black widow movie | dear violette romanoff,

chapter fifteen | family reunion

My shoulders slump, and I roll my head back in exhaustion. The evening drags on like Yelena's endless complaints do.

She is muttering something in Russian, but I am too focused on how I am too exhausted to deal with how lonely and contemplative I am going to feel when I see Melina.

How does one even describe this feeling? Just the overall thought of looking at a woman who was once the person I viewed as a mother leaves me sick to my stomach. It's the feeling of heat when it's freezing. Uncomfortable but necessary. Uncomfortable because it was the situation and place that it was, but necessary because I would not fail myself and the women being controlled by a man with no morals or mercy.

When I look back up, past the trees, there is a small, homey cottage. The entire property is surrounded by a wired fence. There is an empty pen for pigs and a large garden with a wooden table. On the right side of the property is a greenhouse.

"Is that it?" I ask, underwhelmed.

Alexei nods.

"Were you expecting a castle?" Yelena asks. She's just happy someone other than her is speaking, and that she can engage in conversation.

"I was expecting a little more than a cottage," I tell her.

I wasn't expecting a fortress, but I must admit, it wasn't exactly something one would view as a house for an ex-assassin.

I walk faster and closer toward the greenhouse. It wasn't thrilling to see Melina, but I was just excited to be somewhere inside with a heater, and hopefully a place to sit that wasn't the side of a dirt path.

A woman approaches the fence. It honestly takes me a moment to realize it's the woman I spent most nights of my childhood dreaming about. Melina looks shocking.

Not shocking in a bad way, but incredibly different. She's holding a rifle. Her long, dark hair is in a braided bun at the lower back of her head, and her eyes are much sadder and browner. Her skin seems paler, or perhaps that's because she's wearing no makeup, and she's got on a dark blue boilersuit with muddy shoes.

She exhales. She knows that it's us.

I wonder why I don't feel one prominent emotion, and part of me thinks that it's the coldness of Russia numbing me.

"Honey, we're home," Alexei laughs loudly. "Come on, girls."

Melina doesn't say anything at all; which is slightly concerning. She starts walking toward the cottage, turning behind her a couple of times to make sure that we're following.

Melina opens the door and lets us in, going to put away her rifle. "Welcome to my humble abode," she says. "Make yourself at home."

Internally, I'm ecstatic that her voice is the same. The reality meets the fantasy, as it's the only thing that I can vividly remember about her.

When we walk in, the first room is in front of us. It's a dining and living space with big, open windows and airy, see-through curtains that blow with every gust of wind. There is a big dining table to seat six people.

Nat follows Melina into the kitchen, and Yelena and I sit down in the dining room. The experience was slightly surreal. It felt too much like Ohio, but two decades later.

"I don't think I can do this," Yelena mutters.

I have been too caught up in my own head to take notice of how uneasy Yelena looks.

"You're so pale," I comment.

She glares at me. "Yeah. That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Sorry."