if she wanted to, Diana couldn't describe the hollow feeling in her chest. Dim blue eyes watched the crimson fluid make its way down her olive skin as warm as the salt on her cheeks.

Even without her lasso she knew no soul in this universe could make her feel anything without her permission. If he dealt this hand, then she'd given him the cards.

And maybe that's what hurt most of all. Regret was a sorry companion, cold and thorny with constant reminders of just how many times she could have stopped this. Shame on her, daughter of a violent history, to allow anyone the opportunity to make her feel so…broken.

How dare he make her feel this…fragile.

Shattered glass in hand, shattered heart in chest, slowly Diana sunk to the ground, his words echoing in her ears.

"I don't love you anymore."

How could he?