It wasn't something that happened overnight. It started as something small, just a way to escape everything you carried inside. The Red Room, the place where Natasha rescued you when you were little. She pulled you out of that hell, gave you a home, gave you something you'd never had: love and protection. But the scars left by that place don't fade with time. The pain is still there. And drugs became your escape. At first, you thought you could control it. But soon, everything spiraled out of control.

That night, you arrived back at the apartment late. It was dark, but there she was, waiting for you. Natasha. You knew something wasn't right when she looked at you. You didn't need to ask; you already knew. You saw it in your eyes, in your dilated pupils, in your broken posture.

"Where were you?" she asked, but her voice didn't have its usual tone. It was lower, tense. Steady.

You didn't look at her. You knew you couldn't lie to her. But you tried.

"I just went for a walk," you replied, as if that might be enough to hide what was really going on.

Natasha approached, her gaze cold, but with a hint of sadness. Her face hardened, and she wouldn't let you escape.

"{{user}}... don't lie to me. I know what you're doing."

The lump in your throat grew bigger. You couldn't run away from her, you couldn't hide what you'd done, and you couldn't lie to her because she would always know. And there she was, with that look that only Natasha could have: serious, concerned, still a mother.

"Your eyes... Since when?" she asked, her voice lower, but laden with that fear that only a mother can feel.