the next chapter of gymw will be the last one - the epilogue :) hopefully it will come out this week!

...

Towards the end of August, Atlas is three months old and growing every day. He's a big boy, he has rolls on his arms and his thighs, and the most beautiful smile.

This morning, Ada and I are snuggling with him on the couch as Fern sits on the cushion behind our heads. Ada is resting in the crook of my right arm and Atlas is sitting up on my stomach, supported by the couch behind him.

Ada fans her five fingers out and taps her thumb on her chin, all the while making strong eye contact with her brother. "Mama," she says, then points to me. "Mama."

She's been learning all sorts of signs lately, speeding ahead of Peeta and me with a brain that soaks up new information like a sponge. She spends time with Haymitch and he teaches her phrases, and we go over the book from Dr. Aurelius at least twice a day. 'Mama' isn't a new sign, but it is one of her favorites.

The book says that Atlas probably won't start signing himself until he's about six months old, but the more we share with him, the more he'll absorb. When we talk in his vicinity, we sign as much as we can, so he can be included in the conversations, too - even if they're not directed towards him. The book says it's like a hearing baby learns sounds, tones, and gestures from a spoken conversation they're listening to. It's a way to include Atlas in what's going on around him.

None of us are experts yet. We only know a fraction of the words that are included in the sentences we speak to each other, but we do our best.

"Mama," Ada says, signing it again - but this time, she looks at me. "Where's Dadda?" When she references Peeta, she makes the sign for 'father,' which is a lot like 'mother,' but instead of tapping her chin with her thumb, she taps her forehead.

"With Papa Amith," I say, signing the word 'grandpa.' "I think they're doing fiddle practice."

It took a while to get started, but Haymitch kept his word. Back when Ada was very small, Haymitch brought his fiddle over and played a tune, promising that he'd teach Peeta to do the same one day. Their lessons began about six months ago.

As if he's been summoned by his name, Peeta comes through the front door holding his fiddle case. It's not something we normally see him with, as he typically leaves it with Haymitch, so this is a surprise.

"Hi," he says, smiling through the word. He comes around the side of the couch and waves to Atlas, then kisses both of his children on the head. Atlas grins at Peeta, pulling his legs up before losing his balance and toppling over to fall against my chest. Peeta laughs and I do, too, before sitting up to hold both Ada and Atlas at a more comfortable angle.

"Dadda, what's that?" Ada asks, pointing at the case.

"It's my fiddle," he says. "You remember it?"

She shakes her head. She was an infant the last time the sound filled our house; Peeta has refused to play for us since he started learning, claiming he's not yet good enough. But, judging by the look in his eyes, I think that might change today.

He sets the case on his lap and unclasps it, unveiling the beautiful, gleaming instrument that arrived by train months ago.

"You can touch it," Peeta says, encouraging his daughter - signing the word 'touch' by tapping his right middle finger to the top of his left hand.

Ada is gentle as she runs the pads of her fingers over the taut strings of the fiddle, making soft plucking sounds as she investigates and explores the instrument. "It makes sound," she says, tearing her gaze away from the fiddle to look into her father's eyes.

"It's for making music," Peeta says. "And I finally perfected this song-" He signs the word 'song,' "that I've been learning for a while."

"Papa Amith teached you?" Ada asks.

Peeta nods and takes the fiddle out, saying, "Do you want to hear it?"

Ada nods enthusiastically and I do, too. I'm excited to see what Peeta can do with the fiddle, and I'm excited to have music in our house. I don't think it will ever stop reminding me of my father, but the memories are tinted gold and frayed around the edges, like a photograph that's gone soft after being handled frequently. I welcome them now.

"Okay," Peeta says. "But go easy on me."

He starts playing a tune that I recognize, something called 'Sugarfoot Stomp' or something similar. My father used to play this, too - which isn't all that remarkable, because my father played a little bit of everything. But still, the sound of the quick, smooth notes ringing throughout the living room fills me with a sort of nostalgia that I haven't experienced for a while.

Ada enjoys it, too. She gets up from where she'd been perched near my hip and goes to the middle of the floor, then starts twirling in circles while stomping her feet. Her bouncy curls fly as she dances in time with the beat, keeping rhythm when her heels land on the hardwood. As she smiles and laughs, the expression on her face makes her look exactly like her aunt.

Not Delly, but Prim.

Prim used to dance in much of the same manner when our father would play his fiddle. I would, too, but of course I couldn't see myself. Her joy was something I could witness, as her blonde braids flew into the air only to fall and hit her shoulders with every other step. She'd spin around and around just to watch her skirt fly, and eventually collapse onto the floor of our small shack, breathless and happy.

Ada shares Prim's joy right now. Her eyes crinkle at the corners in the same way, and she keeps time perfectly - just like Prim used to. She skips around the low table and laughs, that throaty laugh that I love; the flush of her round cheeks and the warmth in her face reminds me of how home felt when I was a little girl.

Safe. Comfortable. Dependable. Someplace where I knew I was loved.

I continue to watch my daughter, and when she meets my eyes, she waves me over. "Dance with me, Mommy!" she says.

I'm about to stand up and oblige her, but the steady beat of her small feet on the ground stops before I can. I look over to see what's the matter to find Ada frozen in place, gone completely still, with no trace of the smile on her face that had been there moments ago.

"What's wrong, baby?" I ask, a bit confused.

As her eyes dart between me and Peeta, Ada's lower lip begins to tremble. First subtly, then more noticeable as tears stream down her cheeks.

Peeta stops playing when he sees Ada in such a state. "Honeybee, what's wrong?" he says. "Did you hurt yourself?" She doesn't answer. She just stands there and continues to cry, swiping the tears from her face with pudgy, ungraceful hands. Peeta shoots me with a puzzled expression. "Did she fall?" he asks.

I shake my head no, then kneel to her level with Atlas on my hip. "Ada, what's going on?" I say, wiping a few of her tears away with my thumb.

"He can't hear," Ada sobs, making sure to sign the word for 'hear,' by cupping her hand around her ear. "Cricket can't hear Dadda's pretty music."

Upon saying it aloud, she cries harder, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, honey," I say, closing my eyes with feeling. Her empathy roots itself in my chest and twists; she feels things, everything, so deeply - for herself and for others.

I wish I knew what to say so I could fix it, but I can't think of words that fit the situation. She's right; Atlas can't hear the music that Peeta is playing, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy watching the bow move and seeing Ada dance. Still, though, that's not what Ada is saying. She's not concentrated on what Atlas can see. She's concentrated on what he can't hear.

Dr. Aurelius's words have stuck in my mind since the day he spoke them. You have a thriving, healthy baby on your hands. He's developing a little differently than some, but I'd like you to remember that there's nothing wrong with him.

Atlas's hearing loss is not a defect. It doesn't put him at a deficit. It just means that he navigates life differently, and will continue to do so for as long as he lives.

I know Ada doesn't believe there's anything wrong with her brother, but her heart is still allowed to break over the fact that he can't hear the music she enjoys so much. I find myself wishing that he could hear it, too, but that doesn't mean I'd change him - not for anything in the world.

Before I can amalgamate the right words, the words that continue to evade me, Peeta sits on the couch behind where Ada and I are grouped. "Birdie, come here," he says gently.

I don't know what he's going to do, but I oblige him. I get up from the floor and sit beside him on the couch, watching as he tucks the fiddle under his chin with expert ease.

"You too, honeybee," Peeta says, nodding to his daughter. With slow, sad feet, she trudges over and stands in front of where we're sitting, still drying her eyes. "Take your brother's hand for me, nice and gentle," Peeta says, "and set it on the wide part of the fiddle. Right here. Can you do that?"

Ada sniffles and says, "Yeah."

She holds Atlas's chunky wrist and places his hand where Peeta said to. He encourages her to hold it there, then he gets the bow ready and starts to play the same notes as before - but slower and more drawn out.

Emotion floods through me as I realize what Peeta is doing. He's giving Atlas the chance to hear the music in a way that makes sense to him - through vibrations of the instrument.

And Atlas smiles. A wide, gummy grin as Ada holds in hand in place, and she mirrors the expression back at him with glistening eyes. "He's smilin', Dadda," she says, as tears roll down her face.

Then, she runs both index fingers along the seam of her lips, curving them upwards at the end, as she signs the word 'smile.'

Next week, Ada will start school. I've spent weeks making new clothes for her, and Effie sent more new shoes than Ada could ever dream of wearing. I've worked my fingers to the bone, knitting little cardigans and scarves and socks, usually taking the time to do so while Atlas nurses - and he spends quite a lot of time nursing.

Ada will have Delly as her teacher, which comes as a relief to everyone - Delly included. She is so excited to have her surrogate niece as a student, as this is her second year of teaching and she's begun to feel more comfortable in her role. She's the head of a mixed-age classroom, ages 3-6. Ada will get to stay with her for a good chunk of time. And, when it comes time for Atlas to attend school, they'll likely be in the same class for one year.

Tonight is the open house, meant for parents and children to get acclimated with the new environment. Right now, Ada is standing inside her closet dressed in a white undershirt, underwear, and nothing else. She can't decide what to wear.

"These," she says, tossing a pair of golden, sparkly shoes onto the floor in front of me.

Atlas, from his position on my hip, watches the shoes hit the ground. I raise my eyebrows at him, then say to Ada, "Those will hurt your feet. Find something comfortable. We're going to be walking around."

With a huff, she gives in and picks a tried-and-true pair of brown, lace-up boots. But, with them, she insists on wearing a red velvet dress that's meant for the holiday season.

I come to the conclusion that this is a battle that doesn't need to be fought. I give her the go-ahead on the dress and she pulls it over her head, twirling happily in the mirror after the fabric has settled correctly.

I hold Atlas in the sling on our walk to town, and Peeta carries Ada on his shoulders. She chats the entire way there, holding onto Peeta's curls for support, but quiets down once the school building comes into view.

"There it is!" Peeta says, tipping his head to look up at Ada. "You excited?"

With big, somber eyes, she sizes the school up for what it's worth. As we continue to get closer, Ada bends in half and hides her face in Peeta's hair, wrapping her arms around his forehead and gripping tight, whining all the way.

"Oh, Ada Joy," Peeta says, squeezing her foot. "School isn't scary. We're going to see Aunt DayDay!"

"I wanna go home," she mutters, her voice getting lost from where her face is hidden.

"We're going on an adventure first," Peeta says, lifting Ada down from his shoulders. She stays in the ball shape, hiding her face in his neck once she's balanced on his hip. "We're going to explore your new school and meet some friends."

"I don't want to," she says, then sticks her thumb in her mouth to suck on it.

"It'll be fun," I say, rubbing her back. "You'll see."

Before Ada can protest, we hear a jovial, giddy voice ring out. "Honeybee!" Delly says, emerging from the schoolhouse and clasping her hands together. The grin she's wearing is huge and infectious. "Katniss, Peeta, Atlas!"

"Hey, Dell," Peeta says. "Ada, do you wanna say hi to DayDay?"

Ada shakes her head no, then comes out from her hiding place - but not with the intent of saying hi to Delly. Instead, she reaches for me and whimpers, "Mama."

I don't have the heart to turn her away, and Peeta knows that. So, I maneuver the sling to rest on one side of my torso - that way, Ada can sit comfortably on the opposite hip. She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, rests her head on my shoulder, and faces away from Delly.

"She's feeling a little shy today," I say.

"That's alright," Delly says. "Why don't you come in and take a look around? Go anywhere you'd like."

We head inside with Peeta leading the way, peering into the classroom that's labeled with 'Miss Delly' on the door. "Looks like this is your classroom, Ada," Peeta says, peering inside. "Wow, would you look at that…"

"What?" Ada says, unable to deny her intrigue as she moves my hair out of her face.

"There you are," he says, nicking her chin with his knuckle. "I almost forgot what you looked like, all covered by Mama's hair."

"You didn't," Ada says, a hint of a grin on her lips.

"Look over here," I say, walking the children across the room to a comfortable nook. "There's a rug for reading, and so many books! Do you think we have this many books at home?"

With her thumb back in her mouth, Ada shakes her head no. Her big, blue eyes scan the shelves, taking in everything in front of her - and I can tell she's a little impressed.

"Do you think I'll fit in this chair, Katniss?" Peeta asks, lowering himself into a child-sized armchair.

"No, Dadda!" Ada says, allowing a bigger smile to grow on her face. "Dadda, you're too big."

"I think it's just the right size for me," Peeta says, then sits down all the way - as best he can, at least. "Don't you?"

"No!" Ada says, laughing.

"Oh, well," Peeta says, standing up and accidentally taking the chair with him.

Ada laughs even harder, even louder. "Dadda, it's stuck on your bottom!"

"Oh, goodness," Peeta says, pretending to be flustered as he works his way out of the armchair. "How embarrassing. Will you show me what it's supposed to look like?"

Ada hops down from my arms without thinking twice and sits in the armchair, which is the perfect size for her. "Like this, Dadda," she says. "I'm little, so I can sit here."

"I don't know about that," Peeta says, crossing his arms and eyeing her. "You seem like a pretty grown-up girl to me."

Ada gets up from the chair and scurries over to him, capping her hands over both of his knees. "I'm not!" she says, smiling brightly. "I'm not! I'm little. I'm a little girl."

"Alright, little girl," Peeta says, scooping her into his arms into a cradled position. He plants kisses all over her face and she shrieks with laughter, which makes an involuntary smile grow on my face. "Alright, baby of mine, I hear you."

Delly comes into the room as Peeta and Ada are playing, and I notice her beaming at them just as I am. "So, honeybee," she says, leaning against the doorframe, "are you going to come to school next week and learn from Miss Delly?"

Ada nods excitedly. "Yeah! Me and Mama and Dadda and Cricket will come and learn. But you need some bigger chairs for Dadda."

Delly shoots Ada a dubious look, and I speak quickly - nipping this idea in the bud before it has a chance to sprout. "Ada, school is for kids. Not grown-ups or babies. You'll be in school with Miss Delly every day, and me and Dadda will see you in the morning and at night."

"No," she says, shaking her head and sounding sure. "You come to school with me."

I'm realizing for the first time, as Ada digs her heels in, that she'll be gone from us more than ever before, starting in a week. In a week, I won't see her every minute of the day. We won't cook lunch together, go on walks, or take long, midday naps. I won't knit while she and Atlas nurse after playing in the garden, and she won't stand on the porch and wave to Haymitch when he comes out to feed and water the geese. She won't fall asleep in a booth at the bakery after the morning rush, or help her favorite customers count their money as soon as we open.

My stomach drops, but I try not to show it. This will be as big of an adjustment for me as it is for Ada, and I'm not sure if I'm ready.

After three-and-a-half years of having a tiny shadow by my side, I'll be without her. But this is a good thing, I tell myself. She's growing up, learning new things, finding her way in the world - as a healthy child should. I can miss her, and I will - but this is still a good thing.

Delly opens her mouth to say something, but Peeta gets there first, "We can talk about it at home," he says, then swings Ada up to rest on one of his shoulders. "Got anything else to show us, Miss Delly?"

Ada doesn't go to bed easily the night before school starts, but when the house is finally quiet, Peeta and I both let out a sigh of relief in our bedroom. In my pajamas, I flop down onto the bed with my arms spread wide, and Peeta chuckles as he walks out of the bathroom.

"Wonder where she gets her stubbornness from," he says, pulling off his shirt as he saunters over to the bed. It's the beginning of September, but the humidity outside hasn't yet broken. The air is still liquid like it is in July, and there's sweat shining on his chest that proves it.

"Not from me, I'm sure," I say, tipping my head so my cheek rests on my shoulder. I watch him as he climbs onto the foot of the bed, then crawls between my already-spread legs. With his face lowered to the left one, he kisses my shin, my knee, and finally my thigh, which makes me twitch in anticipation.

I can't remember exactly the last time we had sex. It wasn't a wildly long time ago, but it wasn't recent either. With two small children, we don't always have the energy at the end of the day, and it's not like we can steal moments for ourselves while they aren't looking. Maybe in a few years, but not yet.

"I love you," I say, grinning while I run my fingers through his tousled curls.

He smiles against my skin while he slides his fingers under the hem of my sleep shorts. "Mmm…" he hums, turning his head to kiss the inside of my thigh. He breathes in deeply and closes his eyes, saying, "I love you."

I lift my hips and he responds in kind, pulling my shorts and underwear off at the same time, slipping them down my legs with ease. Once my lower half is bare, he gently presses my thighs further apart and kisses my core with closed eyes and a warm, wet mouth.

"Peeta, oh…" I sigh, bending my knees and spreading them further. As his tongue moves around and inside me, I twine his individual curls around my fingers and let them spring back into place, doing so without having to look. It's muscle memory at this point.

"Is that good?" he murmurs, his lips moving against the center of me.

"Yes," I breathe, roughly combing his hair away from his face and scratching his scalp with my nails as I go. "So, so good. Don't stop."

With a low chuckle, he closes his eyes again and opens his mouth wide, moving his jaw slowly and rhythmically as he sucks on those nerves that pull everything together for me. I trace the shell of his ears, arching my back as his saliva mixes with the natural wetness of my body, and squeeze my eyes shut from the feeling. It feels amazing - his tongue, his lips, the steady rhythm he's using - and he knows that very well.

"You're beautiful," he says, running his thumb through the coarse hair - now damp - between my legs. He's looking at my face, but he kisses my center after he says it. "You're so beautiful, Katniss."

I hold his head in both hands and press my knees inward, hugging his shoulders with them. "You are," I tell him, smiling all the way.

He grins in return, shaking his head bashfully, then holds my hips in his hands as he lowers his head once again. With renewed intensity, he opens his mouth wide over me and uses every part of it to make me come, making sure that my orgasm builds steadily and lasts for a significant amount of time. After, he coaxes me down, pressing slow, sensual kisses in the pockets of my pelvic bones and below my belly button.

By this time, I'm sweating too - but it's nice. It makes me feel alive, my heart pounding the way it is and a sticky sheen of sweat plastered to my skin.

Peeta isn't finished with me - he's just about to open his mouth between my legs again when we hear slow, tiny footsteps down the hall, footsteps headed our way.

"Mama?" Ada calls. "Dadda?"

Peeta is decent, but my lower half is entirely bare. I scramble for my sleep shorts and pull them on haphazardly, just in time for Ada to walk through the door. "Hey, honeybee," Peeta says, wiping his mouth, "why are you up?"

"I heard Mommy," she says, clutching Mr. Bee and rubbing her eyes with one fist. Peeta casts me a look and I blush. Luckily, the room is too dark for Ada to notice. "And I'm thirsty. I need water. And I'm hungry, too. Mama, can I do babas now?"

She nursed before she fell asleep - I know she's probably not hungry or thirsty. Instead, she's anxious. School is tomorrow and she's not settled with it yet. She's nervous and excited, but right now, the nerves preside over any positive feelings she might have.

I scoot off the bed and Ada crosses the room towards me. "No more babas right now," I say, holding her little hand. "Let's get you back to bed. You need lots of rest for tomorrow."

"I don't wanna go," she mutters, speaking through her thumb.

"I know," I say, then swivel at the waist to hold up one finger towards Peeta, telling him to wait for just a moment. "But everything will be okay. You'll see."

"I'm scared," she says, peering up at me. In the low light of the hall, the moonlight reflects off of her glassy blue eyes and strikes me right in the heart.

"That's okay," I say, scooping her up. She faces me and twines her arms and legs around me, keeping Mr. Bee in one hand so he flops against my back. As I walk the rest of the way to her room, I stroke her hair and say, "Everybody gets scared. That doesn't mean school will be any less fun. It might take some time to get used to, but the best part is that you've got Aunt DayDay there with you."

"But I don't have Mama and Dadda," she whimpers quietly.

"No," I say, sitting on her small bed and keeping her on my lap, "but you have us at home. Every day, you can come home or come to the bakery and tell us all about your day. You'll learn so many new things that you can teach your brother."

"But I'll miss you," she says, sniffling.

"I know," I say, laying her down and covering her up. "I'll miss you too. But every afternoon when you get home, I'll give you so many hugs and kisses, and you won't have to miss me anymore."

"A thousand million of them?" she asks, tucking Mr. Bee close to her face.

"A thousand million," I say, solidifying it. Then, I lean forward and plant a firm kiss on her forehead. "See you in the morning, honeybee."

I wait until she closes her eyes and starts to breathe deeply before I leave. Once I'm sure that she's asleep, I carefully walk out and shut the door halfway, then head back to mine and Peeta's room where I find him taking off his prosthetic. "She okay?" he asks, setting it in his usual spot.

"Just nervous," I say, sitting on my side of the bed and pulling off my soft shirt. I make my way to where Peeta is and wrap my arms around him from behind, and he straightens up instantly. "I got her back to sleep," I say, kissing his neck and trailing my fingers down his chest.

He runs his hands up and down my arms, sending chills up my spine, then turns around to kiss me properly. I fall onto my back and he overlaps my body with his own, just watching my face for a few beats while I lie under him, hair askew.

"What?" I say, touching his biceps gently with the pads of my fingers.

He shakes his head, but his eyes twinkle when he says, "Nothing."

Soon, Peeta covers me completely with his body and I wrap my legs around his thighs, keeping him as close as I can. We memorize each other's mouths with our eyes closed, and the only sound in the room is our deep breaths and sighs and the crickets outside.

A good while later, Peeta stops kissing me - but only to move towards my chest. He's careful around my breasts, knowing full well that both of our children still nurse, and only kisses me there - he doesn't suck. He holds both sides of my ribcage and softly, intimately, presses his lips to my nipples and the round undersides of my breasts while I go boneless beneath him.

My core is still buzzing for him - and even though I'm enjoying this feeling so much, I've never been a patient person, "Peeta," I say, then pull gently on his hips so he gets the picture. I know he's ready, too, I feel the pressure of his erection resting against me.

I don't need to say anything else. With a lasting kiss to my mouth, he shifts his body until it's in the right position, then sinks inside me without breaking eye contact. My jaw drops and I let out a light, shaky exhale, and he smiles - proud of what he's able to do to me.

I'm back on the pregnancy prevention pills. We decided, after Atlas was born, that two children is the right number for us. A boy and a girl, both perfect beyond measure. Our family is complete, and now we can enjoy each other with no barriers, and no worries either.

Peeta fills me completely, burying himself to the hilt and resting with his hips flush against mine, kissing the life out of me as he goes. I wind my arms around his neck and lift my pelvis to meet him, my back arched away from the bed as I trail my fingers across his shoulders.

"You feel so good," I whisper, my words falling into his mouth.

He groans, thrusting more powerfully after I say that. I widen my thighs, welcoming him deeper, and he obliges. Our lips don't break apart while he continues to grind against me - we breathe through our noses and slip our tongues into the other's mouth, and everything within me is full to the brim in the best way.

I whimper softly as my nerves become more raw and sensitive. I'm trying to stave my orgasm off so he can go first, but I won't have control of it for much longer. "You're gonna make me come," I breathe desperately, clinging to Peeta as tightly as I can.

"Good," he says, then kisses me hard. "I wanna feel you."

Those words send me over the edge. With a burst of feeling, I come unwound and my whole body clenches around him, which only encourages his orgasm to arrive faster. I feel him emptying inside me, hot and steady, and I keep him in place while it happens.

I kiss him when it's over, different from before. I don't use my tongue; I simply press my lips to his again and again - softly, over and over, until he gets too heavy on top of me.

Then, he rolls off and we clean ourselves up and get redressed. I check on Atlas to find him still sleeping soundly, his round belly rising and falling steadily, so I feel comforted getting back into bed with my husband.

Peeta pulls me close. Not just to his side, but resting overtop of him completely, my ear to his chest and my legs threaded through his. I rub his foot with mine and he buries his fingers in my messy hair before slipping them under my shirt to rest on the small of my back.

Now, the only sound in the room is his heart pumping right under my ear. To join it, though, a few seconds later, his voice rumbles through me as he asks, "Real?"

I close my eyes and smile softly. Twining both arms around his middle to rest under his back, I nuzzle my cheek against his shirt and whisper, "Real."

I wake up in the morning to a small body burrowed inside my shirt. It takes me a few seconds to become fully conscious, and for a moment I wonder how Atlas managed to get out of his crib and over to the bed. Then, once I wipe the sleep from my eyes, I realize this isn't Atlas at all - it's Ada.

"Baby," I say, my voice still quiet and scratchy from being so deeply asleep. "What're you doing?"

Ada doesn't nurse half as much as she used to when Atlas was first born - usually, only before bedtime. This is unusual, waking up to her inside my shirt like I used to when she was a young toddler.

"Mama," she says, wrapping an arm around my waist while keeping her face tucked close to my chest.

I pull the neckline of my shirt away so I can look down into her eyes. "It's time to get ready for school," I say.

She pretends not to hear me and grips my necklace tightly, running her thumb over the circular shape of the ring. I hold her for a few moments, allowing this small bit of comfort before a busy day, until Atlas starts to fuss from a few feet away.

"Alright, honeybee," I say, gently unlatching her. "It's your brother's turn."

She whines as I roll away and reach for Atlas, then tries to come back once I'm sitting up against the headboard with the baby cradled close. "More," she says, making the sign for 'more' even in her emotional state. "Babas, Mama."

"It's Atlas's turn now," I say, and notice Peeta starting to wake up. He takes a deep breath and pushes his hair off his forehead, catching Ada's attention just as she starts to sniffle and cry.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks, his voice especially low because of how early it is.

"I want babas," Ada sobs, listing sideways and throwing herself against Peeta's stomach to land in a very melodramatic heap.

"Hey, hey..." he says, pulling her close. "You gotta save some for your brother. Plus, we've gotta get dressed for school!" He looks at me, winks, and says, "It's a big, big, big day."

Surprisingly, Ada complies and lets Peeta carry her out of our bedroom and into her own. As Atlas breastfeeds, I listen to Peeta talk to our daughter - I don't hear much of a response from Ada, but he's doing his best to get her excited, or, at the very least, cheer her up a little.

When Atlas finishes eating, I change his diaper and get him into a daytime outfit - a cobalt blue onesie with soft white pants. I run the baby brush over his blonde hair that's just begun to grow more noticeably, then kiss his tiny face. I speak and sign, "Good morning, Atlas. Mama loves you," at the same time, then give him a big smile - one that he readily reciprocates.

I bring him downstairs to find Peeta cooking eggs and Ada holding Fern. The cat is stretched out as long as she can possibly go, with her front paws over Ada's shoulder and her back feet almost touching the ground, and Ada has her face buried in the cat's black fur. Fern doesn't seem to mind, I can hear her purring from where I stand, but Ada lets her down as soon as I come into view.

"My outfit, Mommy," she says, then spins in a circle. She's wearing a deep purple, corduroy overall dress with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath, paired with her favorite brown boots.

"You look beautiful," I tell her.

"Will you braid my hair pretty?" she asks.

I tell her that I will, so Peeta takes Atlas and holds him while I pull Ada's slight body onto my lap. From behind, I give her a big squeeze and she giggles a little, leaning her head back on my shoulder and letting me kiss her full cheeks. "I love you, Ada Joy," I say, my lips moving against her face.

"Mommy," she says, giggling harder because of how my lips tickle.

I sit up straight again and plait her hair with deft fingers in a style that I know well. It's one that my mother taught me how to do - the one I wore for the reaping and on mine and Peeta's toasting night. It's a traditional style for special occasions in District 12 - but one that I never got the chance to create for my sister. Now, my daughter is in the place where Prim would have sat years ago, sitting patiently just as her aunt would have done.

Once I'm finished, I smooth the circular braid and press a kiss to the back of Ada's head. "There you go, sweet girl," I say.

She turns around and hugs me, throwing those little arms around my neck and holding tight. I close my eyes and sway her side to side, feeling overcome with joy and gratitude over the fact that she's mine.

When we arrive at the schoolhouse, I'm holding Peeta's hand and Ada is holding mine. Atlas, as content is ever, is asleep in the sling.

Ada doesn't dig her heels in or claim that she doesn't want to go. She matches mine and Peeta's pace as we walk towards the building, but she doesn't speak. Her little hand is clammy and slippery, but I don't come close to letting it go.

My throat has been clogged since we left the house. Our girl is going to school. She's not a baby anymore, and she'll be on her own - in a sense - for a good chunk of the day, every day, from now on. I squeeze Peeta's fingers and he squeezes mine back - I know he's feeling the same way that I am.

I let out a long, slow exhale - quietly, so Ada doesn't catch it - and wave to Delly who's standing on the front steps, greeting her students, new and old. She beams in our direction, her smile so wide that her eyes nearly disappear. Her hair is done in intricate curls today, golden and shiny as they surround her face and bounce when she moves her head.

"There's DayDay," I say, running my thumb over Ada's fingers.

She sucks her thumb and gravitates closer to my leg, but doesn't stop walking. Once we reach the steps, Delly gives us each a hug, then tells Ada that she looks gorgeous. After that, she tells us that it would probably be better if she walked Ada inside; it'll make the goodbye process easier on everyone involved.

"Okay, honeybee," Peeta says, clearing his throat. "It's time to go. But we'll be back to pick you up right when school ends."

"And Cricket?" she asks, signing the word for 'brother.'

"Of course," Peeta says, then lifts her up to give her a big, strong hug - 'Dadda hugs,' she calls them. He makes a loving, silly, growling sound, then kisses her face and tells her he loves her and that he's proud of her. She tells him that she's proud of him, too, which makes him laugh - Ada smiles, even if she might not know why.

Then, she looks at me. I lower onto my knees with Atlas still secure on my chest, and hold her face in both hands while resting my forehead on hers. "I love you very much," I tell her, stroking her cheeks with my thumbs. "And I can't wait to hear about your day."

She sniffles and her voice wobbles when she says, "I love you, Mommy."

My eyes are burning, but I won't let myself break down in front of her. I kiss her one more time, then stand up and nod towards Delly with an encouraging expression. Ada peers over her shoulder towards her aunt and Delly extends her hand to take our daughter inside.

"Ready, honeybee?"

Ada nods - it's very small, but it is a nod - and takes Delly's hand. Peeta and I walk down the steps to wait at the bottom, watching our little girl as she follows our friend inside the schoolhouse. Right before she disappears, she turns around and waves in our direction. "Bye-bye, Dadda," she says, her eyes welling up. "Bye-bye, Mama."

"Bye-bye, baby," Peeta and I say.

Once the doors close behind Delly and Ada, I turn towards my husband and lock eyes with him. We don't trade words because we don't need to. Instead, we fall into each other's arms and, for so many reasons, let ourselves cry.

The day is quiet and long without Ada at home, but to make up for her absence, we talk about her constantly. When it comes time to pick her up, the reunification is full of smiles and happy tears and hugs and kisses, just like we promised it would be.

To me, she already looks older. Like she grew a bit while we weren't looking. I find that it makes me happier than I thought it would. It makes me proud.

Because she spent so much time away from us today, Ada won't let Peeta and I out of her sight. But, instead of being worrisome, it's cute. She makes a game of it, and talks about what she's going to do with Miss Delly tomorrow - which tells me that school ended up being better than she thought it was going to be.

Ada and I are in the tub together later that night while Peeta gives Atlas his own bath in the bathroom sink. "Mama," Ada says, "I saw lots of new people today."

"Oh, really?" I say, massaging shampoo into her hair.

She nods surely. "Uh-huh. I saw little kids and big kids and other mommies and dads, too."

"That's exciting," I say, making sure the suds reach all the way to the ends of her hair.

She studies me for a moment - not speaking, but instead allowing her eyes to roam across my face, my shoulders, my arms, and my chest. She stays quiet even as she tilts her head back and lets me rinse the soap out of her hair. But, when she lifts it to sit straight again, I can tell that a thought is on the tip of her tongue.

"Mama," she says, sitting up on her knees.

She uses one finger to trace an especially ropy scar that travels down the left side of my neck towards my right armpit.

"Hmm?" I say.

She blinks those long eyelashes slowly, still very concentrated. "Nobody else has these marks," she says, still running one finger across the map of 'marks' across my skin.

I knew this day would come, but I didn't know when. It only makes sense that it would be today, as Ada was inundated with the presence of so many people that she couldn't help but notice. Before now, mine and Peeta's skin was never a blip on her radar.

I don't know how to feel about it. I'm not upset, per se, but this isn't easy territory to navigate.

"No one else has them but me and Dadda because they're scars," I say, keeping my hands busy by conditioning Ada's hair. "Scars are marks left on your body after you get hurt. They're places where you've healed, but you can still see what happened."

Ada meets my eyes with a concerned expression. "Who hurted you?" she asks.

I think of everything that I could say. Battle. Combat. Life-saving maneuvers. Fire. The Games. War. All the things I will tell her about one day, but not today. Not when she's three years old and excited after her first day of school. Not when she's enjoying bath time with me, with no worries to be had - not one in the entire world that we've made for her.

But I'll try to give her a suitable answer.

"You know how you sometimes have nightmares?" I ask, and she nods. "I have nightmares, too. And so does Dadda."

Ada looks over at Peeta, who's now holding a bundled-up Atlas and listening to our conversation. He nods, confirming what I've said with a small, sad smile on his face.

"Those nightmares came from the people and things that hurt me," I say. "Someday, I'll explain it to you. Why they come, and why they won't ever go away."

I tip her head back and rinse the conditioner out, listening to the stream join the warm water that we're sitting in right now. "That makes me feel sad, Mama," Ada says.

"I know," I say. "Sometimes, I feel sad, too. But do you know how I survive it?" She shakes her head no. "I think of all the good things I've seen in my life. I think of you dancing to Dadda's fiddle. I think of Atlas smiling first thing in the morning. I think of what the world looks like when it snows. I think the way that my sister used to find the worst hiding places for hide-and-seek. I make a list in my head," I say. "Every little thing I can remember. It's kind of like a game."

"A game?" Ada asks, tracing the scar on the inside of my forearm, the one she used to kiss and make 'all better' when she was a baby. And, in a way, she did make it better - she made all of the scars better.

"Yes," I say. "And, you know, it gets a little tedious sometimes."

She looks up and I cup her chin gently, seeing so much of Peeta in her face, so much of my father, so much of Prim, so much of myself. All right here in front of me, in the child that Peeta and I created, a child born from the ashes, who amazes me each and every day.

"But there are much worse games to play."