Crawling Back To You
G!P Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 11.3k
Summary: You divorced Natasha Romanoff three years ago. Now you co-parent two kids, attend school events together, and pretend the life you almost had doesn’t linger between you. Then one night she stays for dinner. And suddenly everything feels dangerously close to the way it used to be.
(Men and Minors DNI)
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Five Years Ago
The kitchen lights hum softly overhead, casting a warm yellow glow across the countertops and the small figure sitting in a highchair beside you. Katya Romanoff—your daughter, Natasha’s daughter—is barely a year old and already somehow full of chaos. A small plastic bowl of macaroni and cheese sits in front of her, though “in front of her” is generous at this point. The pasta is everywhere. Some of it is smeared across the tray of the highchair, several pieces are clinging stubbornly to her tiny fingers, and a streak of bright orange cheese sauce runs across her cheek like war paint. One noodle has somehow ended up tangled in her wispy reddish-blonde hair. She babbles happily to herself, kicking her little feet against the chair as she squishes another handful of macaroni between her fingers with delighted concentration.
You lean your elbows against the kitchen counter beside her, one hand loosely curled around your phone, your eyes flicking every few seconds to the time glowing on the screen. The numbers haven’t changed nearly as much as you’d like them to.
9:02 PM.
Natasha had said she’d be home by eight.
Your gaze drifts toward the door that leads into the hallway, like maybe she’ll appear if you look at it long enough. The apartment is quiet in that strange, stretched way that happens when you’re waiting for someone. Every tiny noise seems louder than it should be—the hum of the fridge, the faint clink of Katya’s spoon hitting the tray, the soft cartoon theme song playing from the television in the living room that you turned on earlier for background noise.
Katya squeals suddenly, jerking your attention back to her.
She holds up her fist triumphantly, a single macaroni clutched between her fingers like she’s just discovered gold.
“Is that so?” you murmur, your voice soft, tired but fond. “Very impressive.”
She grins at you with four tiny teeth and then promptly drops the macaroni onto the floor.
You sigh through your nose, rubbing your face briefly before grabbing a napkin to wipe the cheese sauce from her cheek. She protests with an indignant little whine, twisting away from you with surprising strength for someone so small.
“Hey, hey,” you murmur, trying not to laugh despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones. “Your mama would say you look like you wrestled a bowl of pasta and lost.”
At the mention of Natasha, your chest tightens faintly.
Your eyes drift back to the phone.
9:17 PM.
Still nothing.
You tell yourself it’s normal. Missions run late. Debriefs run longer. Sometimes the team goes out after—Tony insists on celebrating anything remotely successful with drinks and obnoxious music. You’ve heard the excuses before. You’ve accepted them before.
But tonight feels heavier.
Maybe it’s the way Katya keeps glancing toward the hallway every time the elevator down the corridor dings. Maybe it’s the way she babbles out half-formed sounds that almost resemble “Mama.” Maybe it’s the fact that Natasha promised she’d be home tonight.
Katya slaps both hands into the macaroni again, sending a small splatter of cheese across the tray.
You exhale a quiet laugh despite yourself.
“Alright, alright,” you murmur, scooping another spoonful and holding it toward her. “Eat the food, gremlin. Don’t redecorate with it.”
She opens her mouth immediately, accepting the spoon with exaggerated enthusiasm. Most of the macaroni makes it inside, though some still ends up smeared along her chin. She kicks her legs again, clearly pleased with herself.
You check the phone again.
9:31 PM.
Your jaw tightens.
Thirty minutes late.
Your gaze flickers back toward the hallway door again, but the apartment remains stubbornly quiet.
Katya starts fussing softly, her earlier energy beginning to fade. Her eyelids droop slightly as she leans forward in the highchair, smearing her cheek against the tray without even realizing she’s doing it.
“Yeah,” you murmur quietly, brushing a thumb across her soft hair. “You’re getting tired, huh?”
Another glance at the phone.
Still nothing from Natasha.
A slow breath leaves your chest.
“Okay,” you say gently, sliding the bowl away from Katya’s reach. “I think we’re done with dinner.”
She whines in protest, little hands reaching clumsily toward the bowl as you wipe them clean with a damp cloth.
“I know, I know,” you soothe softly. “But if I let you keep going, we’re going to have macaroni on the ceiling.”
Katya huffs, but she doesn’t fight when you lift her from the highchair and settle her against your hip. Her small body immediately curls against you, one sticky hand clutching weakly at your shirt.
The kitchen suddenly feels too quiet.
You glance at the clock again before turning toward the living room.
“Come on,” you murmur to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go watch cartoons while we wait for Mama.”
The living room glows with the flickering colors of whatever cartoon is playing on the television—bright animals bouncing across the screen, cheerful music chiming in the background. You settle onto the couch with Katya tucked into your arms, grabbing a small blanket from the armrest and draping it loosely over her legs.
She watches the screen with wide eyes for about three minutes.
Then her head slowly droops against your chest.
You shift slightly so she’s more comfortable, absently rubbing small circles against her back as the cartoon characters chatter away in the background. The warmth of her little body sinks into you, heavy and trusting.
Your eyes drift toward the hallway again.
Still no Natasha.
The clock creeps forward.
10:08 PM.
10:47 PM.
11:15 PM.
At some point Katya’s small fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your shirt, her breathing evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep. Her face presses into your collarbone, warm and soft and peaceful.
Your chest aches.
“She said she’d be home tonight,” you whisper quietly, more to yourself than to her.
Katya doesn’t stir.
Eventually you push yourself up from the couch, careful not to wake her. The apartment feels even quieter now as you carry her down the hallway toward her room, the cartoon still playing faintly behind you.
The bedtime routine feels strangely lonely without Natasha there.
You change Katya into her pajamas, her sleepy little protests barely more than quiet whimpers as you wipe the last traces of macaroni from her face and hands. You brush her hair gently, humming under your breath while she clings to your shoulder.
“Shh,” you murmur softly as you lower her into the crib. “It’s okay.”
She squirms, small hands reaching toward you immediately.
Your heart twists.
“Hey,” you whisper, resting a hand against her tiny chest. “Mama will be home soon.”
The words taste hollow even as you say them.
After a moment her eyes finally close again, exhaustion winning over curiosity. Her breathing steadies.
You stay there longer than necessary, watching her sleep.
Then you quietly leave the room.
The apartment is silent again when you return to the living room.
The cartoon is still playing.
You turn the television off.
And you wait.
Midnight comes quietly.
The sound of the front door unlocking makes your head snap up immediately.
The door creaks open, and Natasha steps inside.
Your wife looks mostly fine—no visible injuries, no blood, no limping—but there’s something in the way she moves that makes your stomach twist. Slightly slower than usual. Slightly looser.
And when she steps fully into the apartment, the faint smell of alcohol follows her.
Not strong.
But unmistakable.
Her green eyes land on you almost immediately, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.
“You’re still awake?”
The words are casual.
Too casual.
Something sharp twists in your chest.
“I was waiting for you.”
Natasha pauses mid-step, shrugging her jacket off slowly.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Your jaw tightens.
“I know.”
Silence stretches between you for a moment.
Then you ask quietly, “Where were you?”
Natasha hangs her jacket on the hook by the door, clearly buying herself time before answering.
“Debrief ran late,” she says. “Then Tony wanted drinks.”
You stare at her.
“Drinks.”
She glances back at you, clearly noticing the tone.
“Yes.”
A hollow laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“Right.”
Natasha’s brows draw together slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
You stand from the couch slowly, arms folding across your chest.
“It means,” you say, your voice tight, “you told me you’d be home by eight.”
“Mission ran long.”
“And the drinks?”
Her jaw tightens.
“It’s not a crime to go out with the team.”
“No,” you say sharply. “But it is when your wife and kid are sitting here waiting for you.”
Her expression shifts slightly, irritation flickering behind her eyes.
“You didn’t have to wait up.”
“You’re missing the point, Natasha.”
She exhales slowly, running a hand through her red hair.
“I just got back from a mission. Can we not do this right now?”
“No,” you say immediately, your voice rising before you can stop it. “Because we never do it.”
Natasha freezes slightly.
“What?”
“You’re never here anymore,” you continue, the words spilling out faster now. “You leave before she wakes up, you come home after she’s asleep. Tonight she kept looking at the door every time the elevator dinged because she thought it might be you.”
Natasha’s face hardens.
“She’s one year old.”
“And she still notices!”
Your voice cracks slightly, frustration finally breaking through the exhaustion.
“You promised you’d be home tonight.”
Natasha rubs her temples.
“I said I’d try.”
“No,” you snap. “You said you would.”
Silence falls heavy between you.
The tension thickens.
“You think I want to be gone?” Natasha finally says, her voice quieter but edged with frustration. “You think I enjoy risking my life every week?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” you breathe, “that we’re supposed to be a family. And right now it feels like Katya and I are just… something you come back to when it’s convenient.”
Natasha flinches slightly.
The reaction is subtle.
But you see it.
A long silence stretches between you again.
Then Natasha exhales slowly.
“…I’m sorry.”
The words are quiet. Genuine.
Your anger falters slightly.
“I should’ve come home,” she continues, voice softer now. “Tony kept pushing drinks and I didn’t think about the time.”
You stare at her.
“She waited,” you say quietly. “She kept looking at the door.”
Natasha’s gaze drops toward the floor.
Guilt flickers across her face.
“…Is she asleep?”
“Yes.”
Another quiet pause.
Then Natasha finally looks back up at you, the sharp edges of her earlier defensiveness gone.
“I’ll do better,” she says quietly.
You want to believe her.
God, you want to.
Your shoulders sag slightly as the exhaustion finally settles in.
“Come on,” you murmur tiredly. “Let’s just go to bed.”
Natasha nods softly.
The argument dissolves into silence as the two of you move down the hallway together, the apartment dim and quiet around you.
In Katya’s room, the baby monitor glows faintly.
And in your bedroom, the bed feels just a little too big as you both climb into it—tired, tense, but trying to believe tomorrow will be better.
⸻
Four Years Ago
The apartment feels strangely quiet when you step out into the hallway, the absence of tiny footsteps and babbling voices almost eerie compared to the usual chaos that comes with a toddler. Katya had clung to your leg for a moment when you first introduced her to the babysitter—some college-aged girl Tony had sworn was “phenomenal with kids, absolutely top tier, five stars”—but after ten minutes of animated cartoons and a brightly colored toy box, your daughter had mostly forgotten you were even leaving. Still, as you follow Natasha down toward the waiting car, your chest holds that familiar, low hum of guilt that always comes from leaving your child with someone else.
Natasha notices.
She always notices things like that.
Her hand settles lightly at the small of your back as she guides you toward the car Tony had sent—because of course Tony Stark would send a car, because apparently showing up anywhere without excessive flair is physically impossible for him.
“She’ll be fine,” Natasha murmurs quietly.
You glance sideways at her.
“I know,” you say, though your voice holds a trace of hesitation. “It’s just… the first time we’ve left her with someone we don’t know.”
Natasha opens the car door for you, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.
“Tony’s terrified of Pepper,” she says dryly. “If the babysitter was bad with kids, Pepper would’ve had her blacklisted from the city.”
You snort softly despite yourself and slide into the seat.
The ride to the restaurant is calm. Quiet. The kind of quiet that used to feel normal between you and Natasha, but now feels… unfamiliar somehow. Not uncomfortable exactly, just different. Conversations between the two of you these days tend to revolve around schedules—when she’s leaving for missions, when you’re taking Katya to playgroups, when she’ll hopefully be home.
Still, tonight feels almost like old times.
Natasha’s hand rests loosely over yours for most of the drive.
The restaurant Tony chose is predictably extravagant. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline, warm lights glowing across polished marble floors and pristine white tablecloths. When you arrive, the rest of the group is already seated around a long table near the windows—Steve and Sharon, Sam with a woman you vaguely remember meeting once before, Bruce nervously adjusting his glasses beside Helen Cho, and of course Tony and Pepper sitting at the head of the table like they own the entire building.
Which… they might.
Tony spots Natasha first.
“Ah!” he announces loudly, spreading his arms dramatically. “The Widow arrives. Fashionably late, as always.”
Natasha rolls her eyes.
“We’re five minutes late.”
“That’s practically an hour in Stark time.”
You slip into the seat beside Natasha as Pepper smiles warmly at you from across the table.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she says. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you.”
“That’s because someone keeps stealing my wife for missions,” you reply lightly, nudging Natasha’s arm.
Tony raises his glass.
“Saving the world isn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”
Natasha shoots him a look.
“Neither is building killer robots.”
Tony pauses.
“…That was one time.”
Dinner passes easily.
The conversation flows between stories from recent missions, Tony’s latest ridiculous inventions, and Pepper politely reminding him not to turn the penthouse into a testing facility again. Natasha actually relaxes a little as the evening goes on, her shoulders lowering slightly as she leans back in her chair, occasionally brushing her thumb against the back of your hand under the table.
For a little while, things feel… normal.
Almost like they used to be.
By the time the main course plates are cleared away, the table has settled into that comfortable, lazy stage of dinner where everyone is full and relaxed, glasses half-finished and conversations drifting in multiple directions.
Pepper glances at you from across the table.
And then she tilts her head slightly.
“You look glowing tonight,” she says thoughtfully.
You blink.
“…Glowing?”
Pepper smiles gently.
“Yes. You have that look.”
Tony raises an eyebrow.
“What look?”
Pepper doesn’t even glance at him.
“The one where someone might be expecting.”
The table quiets slightly.
Your stomach flips.
Pepper looks between you and Natasha with a curious smile.
“Is there possibly a baby number two on the way?”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head quickly.
“No, nothing like that.”
Natasha chuckles beside you.
“Trust me,” she says lightly, lifting her glass. “If we were having another kid, I would know.”
A few people laugh softly and the conversation moves on almost immediately, but the comment lingers in your mind longer than you expect.
You and Natasha barely see each other these days.
Between her missions and your days revolving around Katya, your lives have slowly begun orbiting around different schedules. Passing each other in the kitchen, exchanging quick kisses before she disappears again.
The idea of another baby seems almost… unrealistic.
Still.
The thought lingers quietly in the back of your mind for the rest of the evening.
By the time you and Natasha arrive home, the apartment is dim and peaceful.
The babysitter greets you quietly from the couch, whispering that Katya had fallen asleep about an hour ago. After paying her—and listening to a brief rundown of how “she was seriously the easiest toddler ever”—you walk her to the door while Natasha disappears down the hallway to check on Katya.
Your daughter is still asleep when you peek into her room a moment later, curled up under her small blanket with one stuffed animal clutched in her arms.
Natasha watches her for a moment from the doorway.
“She didn’t even wake up,” she murmurs quietly.
“She’s been exhausted lately,” you say.
Natasha nods faintly.
The two of you step back into the hallway, closing Katya’s door carefully.
And for some reason, Pepper’s comment comes rushing back into your mind.
You hesitate.
Then quietly say, “I’ll be right back.”
Natasha glances at you curiously but doesn’t question it.
You disappear into the bathroom.
The pregnancy test sits in your hand for a long moment before you even open it. It’s one you bought weeks ago after a late-night pharmacy run for cold medicine, tossed into the cabinet and forgotten about.
You’re not even sure why you’re doing this.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe something else.
The test takes only a few minutes.
But those minutes feel longer than they should.
When the result finally appears, your stomach sinks.
Negative.
A strange, sharp disappointment floods your chest so suddenly it almost catches you off guard.
Your eyes sting.
You hadn’t even realized you were hoping.
The bathroom door creaks open behind you.
Natasha’s voice is soft.
“…What are you doing?”
You quickly wipe at your face, but the tears have already gathered.
Natasha steps closer, confusion flickering across her features when she sees the test in your hand.
“Wait… are you—”
She pauses.
“…It’s negative.”
You nod weakly, staring down at it.
For a moment Natasha just looks… confused.
“I don’t understand,” she admits quietly. “Why are you upset?”
Your chest tightens.
“Because…” Your voice falters slightly before you force the words out. “Because maybe I was hoping it wasn’t.”
Natasha’s brows draw together.
“Why?”
The answer slips out before you can stop it.
“Because maybe it would bring you back.”
Silence fills the room.
Natasha goes very still.
You swallow thickly.
“You’re never here anymore,” you whisper. “I thought… maybe if we had another baby, you’d want to be.”
The words hang in the air.
Natasha stares at you for a long moment, something complicated flickering behind her green eyes.
Then she exhales slowly.
“…I actually kind of want another kid.”
Your head snaps up.
“What?”
Natasha rubs the back of her neck.
“Katya’s getting older,” she says quietly. “She should have a sibling. Someone to grow up with.”
Your heart stutters slightly.
“You mean that?”
Natasha shrugs faintly.
“…Yeah.”
The tension in the room softens just a little.
You look down at the test again.
Then back at her.
“So… we try?”
Natasha’s lips curve faintly.
“Unofficially.”
⸻
The pregnancy happens faster than either of you expected.
Within two months, you’re staring down at another test.
This time it’s positive.
And Natasha changes almost overnight.
She becomes the woman you fell in love with again—attentive, warm, constantly hovering nearby like she’s terrified you might vanish if she looks away for too long. She starts coming home earlier, sometimes even beating you back to the apartment with groceries already unpacked and dinner halfway finished.
The first time you wake up at one in the morning craving strawberry ice cream, Natasha doesn’t hesitate.
She grabs her jacket and disappears out the door.
The only open store is twenty minutes away.
She comes back forty-five minutes later with three different brands.
“You didn’t tell me which one,” she says simply.
Your heart nearly bursts.
For nine months she stays like that—doting, attentive, present.
When your son is born, Natasha cries the moment she holds him.
“A boy,” she murmurs softly, brushing her thumb over his tiny cheek.
You smile weakly from the hospital bed.
“What do you think about Elliot?”
Natasha looks down at him.
“…Elliot Romanoff.”
She nods.
“I like it.”
For a while, things feel perfect.
Katya adores her baby brother. Natasha carries Elliot around constantly like he’s made of glass. The apartment fills with the warm chaos of family life again.
But slowly…
Old habits creep back in.
A mission here.
A late debrief there.
A night out with the team that turns into three drinks too many.
Phone calls that don’t come.
Arguments that grow sharper with every passing week.
And somewhere between midnight arrivals and slammed doors, the warmth that came with Elliot’s birth begins fading into the same quiet tension that once filled the apartment before.
Like history repeating itself.
⸻
Three Years Ago
The clock on the microwave reads 9:48 PM, the glowing green numbers reflecting faintly off the dark kitchen tiles. The apartment has that same quiet, stretched feeling it always seems to get when Natasha isn’t home yet—the kind where every little sound seems louder than it should be. The distant hum of the refrigerator. The soft chatter of the cartoon playing in the living room. The occasional creak of the floorboards when one of the kids shifts their weight.
You’re standing at the edge of the living room now, leaning your shoulder against the wall as you watch Katya and Elliot on the couch.
Katya is three now.
Three years old and already convinced she’s much more capable than she actually is.
She sits cross-legged on the couch beside her baby brother, carefully holding one of his small stuffed dinosaurs in front of him like she’s personally responsible for his entertainment. Elliot, meanwhile, is completely oblivious to the effort she’s putting in. He’s sprawled back against the cushions, one tiny sock half slipping off his foot while his heavy-lidded eyes stare at the brightly colored cartoon characters bouncing across the television screen.
The flickering light paints both their faces in soft blues and yellows.
You glance down at your phone.
No messages.
Not that you expected any.
You stopped expecting Natasha to be home on time a long time ago.
But that tiny, stubborn piece of hope in your chest never really went away.
Every night there’s still that quiet thought in the back of your mind—maybe tonight will be different.
Maybe tonight she’ll come through the door at a normal hour.
Maybe tonight she’ll actually be here to say goodnight to her kids.
Your eyes drift back toward the door.
The hallway beyond it is silent.
Katya suddenly leans toward Elliot, pressing the stuffed dinosaur against his arm.
“Look, Eli,” she says proudly, her voice slightly too loud for the sleepy quiet of the room. “Dino!”
Elliot barely reacts.
His head droops slightly forward, his eyelids slowly beginning to slide shut as the cartoon music continues chirping happily in the background.
You push yourself off the wall and walk over to the couch, gently brushing your fingers through Elliot’s soft hair.
“Well,” you murmur quietly. “Looks like someone’s ready for bed.”
Katya looks up immediately.
“I help!”
You smile faintly.
“Of course you do.”
You lift Elliot carefully from the couch, his small body going limp against your shoulder almost instantly. He lets out a soft, sleepy whine before settling again, one tiny hand curling loosely against your shirt.
Katya jumps down from the couch and hurries after you as you walk down the hallway toward Elliot’s room.
“I help,” she repeats, much more seriously this time.
Her version of helping mostly involves standing directly in the middle of wherever you need to walk.
But you don’t say that.
Because if she wasn’t there, the hallway would feel a lot emptier.
And right now, you’re not sure you want to feel that.
“Okay,” you say gently as you push Elliot’s bedroom door open with your shoulder. “You can help.”
Katya beams like you’ve just given her the most important job in the world.
Elliot whines softly as you lay him down on the changing table, his sleepy eyes blinking slowly as you switch him into his pajamas. Katya stands beside you the entire time, carefully holding a small diaper like it’s a sacred object.
“Here,” she announces proudly, handing it to you.
“Thank you,” you say warmly.
She grins.
It takes twice as long to get Elliot ready for bed with her “helping,” but you don’t mind. Eventually he’s tucked into his crib, his stuffed bear resting beside him while his breathing slowly evens out.
Katya leans against the crib railing, peeking at him.
“He sleepy,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” you murmur softly.
You brush a kiss across Elliot’s forehead before guiding Katya back into the hallway.
“Your turn.”
Katya doesn’t argue.
She rarely does when it comes to bedtime.
Her routine is simple now—pajamas, brushing her teeth, one short story, then her favorite blanket tucked around her shoulders. The same process every night, steady and predictable in a way the rest of your life hasn’t been in a long time.
Tonight is no different.
By the time you finish reading the story, Katya’s eyelids are already drooping.
“Night, Mama,” she murmurs sleepily.
“Goodnight, bug,” you whisper, brushing her hair back from her face.
You close her door softly behind you.
And then the apartment falls quiet again.
The waiting game begins.
You sit on the couch with the television muted, the soft glow from the screen casting dim light across the room. Your phone rests in your hand, though you’re not really looking at it.
Time passes slowly.
11:04 PM.
11:52 PM.
12:38 AM.
At some point you stop checking.
You just sit there.
Waiting.
The sound of the front door unlocking finally breaks the silence.
Your head lifts immediately.
The door opens.
Natasha steps inside.
It’s 2:03 AM.
Your wife pauses slightly when she sees you sitting there, like she wasn’t expecting you to still be awake.
“You’re up late,” she says casually as she shuts the door behind her.
The familiar scent of alcohol drifts faintly through the air.
But there’s something else, too.
Something softer.
Sweeter.
Floral.
Your stomach twists.
Natasha doesn’t wear floral perfume.
She never has.
Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.
“…Where were you?”
Natasha shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it over the chair by the door.
“Out.”
“With who?”
She hesitates just slightly.
“Some people from the team.”
You stand slowly from the couch.
The scent becomes stronger as she walks closer.
That perfume again.
It clings to her clothes.
Her hair.
“Natasha,” you say carefully. “Who were you with?”
Her jaw tightens faintly.
“…Someone.”
A hollow feeling spreads through your chest.
“Were you sleeping with her?”
The question hangs heavily in the air.
Natasha freezes.
For a long moment she doesn’t say anything.
Then she exhales slowly.
“No.”
Your eyes narrow.
“No?”
“I wasn’t sleeping with her.”
“That’s a very specific answer.”
Silence.
Your stomach drops further.
“…Natasha.”
She runs a hand through her hair, clearly realizing there’s no point dodging the truth.
“We were drinking,” she admits quietly.
“And?”
Her eyes flick up to meet yours.
“…We kissed.”
The room goes completely still.
Your chest feels strangely empty.
Like the air has been pulled straight out of it.
“Nothing else happened,” she adds quickly. “I stopped it.”
But the words barely register.
All you can think about is the perfume clinging to her shirt.
The late nights.
The missed dinners.
The broken promises.
The way your kids fall asleep every night without seeing their mother.
Your voice comes out hollow.
“…Right.”
Natasha takes a step toward you.
“It didn’t mean anything.”
You laugh softly.
But there’s no humor in it.
“That’s almost worse.”
She doesn’t argue.
Because she knows you’re right.
The silence stretches between you again.
Heavy.
Final.
Somewhere down the hallway, Elliot stirs faintly in his crib before settling again.
You close your eyes for a moment.
When you open them again, your voice is quiet.
“I think we’re done.”
Natasha doesn’t protest.
She doesn’t argue.
She just looks tired.
Like she’s been expecting those words for a long time.
⸻
A week later, you place the divorce papers on the kitchen counter.
Natasha stares at them for a long moment.
Then she nods.
“…Okay.”
No shouting.
No begging.
Just quiet acceptance.
The process moves quickly after that.
The lawyers handle most of it, the paperwork sliding through the legal system with almost mechanical efficiency. Natasha never fights it. Never tries to delay it.
The custody agreement settles at 50/50.
Fair.
Simple.
Katya and Elliot will split their time between the two of you.
And just like that—
The life you built together ends. Not with a dramatic explosion. But with quiet signatures on a stack of papers.
⸻
Present Day
The house had felt too big the first night you slept in it.
Not in a bad way—just unfamiliar. The kind of quiet that comes from space instead of loneliness. After years of apartments and shared hallways and elevators that hummed through the walls, the simple fact that your front door opened directly to your own driveway had felt strange.
But the kids had loved it immediately.
Katya especially.
She had run through the empty rooms when you first got the keys, her small voice echoing off bare walls while Elliot toddled after her, barely steady on his feet at the time. The yard had sealed the deal for both of them—an actual patch of grass big enough to run across without bumping into anything.
Now, years later, that same yard is full of noise.
Bright balloons tied to the fence bounce in the warm breeze while a giant inflatable bouncy castle dominates the center of the lawn, packed with shrieking six-year-olds who seem physically incapable of staying still for more than half a second.
Katya’s sixth birthday party is in full chaos.
Exactly how she wanted it.
Kids from her entire class run back and forth across the grass, their shoes kicking up little clouds of dirt as they chase each other between the garden chairs and the inflatable castle. Someone’s brought a bubble machine that’s sending shimmering bubbles drifting lazily through the air, popping softly whenever one of the kids jumps too close.
You stand near the patio doors, leaning against the frame while you watch it all unfold.
And, as always—
Elliot is glued to your side.
Your four-year-old clings to your leg with the stubborn determination of someone who has decided this is simply where he belongs. His small arms wrap around your thigh while he peers cautiously at the chaos happening across the garden.
Several kids from his daycare are running around with the older ones, but Elliot has shown absolutely zero interest in joining them.
He presses his cheek against your leg instead.
“Eli,” you murmur gently, glancing down at him. “Your friends are here.”
He shakes his head immediately.
“No.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
He’s always been like this.
From the moment he could walk, Elliot had attached himself firmly to you. Katya had been independent almost to a fault as a toddler—running ahead, climbing things she probably shouldn’t, exploring every corner she could find.
Elliot is the opposite: Your shadow. Your little mama’s boy.
He shifts slightly now, attempting to climb up your leg in a slow, determined effort that would almost be impressive if it wasn’t so inconvenient while you’re trying to carry plates out to the patio table.
“Buddy,” you say patiently, steadying the stack of napkins in your hands. “I need my leg.”
“No,” he repeats, tightening his grip.
You sigh softly.
From across the yard, your mother laughs quietly.
“He’s just like Katya used to be,” she says warmly.
You glance over toward the garden table where several adults have gathered—your parents, a few of the other kids’ parents, and even Natasha’s family.
Her parents sit near the edge of the patio, her mother watching the children with the quiet attentiveness of someone who has spent decades observing people carefully. Natasha’s sister stands nearby talking with one of Katya’s friend’s moms while sipping from a plastic cup of lemonade.
They all showed up on time.
Natasha didn’t.
Your eyes flick briefly toward the driveway.
Still empty.
Not surprising.
You stopped expecting punctuality from Natasha a long time ago.
But, like always, there’s still that tiny, stubborn part of you that hopes she’ll show up anyway.
The party continues without her.
Katya bounces on the castle with three of her friends, her wild red hair flying around her face as she laughs loudly enough for the entire garden to hear. Someone starts a game of tag that quickly devolves into half the kids sprinting in random directions while the other half collapse into giggles on the grass.
Elliot remains firmly attached to your leg the entire time.
Eventually you manage to peel him off just long enough to set up the grill near the edge of the patio. The charcoal crackles softly as you arrange the burgers and hotdogs nearby, preparing to start cooking for the growing crowd of hungry children.
That’s when a car pulls into the driveway.
You glance up automatically.
Natasha’s car.
It takes her a moment to get out.
But when she does, she looks… mostly the same as always. Dark jacket, boots, red hair tied loosely back. There’s a faint tension in her posture like she came straight from somewhere else.
Your eyes flick to the time on your phone.
She’s about an hour late.
Which, honestly, by Natasha’s standards, is practically early.
You don’t say anything.
You don’t need to.
Because the moment Natasha steps through the gate into the yard, her mother turns and gives her a look that could slice through steel.
Natasha pauses slightly under that gaze.
“…Hi, Mama.”
The look only deepens.
You almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Before anyone can say anything else, Katya spots her.
“MAMA!”
Your daughter launches herself off the bouncy castle with reckless enthusiasm and sprints across the yard, grass flying behind her as she barrels straight into Natasha’s legs.
Natasha barely has time to brace before Katya wraps her arms around her.
Natasha’s entire posture softens instantly.
“Hey, маленькая,” she murmurs, crouching slightly to hug her.
Katya squeezes her tightly—
Then immediately releases her and runs straight back toward the bouncy castle like the interaction never even happened.
Natasha watches her go with a faint smile. Meanwhile, Elliot doesn’t even look. He’s far too busy trying to climb up your leg again like a determined little koala.
Natasha notices. Her gaze flicks toward the two of you. Elliot completely ignores her presence. You sigh softly.
“Elliot,” you murmur, gently prying one of his hands off your jeans.
He whines quietly. Across the yard, Natasha approaches slowly.
You’re just reaching for the lighter to start the grill when she steps beside you and calmly takes it from your hand.
“I’ve got it,” she says.
You glance at her. Natasha flicks the lighter beneath the charcoal with practiced ease.
“Least I can do.”
You don’t argue.
The grill crackles to life as smoke begins curling upward into the warm afternoon air.
For a few minutes, the two of you stand there in that familiar, slightly awkward quiet that comes from years of history and the strange calm that followed your divorce.
Eventually Natasha breaks the silence.
“I went on a couple dates recently.”
Your eyebrow lifts slightly.
“Oh?”
She shrugs faintly, flipping one of the burgers.
“Nothing serious.”
You nod slowly.
“That’s good.”
It isn’t jealousy you feel. Not really. More like distant curiosity.
Your attention drifts back toward the yard where Katya is attempting to organize a chaotic game involving a beach ball and three kids who clearly don’t understand the rules.
“Oh,” you say casually. “Katya has her ballet recital next week.”
Natasha’s head turns immediately.
“When?”
“Thursday evening.”
She nods slowly.
“I’ll be there.”
You look at her seriously.
“You cannot miss this one.”
Natasha meets your gaze.
“I won’t.”
Something in her tone makes you believe her.
The grill pops softly between you. Soon enough, the burgers and hotdogs are ready.
Kids swarm the patio table like tiny vultures while parents laugh and try to organize plates and drinks. Elliot finally detaches from your leg long enough to sit beside you while eating a hotdog that’s almost bigger than his hands.
The birthday cake comes out shortly after. Six candles glow brightly on top. Everyone gathers around as Katya beams proudly in front of the table.
“Ready?” you ask. She nods excitedly.
And soon the entire garden fills with the loud, slightly off-key chorus of Happy Birthday. Katya squeezes her eyes shut before blowing out the candles in one determined puff.
The party slowly winds down after that. Parents gather their kids, balloons are untied, leftover cake is packed into small containers. One by one, cars pull out of the driveway until the garden finally begins to quiet again.
Your parents leave. Natasha’s family leaves shortly after. Eventually it’s just you and the kids.
Katya runs one last lap across the grass before collapsing dramatically into one of the lawn chairs.
Elliot climbs straight back into your lap. The sun is beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting long golden shadows across the yard. And for the first time all day, everything is finally quiet again.
⸻
Rain had been falling since sunrise. Not the light, misty kind that drifts through the air and disappears as quickly as it comes—but the heavy, steady kind that seems determined to drown the entire day in gray. It drums against the roof, streaks down the windows in long uneven trails, and turns the street outside into a blurred reflection of headlights and puddles.
By the time morning rolled around, the sky had already settled into that deep slate color that promised the rain wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
You’d gotten the kids ready for school anyway.
Katya had been practically vibrating with excitement, even while pulling on her little rain boots. Her ballet recital had been all she talked about for the past week, bouncing around the kitchen in her socks while explaining—again—how she was definitely the best twirler in her class.
Elliot had been quieter. He always was in the mornings.
Still half-asleep while he clung to your side, his small hand gripping the sleeve of your jacket as you walked them both across the parking lot toward the school entrance. The rain had soaked the edges of your coat before you even made it through the doors.
Katya ran ahead toward the elementary classrooms. Elliot stuck to your leg. As always.
The preschool wing sat just off the main building, bright with colorful posters and tiny cubbies that held miniature backpacks and rain boots. Elliot had reluctantly let go of your hand once his teacher knelt down to greet him, though he still glanced back at you twice before disappearing inside with the other kids.
That had been this morning. Now the rain hasn’t let up once. You glance out the window again as you grab your keys from the counter. Still pouring.
The recital isn’t until an hour after school ends, but the school had sent a message earlier offering to keep the participating kids—and their siblings—inside the building during that time so parents wouldn’t have to drive back and forth in the storm.
Which meant you could head there a little early. And you absolutely planned to. Katya had talked about wanting you in the front row for weeks. You slip your jacket on, grabbing your bag as you head out the door.
The rain hits immediately.
Cold droplets splatter across your shoulders as you hurry across the driveway and climb into the driver’s seat, shaking water from your sleeves before sliding the key into the ignition.
You twist it. Nothing happens. The engine doesn’t even attempt to turn over. You frown slightly and try again. The key turns. Silence. Not even the faintest click.
“…Seriously?”
You try once more.
Still nothing.
The windshield wipers squeak faintly as the rain continues pouring down outside, the steady rhythm almost mocking the situation.
You grab your phone, already pulling up the nearest garage. Every single one is closed. The weather had apparently shut down half the local businesses for the day. You lean back in the seat, staring at the useless dashboard. The recital starts in less than an hour. Your fingers hover over your phone for a moment. Then you sigh. There’s really only one option.
You tap Natasha’s name. The phone rings twice before she answers.
“Hey.”
Her voice is calm. You rub your forehead lightly.
“My car won’t start.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end.
“…Okay.”
“I need a ride to the school.”
Another small pause. Then—
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The call ends.
You exhale slowly and lean your head back against the seat while the rain continues drumming against the roof.
Ten minutes later, headlights cut through the gray haze of rain outside your driveway. Natasha’s car pulls up.
You grab your bag and hurry across the wet pavement, climbing into the passenger seat as the door shuts with a dull thud.
“Thanks,” you say, brushing rain from your jacket. Natasha nods once.
“No problem.”
The car pulls away from the curb, windshield wipers sweeping steadily across the glass as you merge onto the rain-soaked street.
The drive to the school is mostly quiet at first.
Then the conversation begins filling the space the way it always does these days—casual, neutral topics that circle comfortably around anything deeper.
“How are the kids doing in school?” Natasha asks.
“Katya’s teacher says she’s doing great in reading,” you reply. “Apparently she keeps trying to read books to the other kids.”
Natasha smiles faintly.
“That sounds like her.”
You nod.
“Elliot’s still shy in class.”
“Yeah?”
“He mostly just sits near the teacher.”
Natasha glances at you briefly.
“…Still glued to you at home?”
You snort softly.
“Like a barnacle.”
The conversation drifts from there. Your promotion at work comes up next. Natasha listens quietly while you explain the new responsibilities, nodding occasionally while keeping her eyes on the road.
It’s simple conversation. Easy. The kind of neutral ground the two of you have learned to exist on since the divorce. By the time you reach the school parking lot, the rain has only gotten heavier. But you’re early. Very early.
You check the time as you step out of the car. Forty minutes before the recital. Perfect.
Inside, the gymnasium lights glow brightly against the gray afternoon outside. Rows of folding chairs have already been set up facing the small stage area where a curtain hangs loosely across the back wall.
Only a few parents have arrived so far. Natasha steps in behind you. And almost immediately looks… uncomfortable. You glance sideways at her. She stands near the entrance for a moment like she’s unsure what to do with herself.
For someone who can handle international assassins and covert missions without blinking— Apparently arriving early to a children’s recital is far more intimidating.
You can’t help the quiet smile that slips onto your face. “Come on,” you say.
You walk toward the front row. Three seats sit open directly in the center. You claim them immediately.
One on the left. One on the right. And the middle seat left open.
“For Elliot,” you explain casually.
Natasha nods.
She sits down beside you, though she still looks faintly out of place surrounded by folding chairs and colorful decorations taped to the walls.
The room slowly begins filling with parents. Soft chatter echoes through the gym as more people arrive, umbrellas dripping near the entrance.
Eventually, a side door opens. A group of children spills into the room. Katya and Elliot among them. Both kids immediately spot you. And Natasha. They stop dead in their tracks. Their little faces freeze with identical expressions of shock.
Natasha is early.
For a moment, both kids just stand there with their arms hovering awkwardly in the air like they don’t quite know how to process this unexpected development.
Then Elliot runs first. Straight toward you. He climbs into the empty seat between you and Natasha before immediately leaning his head against your shoulder. One of his hands reaches for yours. The other grabs Natasha’s.
Katya hurries over next, her ballet bag clutched tightly against her chest.
“You’re both here!” she says breathlessly.
Natasha smiles softly.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Katya beams—
Then quickly remembers something important.
“Oh!” she gasps. “I gotta go backstage!”
And just like that, she spins around and runs back toward the stage area with the other dancers.
Elliot stays exactly where he is. Curled between the two of you. His small fingers wrapped around both of your hands.
The gym lights dim slightly. Soft music begins playing through the speakers. And the recital finally starts.
The recital lasts a little over an hour.
Which is honestly impressive considering the performers are a group of six-year-olds whose understanding of ballet seems to exist somewhere between enthusiastic spinning and aggressively enthusiastic hopping.
The stage lights glow warmly against the small wooden platform while the soft instrumental music plays through slightly crackling speakers. One by one, small groups of children shuffle onto the stage in pastel tutus and slightly crooked ballet slippers.
The performance is… chaotic.
Adorable.
But chaotic.
Half the kids are clearly trying very hard to remember the routine they practiced. The other half appear to have decided that improvisation is just as valid as choreography.
At one point a girl spins in the wrong direction and bumps into another dancer.
Someone else forgets an entire section and simply stands there smiling proudly until the next move starts.
Katya, however—
Katya throws herself into the performance like her life depends on it.
From the moment she steps onto the stage, she’s moving with fierce concentration, her little arms stretching dramatically into the air as she attempts a turn that ends slightly off balance but quickly recovers into something that almost looks intentional.
You clap after every routine.
Elliot does too.
Mostly because everyone else is.
But occasionally he glances up at you with wide eyes as if checking whether the clapping is still required.
Natasha sits quietly beside you the entire time.
But you notice the way her attention never leaves the stage when Katya is dancing.
When the recital finally ends, the entire room erupts into applause that echoes loudly through the small gymnasium. The kids flood off the stage moments later, running straight toward their families with flushed faces and excited chatter.
Katya finds you instantly.
“I did so good!” she declares proudly.
“You were amazing,” you tell her honestly.
Natasha nods beside you.
“Very impressive.”
Katya beams like she’s just been personally awarded an Olympic medal.
Elliot clings to your hand as the four of you eventually make your way back outside into the still-pouring rain.
The drive home is loud.
The kids talk almost nonstop.
Katya launches into a detailed explanation of every single move she performed, occasionally demonstrating from her seat in the back despite the limited space.
“I did the spin like this!” she insists, twisting her arms dramatically.
Elliot contributes occasional commentary between attempts to wiggle out of his car seat so he can climb into your lap instead.
“Eli, sit back,” you say for what must be the fifth time.
“No,” he replies stubbornly, halfway through another escape attempt.
Natasha chuckles quietly from the driver’s seat.
The windshield wipers sweep steadily across the glass as the rain continues pouring down outside.
Eventually the car pulls into your driveway.
Natasha parks.
And immediately—
“Mommy!” Katya blurts from the back seat.
You glance over your shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Can Mama come inside for dinner?”
You blink.
“…What?”
Katya leans forward eagerly.
“Pleeeease?”
Elliot finally manages to squirm halfway out of his seatbelt and immediately starts climbing toward you from the back.
“Yes,” he adds helpfully.
You sigh.
You gaze flicks briefly toward Natasha.
She looks just as surprised as you feel.
“…Only if it’s okay,” she says quietly.
The kids are both staring at you now with identical hopeful expressions.
You rub your forehead lightly.
“…Fine.”
Two small cheers erupt from the back seat.
Natasha glances at you again.
“…Thanks.”
You shrug faintly.
The four of you step out of the car and hurry through the rain toward the front door.
Inside, the house immediately fills with the familiar sounds of the kids talking over each other.
Katya drops her ballet bag near the door before launching into another enthusiastic retelling of the recital.
“I’m gonna be the best ballet dancer ever,” she announces confidently while kicking off her shoes.
“Ever?”
“Yep.”
Elliot bunny-hop walks beside you down the hallway, bouncing awkwardly with every step like he’s forgotten how normal walking works.
Natasha lingers slightly behind the three of you.
Her eyes move slowly around the house. The living room. The kitchen. The family photos along the hallway wall.
She’s been inside this house maybe three times total.
Katya’s birthday last week.
And once about a year ago when Elliot accidentally left his favorite plush rabbit behind after a custody switch — Even then she never stepped further than the hallway while you grabbed it.
Now she’s standing fully inside your home. Your space.
The kids settle onto the couch almost immediately, pulling out toys and beginning some elaborate game that involves plastic dinosaurs and a toy train.
Natasha hovers awkwardly near the kitchen entrance.
You notice her glancing between the kids and the counter where you’ve started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
She clearly can’t decide what she’s supposed to do.
Join the kids?
Help you?
Eventually she chooses the second option. She steps quietly into the kitchen.
“Need help?”
You glance at her briefly.
“…Sure.”
Dinner is simple.
Pasta. Tomato sauce. Garlic bread.
The kind of meal that’s easy enough to make without much effort after a long day.
Natasha tries to help.
Tries being the key word.
She stands beside you at the counter, attempting to stir the sauce while occasionally getting in the way of whatever you’re reaching for.
Which suddenly explains a lot about Katya’s helpful tendencies.
At one point the sauce bubbles too aggressively and splashes up onto Natasha’s shirt.
She jerks back slightly.
You snort.
She looks down at the red stain spreading across the fabric.
“…Great.”
You grab a towel and hand it to her, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
She huffs quietly but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
For a moment, the kitchen feels… strangely light. Comfortable, even.
You move toward the oven just as Natasha steps sideways to grab a plate.
Your shoulders bump.
The movement throws both of you slightly off balance.
Natasha’s hands immediately grab your waist to steady you.
Your breath catches slightly. Her hands stay there for a second longer than necessary.
Your faces are suddenly very close.
For a moment—
It’s impossible to tell who’s leaning in. Maybe both of you. Maybe neither. But just as the space between you begins to shrink—
BEEP.
The oven timer blares loudly through the kitchen.
Both of you jump slightly.
“…Garlic bread,” you mutter.
Natasha steps back.
The moment evaporates instantly.
You pull the tray from the oven while Natasha clears her throat quietly.
Together you start plating the food. Then you pause when you reach Elliot’s bowl.
“Oh,” you say, grabbing a small sieve from the drawer.
Natasha watches curiously.
“What are you doing?”
You hold the strainer over Elliot’s bowl as you pour the sauce through it, catching the small chunks of tomato and herbs.
“He doesn’t like the bits.”
Natasha blinks.
“…The bits?”
“Yep.”
You slide the smooth sauce toward Elliot’s plate.
“And it has to go in a separate bowl so it doesn’t touch anything he didn’t approve.”
Natasha stares at the carefully separated pasta components.
“…He’s four.”
You shrug.
“He’s particular.”
Dinner eventually gets carried to the table. Katya talks almost nonstop while eating. Elliot carefully dips each piece of pasta into his perfectly filtered sauce.
You sit across from Natasha.
For a while, the conversation stays focused on the kids.
School. Friends. Katya’s ballet class. Normal things.
And somewhere during the meal, Natasha realizes something. This—
This feels normal.
Sitting at the dinner table. The kids talking. Plates clinking softly. Rain still falling outside the windows.
It feels so perfectly normal that it almost hurts. Like this could have been their life every single night. Before she even fully processes the thought, her hand moves under the table.
Her fingers reach carefully across the small space and wrap gently around yours. For a split second she braces herself. Expecting you to pull away.
But you don’t.
Your hand stays there. Warm in hers. And Natasha’s chest tightens quietly as she keeps holding it.
After dinner, Katya had been the one to decide the next plan.
“We should watch a movie,” she had announced with the confidence of someone who knew her decision would absolutely not be challenged.
So that’s how you all ended up on the couch.
The big grey blanket that usually stayed folded over the armrest had been dragged out and thrown across everyone, turning the couch into one big warm pile of limbs and fabric.
Elliot had climbed directly into your lap the second the opening credits began. He curled against you like a little koala, his warm weight settling comfortably as he leaned back against your chest.
Across from you, Katya had claimed Natasha’s lap without hesitation, her legs tucked under the blanket while she leaned comfortably into her mother’s side.
A large bowl of popcorn sat between you and Natasha on the couch cushion. It had started full. It definitely wasn’t anymore.
Natasha’s arm rested along the back of the couch. Behind your shoulders. Like it had always belonged there. Like it hadn’t been missing for years.
At some point during the movie, without really thinking about it, you found yourself leaning slightly into her side.
The movement was small.
Subtle.
But Natasha noticed.
Her arm shifted just enough for her hand to settle more firmly against your shoulder, fingers resting there lightly like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
The blanket stayed draped over all four of you, trapping warmth beneath it while the movie played on.
Elliot’s small hand kept sneaking into the popcorn bowl.
Katya occasionally whispered comments about the movie to Natasha, who responded quietly back.
Somewhere around halfway through the film, Elliot’s movements slowed.
His little fingers stopped reaching for popcorn.
His head tipped back slightly against your chest.
By the time the final scene played, he was completely asleep in your lap.
Katya lasted a little longer.
But even she was starting to blink slower by the time the credits rolled.
“Is it over?” she murmured sleepily.
“Yeah, bug,” you said gently.
Elliot groaned dramatically in his sleep as you shifted slightly.
“Noooo,” he mumbled.
Natasha let out a quiet laugh under her breath.
“Bedtime,” she said.
Both kids protested immediately. Which was expected. Still, it didn’t take long before the routine started.
You lifted Elliot carefully from your lap, his arms automatically wrapping around your neck even while half asleep. Natasha followed behind you down the hallway as you carried him toward the bathroom.
The light flicked on, making Elliot squint.
“Alright, champ,” you murmured, setting him on the little stool by the sink. “Teeth.”
He groaned like brushing his teeth was the most exhausting task known to mankind.
Natasha leaned against the doorway, watching the two of you with quiet amusement.
You squeezed toothpaste onto his tiny dinosaur toothbrush and handed it to him.
He brushed with exaggerated seriousness, foam building around the corners of his mouth as he scrubbed his teeth.
“Top teeth too,” you reminded.
“I am,” he mumbled through the toothpaste.
Natasha snorted softly.
Once he finished, you helped him rinse and wipe his face before guiding him back to his room.
His dinosaur underwear came off next.
“Hey,” Elliot protested sleepily.
“Nighttime pull-up,” you reminded gently.
“I don’t need it.”
“You say that now,” Natasha said from behind you, her voice calm but teasing.
Elliot huffed but didn’t argue any further.
You helped him step into the pull-up before pulling on a clean pair of pajamas—this time the blue ones covered in tiny rockets.
Then you lifted him into his small toddler bed.
He immediately reached for his stuffed triceratops.
Natasha stepped closer while you pulled the blanket up around him.
You grabbed the little picture book resting on his nightstand and opened it.
Without discussion, the two of you settled into the familiar positions beside the bed.
You read.
Natasha occasionally pointed to the pictures while Elliot followed along with heavy eyelids.
By the last page, he was already asleep.
You quietly closed the book.
“Night, buddy.”
A sleepy mumble was the only response.
You both slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open.
Katya was already in the bathroom brushing her teeth when you reached the hallway again.
Unlike her brother, she handled bedtime like a professional.
She rinsed the sink when she finished and hopped down from the stool.
“Pajamas?” she asked.
Natasha grabbed the pair waiting neatly on Katya’s bed.
The routine repeated again.
Minus the pull-up this time.
Katya changed quickly before climbing into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
You reached for her storybook.
Natasha sat beside her, gently tucking a loose strand of Katya’s hair behind her ear.
The story was shorter.
Quieter.
Katya’s eyes stayed open a little longer, but they were already drooping by the final page.
You leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Goodnight, Kat.”
She smiled sleepily.
“That was the best recital ever.”
Natasha kissed her forehead next.
“Night, детка.”
Katya curled deeper into her blankets. Within minutes, she was asleep too. You quietly turned off the light. Then stepped back into the hallway with Natasha. For a moment, neither of you moved.
The house had gone still now.
Just the two of you standing there in the dim hallway, the soft quiet of the night settling around you.
Natasha lingered by the front door longer than necessary.
Her coat was already on. Her car keys sat loosely in her hand. One more step and she’d be outside, walking back to her car, driving back to the quiet apartment that never really felt like home.
The house behind her was dim and warm. The hallway light glowed softly. Somewhere upstairs, the faint creak of the floorboards settled as the house cooled for the night.
She glanced back once toward the living room.
Toward you.
You were standing near the couch, arms loosely folded, watching her the same way she was watching you.
Something in your chest tightened.
“Nat?”
She paused mid-step.
Her hand stopped on the doorknob as she turned back toward you.
You hesitated.
The words hovered there for a moment, like if you said them out loud they might change something.
“Do you… want to stay a little longer?”
For a split second, Natasha looked almost stunned. Then something softer slipped across her face. Relief. Actual relief.
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
You nodded once and stepped away from the doorway.
“I’ll make tea.”
A few minutes later the two of you were back on the couch. Just the two of you this time. No blanket fort. No kids wedged between you. Just quiet.
Two mugs of tea steamed gently in your hands, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the living room.
For a while the conversation stayed simple.
Easy.
You talked about Katya’s recital again.
Natasha admitted she nearly laughed out loud when three of the girls spun the wrong direction during one of the routines.
You told her Elliot had been practicing a “ballet jump” in the kitchen earlier that morning and nearly knocked over a chair.
Natasha laughed softly into her mug.
“Sounds about right.”
The conversation moved easily after that.
School updates.
Daycare antics.
Time slipped by without either of you noticing.
The tea went cold. And eventually…
The moment from the kitchen came back.
Neither of you said it at first. But it lingered between you anyway. Natasha was the one who finally broke the silence.
“Earlier,” she said quietly.
Your eyes lifted to hers.
“In the kitchen.”
You didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “…Yeah.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “I almost kissed you.” There it was. Just… said. Plain and honest. Your breath left slowly. “I noticed.”
Natasha huffed out a quiet laugh. “Good to know I’m not subtle.”
There was a pause. You stared down into your mug. “I wanted you to.”
Natasha froze. “What?”
“I wanted you to kiss me.”
The words came out quieter than you expected. But once they were out there, they stayed.
Natasha stared at you for a long moment, like she was trying to process that information. Then she leaned back against the couch slightly. “I never stopped loving you.”
The confession came out so calmly it almost didn’t register at first. Your chest tightened. Her eyes stayed on you.
“That stupid kiss… all those years ago,” she continued quietly. “That was the biggest mistake of my life.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug. “I threw everything away because I was careless. Because I thought I had time to fix it.”
You didn’t interrupt. Natasha looked around the living room slowly. Your house. The photos on the wall. The toys half tucked under the coffee table.
“I sat here tonight,” she murmured, “watching a movie with you and the kids… eating dinner at that table…” Her voice softened. “And it felt normal.” She looked back at you. “Too normal.”
Your throat tightened slightly. Natasha exhaled slowly. “I realized something tonight.”
“What?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “The only thing I’ve ever really wanted…” A small pause. “…was you.”
The room felt very quiet.
“I was an idiot for letting you walk away.”
You swallowed slowly. Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then Natasha shifted slightly toward you.
“Is there…” she hesitated for the first time all night. “Any chance we could try again?”
Your heart gave a quiet, complicated pull. You didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. Natasha nodded slightly, like she expected that.
“You hurt me,” you continued honestly. “Not just with the cheating.” Her shoulders stiffened slightly.
“The late nights. The missions. Showing up late to everything.” Your voice stayed calm, but firm. “I don’t want to be the one sitting at home every night wondering if you’ll show up again.”
Natasha leaned forward immediately. “I will.” You raised an eyebrow.
“I mean it,” she insisted. Her voice was steady. Serious.
“I’ll cut back on missions. I’ll change assignments. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She pressed a hand to her chest lightly. “I swear.” Her eyes locked onto yours. “Just give me a chance to prove it.”
The silence stretched between you. You studied her face. The determination there. The vulnerability. Finally, you exhaled slowly. “…Maybe.”
Natasha blinked. “Maybe?”
“I’m not promising anything yet,” you clarified. “But…” You hesitated. “…we can try.”
The smile that spread across Natasha’s face was small, but real. “Thank you.”
You stood up slowly. “Well…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “It’s pretty late.”
Natasha nodded and stood as well. “I should probably head—”
“You could stay.” The words slipped out before you overthought them. Natasha blinked again.
“You can take the couch,” you added quickly. Then after a second— “…or the bed.”
Her brain clearly short-circuited for a moment. “The bed,” she blurted out immediately. You both froze. Natasha stared at the floor.
“…I meant—”
You laughed softly. “It’s fine.”
A few minutes later you were both upstairs.
Natasha borrowed a pair of your old pajamas—slightly loose on her but comfortable enough.
The normal nighttime routine followed. Teeth brushed. Lights dimmed. Quiet footsteps across the hallway. Then finally into bed. The mattress dipped slightly as Natasha climbed in beside you. For a moment both of you just lay there. Unsure. Then instinct took over. You shifted closer. Natasha’s arm wrapped gently around you, pulling you against her chest like it was the most natural movement in the world. You tucked into her side easily. The familiar warmth of her arms around you felt almost unreal. Natasha’s hand rested softly against your back. Her thumb tracing slow circles.
After a moment she tilted her head slightly.
And pressed the softest kiss to your lips. Just one. Warm. Gentle.
Full of years worth of things left unsaid.
When she pulled back, your forehead rested against hers. Neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to. Wrapped in each other’s arms, the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep together.
Morning crept into the room slowly.
Soft grey light filtered through the curtains, the kind that came before the sun had properly decided to show itself. The house was quiet in that fragile early-morning way, where everything still felt sleepy and calm.
Natasha woke first. For a moment she didn’t move. Her arm was still wrapped around you, your back pressed warm against her chest, your hair slightly tangled across the pillow between you both. The steady rhythm of your breathing brushed softly against her collarbone.
It took her a second to remember where she was. Then the memories from the night before settled back into place. The recital. Dinner. The movie. The conversation. And finally… falling asleep with you in her arms for the first time in years. A small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at her lips. She shifted just slightly, careful not to wake you.
That lasted about ten seconds. Because suddenly—
THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Small feet sprinting down the hallway. The bedroom door flew open without ceremony.
“Mommy!”
Katya launched herself onto the bed like a tiny missile, bouncing hard on the mattress as she scrambled toward you. Elliot followed seconds later, a little more clumsy but equally determined, climbing up the side of the bed with sleepy determination. Natasha barely had time to react before both kids piled on top of you. You woke with a startled laugh. “Okay—okay—gentle—”
Katya immediately wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. Elliot flopped across your stomach, half laying on you while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then Katya noticed. She froze mid-sentence. Her gaze slowly slid past you. And landed on Natasha. Her eyes widened. “…Mama?”
Natasha lifted a hand in a small wave from behind you. “Morning, котёнок.”
Katya looked between the two of you rapidly. Then back at Natasha. Then back at you. Her brain was clearly trying to piece together a very big conclusion. Elliot blinked sleepily at Natasha too, clearly still processing the unexpected presence.
Then Katya suddenly gasped. “WAIT.” She scrambled forward on the bed, practically vibrating with excitement. “Does this mean you’re gonna get married again?!”
The question burst out of her with all the dramatic urgency only a six-year-old could manage.
Natasha blinked. Then she let out a quiet laugh. You groaned softly and covered your face with one hand. “Katya—”
Natasha’s arm tightened slightly around you from behind as she chuckled. “Well…” she said lightly. Her eyes flicked to you for half a second before returning to Katya. “We’ll see.”
Katya grinned like she had just personally solved world peace. Elliot, still laying across your stomach, simply reached over and grabbed Natasha’s hand with one of his small ones and your hand with the other. Completely content. And for the first time in a long time— Everything felt like it might actually work out.
✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧
Masterlist
A/N: so… it’s been a while since I last posted, but I’ve been working on this absolute monster of a fic. I think it’s my longest one I’ve ever written, my last longest one I think was 8k? But I don’t really write a lot of long stories because I prefer to have a bunch of little ones over one big one. and my phone is literally glitching as I type out this message right now. I think that’s because of this story. So, that’s amazing. Anyway, as always I hope you all enjoyed reading this! 🤍