"You don't care, do you? I'm sobbing, for not the first time that week. "You don't care that he died. But I do. He was my only son."
Peeta reaches out his arm, to comfort me, but I do not want his solace.
"Leave me alone," I wail, "I've just lost my child. I want to be alone!"
"Katniss. Katniss, look at me." His tone is the same, gentle and calm as always, yet when I meet his gaze, I see that his watery blue eyes are unusually stern. "He was mine, too. Do you understand? I know that you're in pain, but so am I. Losing him affected me. You're not the only one going through this, Katniss. I want you to know that."
I look at him for a moment longer, before realizing that I can not stay mad at this man. I let myself stumble towards him, and he catches me as I fall. We stand there, holding each other, still besides the shaking of my shoulders, silent besides our quiet sobs.
"I love you," I finally murmur, my voice muffled by his shoulder.
"I know," he whispers back, tenderly stroking my hair. I smile, and I feel him do the same. We stay there for a few more seconds, then he wraps me tighter in his arms, and brings me upstairs, letting me roll ont0 the bed. I close my eyes as he pulls over the covers and tucks me in.
"Go to sleep. You're tired."
I am. I didn't realize it until he said it, but I am. "Peeta?"
"Yes, Katniss?" He pauses at the door.
"Don't go."
He smiles again, and comes back to snuggle in with me. A strong, solid, arm rests itself on my waist, and I remember why it was that I got married to him. Thinking back to our wedding day, when he looked so grown up and handsome, dressed in a green tie and a wide smile. I remember teasing him about the color of his shoes, how they didn't match. I remember him laughing good-naturedly at me tripping over my long dress. How sweet those times were, when nothing existed but him and me. When sunsets were golden, and days were never ending, and filled with joy. Those moments are hard to find now, but sometimes, I find myself able to steal one or two. I fall asleep with a smile on my face, and reminiscing over better days.
The next morning, I wake up with a foul taste in my mouth and a cold mattress next to me. "Peeta?" There's no reply. "Peeta?" I say louder, sure that he'll answer. "Peeta, where are you?"
The house is eerily silent, not a movement from anywhere. Where is Peeta? Suddenly, a current of dread runs through me. What if...no, that was absurd. I shake that thought off, having no clue where it came from. For I had just seen Peeta taking my first child away, perhaps into the woods, to murder her.
But he didn't, of course. He came back an hour or so later, drunk, with a few men. I thought I recognized them, but didn't press it. But still, I was worried. Peeta had never really had alcohol before, much less gotten drunk. And as for those men…
"Hey, Kabnifs," Peeta's words slur together, "M-meeeee aanndd ffriendssss hherre ffor ddinnner. Theyy'lll besssttayingg a—a whhiiillleeeee."
I frown. "Peeta, honey, are you okay?" He's never been like this, dirty and drunk and undignified. It must be his son. Our son.
"Where's Willow?" I just to check that she actually is okay.
He murmurs something unintelligible, then wanders off with his friends, leaving me standing stunned in the living room. What had gotten into him?
Sighing, I went into the kitchen to prepare a big meal for ten men and me and Willow. Speaking of Willow...it's a weekend. She's not at school. I abandon the meal I need to make, and hurry upstairs to check her room. I fling the door open, out of breath. She looks at me, startled. "What's wrong, mom?"
"Nothing." I'm relieved.
"Okay, then," Willow replies, "I'm sleeping in. It's a weekend."