The little family walks along the dusty path in silence, three where there should have been four. The shadow of the one they have lost lingers, a presence they don't mention, an absence they feel only too keenly.

They reach the grave, the only evidence that she is remembered. The only evidence that she is loved, that she is a part of their lives even now, years later.

They lay flowers on the headstone, six burgundy roses. The even number symbolizing the finality of life, burgundy roses for the tragic death of one stolen from their lives far too soon.

They stand around the grave, silent, the only sound the birds chirping, the forest around them full of life even as they mourn death.

They say nothing, because what is there to say? After so many years, there is no agonized disbelief, no hopeless rage, no desperate bargaining. There is only grief, the muted pain of an old wound. Less sharp with the passing of time, yet no less painful.

Melina pours four shots of vodka, and sets the fourth on the grave beside a dusty framed photograph. The youthful faces of her daughters grin back at her, their smiles innocent and carefree, a relic of a happier time.

They drink a shot in unison, the burning of the vodka a reminder that they are still alive, part of the ritual they have established after so many years of visiting an empty grave.

There is no weeping, no desperate cries, only silent tears, a raw grief kept at bay by the acceptance of time.

Yelena touches the headstone, traces the dusty stone with trembling fingers. She whistles softly, the same familiar two notes, even now half expecting a reply.

Melina gently sweeps the dust and debris off of the headstone, expressing her love through acts of service the way she did in Ohio by making lunches and braiding hair. She tidies the gifts and notes left behind by admirers and friends, dusts off the photograph of her children. Evidence that Natasha was loved, that the world has not forgotten her.

Alexei stands in front of the grave holding his shot glass awkwardly in one hand, tears running down his face. Not a man quiet by nature, he is uncharacteristically silent, his shoulders heaving with voiceless sobs.

Melina moves to his side and takes his hand, squeezing it tightly. Yelena joins them, taking Alexei's other hand without saying a word. They stand at Natasha's graveside, a little family united in shared grief.

A bird above them jostles a tree branch, and a ray of sunlight touches the headstone, illuminating the words inscribed in stone.

Natasha Romanoff. Daughter. Sister. Avenger.

There is no body, no physical trace tying her to this place. The name on the headstone isn't even really hers, an Americanized name she chose when joining SHIELD. Наташа Романова is a stranger to everyone but her family, a piece of her past she left behind when becoming Natasha Romanoff.

Her body may not be here, but echoes of her soul linger among the Ohio trees. Here in the woods she loved as a child, a place of many happy memories, she is at peace.

Yelena wraps her arms around Alexei, leaning her head against his chest. He holds her close, feeling her silent tears soak his shirt. Melina sandwiches Yelena in a tight hug between her parents, gently stroking her daughter's hair. Humming softly, she rubs Yelena's back in comforting circles, leans against Alexei's shoulder. This too has become a ritual, the pain of old wounds reopening.

Yelena sniffs and wipes her face on her sleeve. Wordlessly, Melina reaches into her purse and hands her a tissue. Yelena blows her nose noisily, a sound that would have been comical if not for the circumstances. She stuffs the tissue into her pocket and rests her head back on Alexei's chest, blinking rapidly.

"I miss you, poser." She whispers, breaking the silence for the first time. "I'll always miss you."

"Always." Alexei adds, his voice trembling. "Мы любим тебя, Natka."

"Мы никогда не забудем тебя." Melina says quietly, looking at her daughter's smiling face in the photograph.

After so many years, they have lived longer without her than with her. Of the five stages of grief, there is no longer denial, anger, bargaining, or depression, but acceptance. Acceptance that they cannot change it, cannot reverse her death. They have come to terms with the loss, learned how to live without her, something that remains difficult even now. After all these years, the ever-present pain of her death is a shared experience they endure together. They cannot forget her, do not want to forget her. Every summer they find themselves here. They do not discuss it, do not plan it, but every year it is the same.

Melina brings vodka, a bottle of Русский Стандарт, Natasha's favorite kind. Alexei brings four shot glasses, the same ones Natasha gave him as a Новый Год present the year before the Blip. Yelena buys flowers at a local shop, the same place she and Natasha used to frequent every Mother's Day in Ohio, pooling together their allowances to buy Melina a bouquet of irises.

Every year Yelena picks her parents up from Cleveland Hopkins Airport in her truck. They drive to the forest together, Fanny hanging her head out of the window and panting as they ride along the familiar country roads, American Pie on the radio.

They return to Ohio in much the same way that they left all those years ago, driving in silence on a hot summer's day, Yelena humming along to her favorite song.

Every year they let Fanny run ahead and explore the woods, calling her back occasionally with a whistle when she strays too far.

Every summer they find themselves here, in this sunny Ohio forest. Here in the place she loved best, they gather and mourn in a yearly ritual of shared grief and love.

Because here the sun sings.