Uchitel Popova collects her from dinner and says someone is waiting for her in the visiting room. She didn't even know they had a visiting room, but she doesn't ask questions because she's learned better.
They turn left at the bottom of the main stairs and the door they go through is one she's seen before, but it's never open.
A man paces across the other side of the room, and as Uchitel Popova pushes her inside, he checks his watch. He is wearing a suit and his tie is blue. Natasha stands in the shadow of the doorway and surveys the room, from the heavy curtains on the windows to the wall paper peeling in the far right corner. The chandelier is too nice and the carpet smells like it's been cleaned recently, but not too recently. She catches a glimpse of his face when he turns and it looks familiar, but she doesn't know why.
He sees her then, when she takes another step into the room. He pulls his hat down slowly, a look of bewilderment and excitement crossing his face. She fights the urge to back away when he moves closer and kneels in front of her.
"Natalya," he says, fingering one of her curls. "Oh, god; it is you."
There's something wrong with his Russian, but she stays silent because instinct says she's supposed to. He's putting emphasis on the wrong syllables, she thinks.
"Your mama and I have been so worried. We've been trying to find you for years."
His hands are scarred and calloused and she notices a slight shake in his arm. His eyes look like hers, she thinks, and she watches him closely as he blinks, and- there it is, the slightest shift of a contact lens. He smells like hair dye, a scent she know because of what they did to Alla last month to make her hair brighter. His hair is red now, but so is a line of skin under his side burn.
She's ignoring his blabbing about how her mama is and how they found her, but she refocuses when he pauses, knowing that this is her chance.
"Do you remember me, Natashenka?"
"Of course I do, Papa!" She smiles the biggest smile and she thinks she can hear Director Morozov sighing from wherever he is hiding, because he's hiding somewhere and watching.
Natasha throws her arm around the man's neck and hugs him as tight as she can, and he hugs her back.
"I've missed you so much, Papa. Can I tell you a secret?" she whispers in his ear.
"Always, Natashenka. You can tell me anything."
She slips the dinner knife out from under her sleeve, since she didn't know what the visiting room was, and stabs it through the back of his neck.
"I don't have a Papa," she says, letting him fall to the ground.
The blood that sprayed on her clothing is spreading, but not as much as the pool on the floor. She can see now that his wrists are raw and red and the more she takes it apart, the more American the man sounds.
He was a prisoner, she's sure.
When the man has stopped making disgusting noises and is definitely dead, Uchitel Popova comes back into the room.
"Very good, Natalya," she says and behind her, in the hallway, Director Morozov is nodding his head in approval.
Natasha stays silent, but she's happy on the inside because she's made them happy.
They give her a new uniform set that's a little big but doesn't have any holes at all and she watches them burn the one that is soaked in the prisoner's blood.
Uchitel Popova gives her a slice of bread that's not hard and stale.