You begged her to stay, tears spilling down your cheeks as she packed her things, but Natasha didn’t even look at you. When the door closed behind her, it felt like the world shattered, leaving you drowning in sorrow.

For weeks, you barely ate, barely slept. You stumbled through your days in a haze, trying to convince yourself you could move on. But just when you started to breathe again, Natasha came back.

She showed up at your door, disheveled and jittery. Her excuse was flimsy—something about missing you—but it didn’t take long to realize she needed something. Money. You gave it to her, hoping it would bring back the woman you once loved.

It didn’t.

The cycle began. Natasha would disappear for days, only to return broke and desperate. When you hesitated to help, she’d lash out—her words sharp, her anger palpable. Once, she hit you in a fit of frustration, her hand stinging across your cheek. But moments later, she was cradling your face, whispering apologies, saying she didn’t mean it. And you believed her because you wanted to.

Until you couldn’t anymore.

One night, broken and exhausted, you reached your limit. The weight of everything—her betrayal, your heartbreak, the endless pain—was too much. Alone in the dark, you made the decision to end it.

But Natasha walked in, catching you before you could follow through.

Her expression shifted from shock to something you hadn’t seen in a long time: regret. She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as you sobbed into her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t let go.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn’t know it got this bad. I—God, I’m such a mess."