June 18, 1995 - Smallville, Kansas – 11:37 AM
"Well, that was probably the worst movie I've ever seen," Martha declared, shaking her head as she stared out the truck's passenger-side window at the endless stretch of Kansas cornfields.
The night sky above was clear, sprinkled with more stars than any city could dream of, but her tone suggested she'd seen something far less beautiful tonight.
"I mean, really… The Avengers Squad: Revenge? What kind of name is that? And don't even get me started on that so-called Soldier Boy."
Her words were aimed at the man in the driver's seat.
Jonathan Kent just chuckled — the kind of quiet, resigned laugh you give when you know you've lost the argument before it's even started.
He couldn't deny it: the film had been awful.
A two-hour, plotless assault on everything good in cinema.
And, if he was being honest, the perfect disaster to cap off an already heavy week.
They'd needed the distraction. Lord knows they'd needed something.
But instead of lightening the mood, the movie had only deepened the hollow pit in his chest — a pit carved there three days ago when the hospital results had come in and turned their world upside down.
"Hey, don't blame me," Jonathan said, throwing up a hand defensively. "Adrian told me it was great. Said it was better than the last Vought movie Talon dragged him to."
Martha gave a derisive snort. "Uh-huh. So now Adrian's responsible for your bad taste in movies? Was Adrian also the one who made you drag me through all those terrible gangster movie back in the day?"
Jonathan's mouth fell open in mock offense.
"Hey! Those movies were—" he faltered, thinking about it, "—well, okay, some of them were… fine. The first one was decent. Kind of."
Martha just stared at him.
The raised eyebrow said everything.
Then she broke.
Laughter burst out of her, bright and unrestrained.
Jonathan tried to hold his ground, but within seconds he was laughing too, so hard he had to tighten his grip on the wheel to keep from drifting into a ditch.
He swiped at his eyes, tears from both laughter and exhaustion.
"Oh man," he wheezed, "they were awful, weren't they?"
"Yes!" Martha said between laughs, dabbing at her own eyes. "Why in the world did you take me to see them if you knew they were terrible?"
"Because!" Jonathan straightened, putting on his best high school swagger.
"They were edgy. Dramatic. Everyone said they were cool. Plus, they were rated R. I was going for that whole… rebel vibe."
"A rebel?" Martha said, grinning.
"Exactly. The bad boy. The dangerous, mysterious, totally irresistible—"
She smacked his chest. "Oh, stop it, you old fool. You couldn't even ditch your work clothes when you came to pick me up. And don't think I didn't notice you begged your dad for the truck that night."
Jonathan nearly swerved. "Wait — you knew about that?"
Martha tapped the roof twice for emphasis. "Jonathan Hiram Kent, you live in a town called Smallville. Of course everyone knew. And for your information, it was Nell who told me."
"Nell?!" Jonathan gasped like she'd just committed high treason.
"Mm-hm. She only told me because she was jealous. Had the biggest crush on you all through high school. Tried to get me to back off."
Jonathan's lips curled into a sly grin. "So… Nell had a crush on me, huh?"
"You bastard!" Martha giggled, swatting his arm in mock fury.
"Ow—hey! Careful, I'm driving!" he laughed, shielding himself while keeping the truck steady. "You know I've only ever had eyes for you."
She gave him a side-eye, lips twitching into a small smile. "You won't get far with sweet talk."
For a while, they fell into an easy silence, the road humming beneath the tires.
But Jonathan noticed the way her smile faded, the way she turned her gaze back to the dark fields outside.
Then came the sigh — soft, but heavy.
He didn't need to ask.
He knew.
That damn meeting.
That damn test result.
His hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles whitened.
They'd both cried the day they'd been told.
Not just tears — the ugly, raw kind that shakes you to your bones.
But since then, Martha had been quieter.
Still.
Sometimes he'd catch her staring off into nothing, her eyes glassy and far away.
Jonathan understood. God help him, he understood.
But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.