Diane's POV
The sound of Natasha's sobs echoed in my ears as I watched her retreating figure disappear between the trees. My legs felt like lead, but something deep inside me—maybe it was the mother's instinct already growing within me, or perhaps just the desperate need for truth—propelled me forward. I had to know. I had to hear it from her own lips.
I found her behind an abandoned maintenance truck near the edge of the park, crumpled against the rusted metal like a broken doll. The sight of her stopped me in my tracks. She was hitting herself, her small fists pounding against her thighs as she sobbed.
"You're useless, Natasha," she was saying to herself, her voice raw and broken. "You hurt and destroy everything around you. You're trash... you're nothing but trash."
