Inheritance
Diana was tired and sweaty, yet triumphant.
Her newborn daughter lay squalling in Bruce's arms, resisting his attempts to entice her with a bottle. "She has your temper," he observed.
"And your stubbornness," Diana retorted.
He placed his finger in one of the infant's tiny hands, and she grabbed it tightly. "She's got your strength as well."
"Hera help us."
Diana's eyes snapped open. She was alone in Bruce's bed. Reflexively, she ran her hand over her abdomen, feeling its flatness, its firmness.
It had been only a dream – an impossible one, at that. Yet it had felt so real...