Love After

Would "This Would Have Happened Anyway" still fit when Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are in their sixties? A look at Everlark love in their old age.

This story is part of the This Would Have Happened Anyway Challenge on Tumblr last December. It was incredible being able to participate in it. You can find a collection there from many amazing writers!

P.S. The Hunger Games Series belongs to Suzanne Collins. You rock my work, Suzzie!

Is it all right to fall in love in your sixties? Because here I am, side by side with a man whose presence in my life is very dear to me in my old age. I don't know what to call our relationship, but he had told me more times than once that he loved me and cared for me.

And I think I love him too.

But I'm already old ...

Peeta and I just finished packing away our picnic basket after having a light lunch at the lake. It's something we've been doing a lot lately, and I'm glad for his company. Living alone for most of my life, his companionship is a welcome change in my days. His presence is something I didn't know I needed.

The walk back to the district for Peeta will be long, so we decided that a nap is in order. We're still strong and healthy, but our body is not like what they used to be when we were younger. Recovery takes more time once you hit your forties, I found out.

My bed in the cabin can fit Peeta and me if we stay close, so that is where we lay. Peeta pulled the covers around our waist while I fluffed my one big pillow.

Lying down with Peeta, I feel my joints relax, and my eyes grow heavy with sleep. Peeta's steady breathing relaxes me, and I let my hand freely fall over his chest. It feels so intimate touching him this way.

"What are you thinking about?" Peeta asks and rubs his thumb over the fabric of my shirt. His right hand on my hip is comforting and penetratingly warm as we lie face-to-face on this cool afternoon. I welcome his touch on my body despite not being accustomed to such contact. He likes to comfort me with his hands, placing them around my shoulders, on my back, on my waist, or on my knee, and rubbing them soothingly whenever we're together.

"Your eyebrows are creased," he tells me and looks into my eyes.

How beautiful Peeta Mellark is under the soft sun. I still see the boy who gave me two loaves of bread when no one in the district offered me help. His hair is still golden, albeit laden with ashy white strands. They curl gently and naturally, fitting his kind expression every time he smiles. His eyes are still cornflower blue, not as vibrant as they used to be but unmistakably his. How he looks at me with those eyes envelopes me with warmth and comfort that only springtime can provide. The freckles on his cheeks and nose have gone darker, they are various shades of brown and orange on his pale skin. Perhaps more has grown too over the years of working around hot ovens and staying in the sun to haul hundred-pound flour sacks. When I would study him when he draws, I try to find patterns in the splattering of specks on his skin, but so far I have found none. Still, I like touching them when he allows me. They are his unique marks.

I'm not quite sure if I can find the same beauty in myself at age sixty. My hair is a mix of half black and half white now. It's from my mother's genes that I have inherited despite looking more like my father. My skin had gone loose in various places, though if you compare me to my younger years, I am still more filled up than when I was eleven. Hunting and foraging in the woods daily have served me well and provided me enough food to gain a healthy weight. Peeta says I look very pretty, but the word doesn't seem right to be used for someone old like me. I'm still fairly flexible and agile, but definitely not pretty with my dry olive skin and wrinkled face and neck. My skin has been Primrose's constant concern. She thinks I don't take care of it as much as I should have. I've been exposed to the elements most of my life, and she nags me about putting on the oils she makes from a recipe from our family plant book. I have several lines on my forehead and in the corners of my mouth, and my hands are thickly calloused, especially the fingers I use to draw my arrows with. My life and trade show in my body after decades of living in the woods and following a hunting routine. As much as I want to believe Peeta, I am definitely not pretty.

Pressing my lips together and closing my eyes as my head rests on our shared pillow, I take my time to answer Peeta. I feel his hand squeeze me gently, reassuring me that whatever he thinks is bothering me is all right to share. It's so easy receiving his affection. I've lived by myself most of my life in my father's cabin and didn't realize that I was touch starved until Peeta came into my life.

"Do you think this is all right at sixty?" I say calmly and search his eyes briefly. His eyelashes are so long that I wonder how they don't tangle up when he blinks. "We're so old, Peeta …"

"We're sixty, but not dead, Katniss," he tells me so and then brushes the shell of my ear with his similarly calloused fingers. Maybe if I was younger, this would have felt different. It would have probably given me shivers and shot electricity down my toes. But now, with my body winding down the long line of life, his touch is pure relaxation and peace. I turn my head slightly to feel the warmth of his palm on my cheek like I always do.

"Here," he says before going closer to me and giving me a kiss. His lips are sweet and full, they're lips that I kiss willingly with mine. "Tell me if that feels wrong, and I will stop."

It's not the first time Peeta has kissed me, but every time he does, my cheeks heat up, and my periphery blurs out to just him in front of me. I thought this sort of thing only happens when you're younger, but with him, it happens every time.

After years of not seeing each other in the district, Peeta and I had an "arranged" lunch together at Serena's for the very first time. It was all Serena's doing, bringing us together just like she did. It was a Tuesday, and like I always did with Greasy Sae until her granddaughter, Serena, took over her shop, I was enjoying my bowl of hot stew in a far corner when Peeta suddenly sat beside me. Serena had placed his bowl to my left, and all the while I thought she was giving me a second helping for free. A few minutes later, Peeta happily greeted me good morning. His voice was formal yet very friendly, one I hadn't heard in such a long time. Peeta greeted me as if we had known each other all our lives, but the truth was that we'd had very different and distant lives after President Snow was assassinated.

Forty-four years ago, just a few days before the 74th Reaping Ceremony, rebel troops from all over Panem infiltrated the Capitol and killed President Snow in his rose garden. The news spread like wildfire, and Panem was transformed like a mythical phoenix. It was a rebirth that didn't need a spark and burnt swiftly. Amandar Paylor, from District 8, was elected president by the rebel troops. She brought much-needed change and freedom, and Panem had never been better. President Snow had grown more and more oppressive in the last decade, increasing quotas without adjusting our meager rations. It seemed inhumane and a flaw of humanity to kill its president, but it is what it is, and we have lived with this gruesome part of our history for decades. Plutarch said that the people of Panem were pushed to their limit and that retaliation became their only choice.

Without the fear of the reaping and Prim turning eighteen, I surprised myself and my family by making my way to my father's woods and living there for good. They weren't happy at first, Prim most especially, but I had to do it, to isolate myself from town life and forge my own path. I didn't want to work in the mines even though it was modernized, and the new hospital and the medicine factory were definitely not for me. I had no place in society, and my skill set truly belonged in the woods. I knew nothing else and was not good at other things except hunting, setting traps, and foraging. It was good work, and when my mother and Prim saw that I found stability and resolve in the simplicity of trading with a few town folks, they gave me their blessings.

Meeting Peeta again was an unexpected turn in my nearly forty years of solitary living.

He had been married to his best friend, Delly Cartwright, until she passed away from illness ten years ago. Peeta was widowed at fifty, with an only son who is now the sole owner of the Mellark bakery. Gossip from the Hob back then said that Peeta got his best friend pregnant after being heartbroken. He was supposed to confess his love to another girl, a childhood crush that grew into more they say, but he saw her kissing another man by the fence. Ripper said that Delly was similarly heartbroken by her boyfriend, who only wanted one thing from her and had been shaming her for her weight gain. When Delly found Peeta to share her heartache, their kindred fate led to something else. Sae calls it a night of regret because Delly and Peeta were practically siblings. I don't know how true things were then, but Sae always says that Peeta did the honorable thing by keeping Delly's honor and marrying her. I don't dare ask Peeta now; it's none of my business to dig into his past. All I knew was that they married a month later, and Delly gave birth to a healthy blonde boy eight months after.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks and cradles my cheek with his right hand. I guess I had been quiet for a long time. I study his face, softening my expression as I run my eyes along the lines that have formed between his eyebrows. He's no longer the flawless boy that I remember. There are permanent deep lines on the corner of his eyes, as well as his forehead.

"I'm sorry," I start and think back on his question. "No, I like what we have."

He smiles then, and more lines form on his face as his cheeks rise with the joy in his eyes. Leaning forward, he kisses my forehead, and I move closer to him and rest my ear over his chest. His heart beats strongly.

"I like it too, Katniss," he replies and, with a low rumbling laugh, adds, "I like it a lot." I swat his chest, but he only puts his hand over mine to rest it on his heart.

"It's just that you don't see old people falling in love and having meals together at our age. Kissing? They'd probably go blind or gouge their eyes out if they saw two old people kiss."

"Katniss, you don't look a day older than forty, forty-five tops. And I'm still hale ... I think." Peeta laughs again, and it's irritating how he doesn't mind all of the possible problems of continuing whatever it is we have. "Even if we look like we're eighty, I think old people, or any age for that matter, have a right to fall in love and date and ... kiss … many times." Just then he peppers my forehead with butterfly kisses.

"Peeta …"

"I'm serious, Katniss." He pulls away and slides his hand over my waist. I'm more stick-figured really, but he somehow finds a curve to latch his hand onto.

"I love you, and you kind of said that you love me too." He waggles his eyebrows in mischief before continuing. "So it is all we need to have this relationship. I didn't expect or even wished to fall in love again after Delly passed away, but I did. I tried to ignore it because, as you said, we're old, and it seems silly, but we keep bumping into each other in town, and it was easy falling in love again with you."

I was a goner, he told me two months ago when he confessed.

Truth be told, I didn't think much of our encounters in town. It was unusual seeing Peeta in places where I traded. He was always at the bakery and the last time I saw him out was at Delly's burial where I stayed far away. After that, I never saw him again in the district.

Remembering Delly's funeral, I recall the crowd of people paying their respects to the baker's wife. Delly was greatly loved by everyone. She blessed the district with her sweet smile and positive demeanor. Even just hearing her musical laughter from afar will make anyone feel a little lighter.

I stayed behind a tree then, choosing to remember Delly in her prime rather than viewing her dead body. I've seen enough citizens from the district pass away throughout the years that I know well enough to stay back. It's good to keep them alive and bright in my memory instead.

When I saw Peeta again seven months ago, a rush of guilt for an unpaid debt washed over me. I had tried to repay him for the bread when we were eleven, but I never got the chance nor enough courage to just do it. Every time I would attempt to give him a basket full of berries or apples from the woods, Mrs. Mellark was always at the back door cooling herself from the hot ovens, or Delly and her son, Riley Eli, would be there playing. I thought then that it didn't seem right anymore to offer anything to Peeta. He had a happy and fulfilled life. A beautiful small family and the Mellark bakery in his hands. A basket of fruits won't benefit him like how my family survived because of his two loaves of bread.

It was a surprise that Peeta even remembered me at all at Serena's, but he did, and it made talking to him easier. We chanced upon each other again when I delivered strawberries to the Undersees, or rather the Hawthornes since Gale married Madge. Everyone in the district was surprised, especially the mayor. Hazelle worried away to my mother, asking for help in dissuading his son from marrying a merchant girl. She implored my mother to give me as a wife to her son instead. It was one of the few moments I was thankful for my mother siding with me because she said no and explained that it would never work. Gale and I were too alike, fire and fire, and we would burn each other out. When I was twenty-two, Gale kissed me suddenly by the fence. He held my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine. Being friends and hunting partners for so long, I thought I knew everything there was about Gale's hands and lips, but when he kissed me, I didn't expect things to be so hot. Too hot actually, and I felt burned. It bothered me, and I'm thankful that it never happened again. That was when I knew he was only ever going to be my best friend. A year later, he and Madge got engaged. Ten years later, they have three children together. Three daughters, who all loved strawberries just like their mother. Gale apprenticed under Mayor Undersee in the town council and never went back to hunting. It was profitable for my trades, and Madge pays good money for strawberries that his husband seldom gets for her.

"Katniss?" Peeta whispers and rubs my waist. I feel guilty, losing track of him for the second time. "Please say something ..."

"I'm sorry, Peeta." It comes out wrong from my lips and sounds like I regret things, so I amend it by pulling his other hand to my lips. I kiss his knuckles before moving closer to bury my face in his neck. "I do love you."

"But …" His voice is soothing. Breathy in timbre, and a bit hoarse from getting older. But there is surety in them from all his life experiences.

"No buts," I reassure him right this time. I love him, I really do. "Don't laugh, okay?"

"I would never, my love."

"You're my first love, and it's embarrassing because I'm already sixty," I huff but smile as I catch a whiff of the cinnamon musk from under his flannel shirt. It's another thing I love about him - how he smells.

Rubbing my back, he tells me, "I think falling in love at sixty has its own benefits, Katniss. Something a teenager or a young couple doesn't have."

"And what is that?"

"The lack of time and then knowing one's self throughout the years"

"We could die any moment. Is that what you mean?"

His chest rumbles under my ear. "Yes, I suppose so. I don't want to wait any longer because I might have a heart attack and die with my love buried in the grave. You know I had a mild stroke once, right?"

"You didn't?" I say, surprised, and then get scared of losing him. I don't want to lose him, so I hug him tighter.

"I did after a really hot summer when I was forty-eight. The full-blast ovens, the humidity outside, tons of bread to bake, and a wedding cake to decorate made me pass out."

I imagine the scenario. Peeta lying on the floor wearing his brown canvas Mellark apron. He's unconscious and limp, his heart without a beat and his breath no more. It sends a pinching pain in my heart. I hope I will never see it while I'm alive.

"We're staying here this summer so you can dip in the lake and not overheat," I command, and he rubs my back again as he smells my hair. "I'm going to put you somewhere safe."

"I would love that, except you have to let me visit my grandchildren for their birthdays. They were all born during the summer months."

"Of course, we can make an exception. Your family is important to you." They really are, and I don't want Peeta to ever lose them. I feel the same way about Prim's and Rory's four sons too. My nephews are like my children, and I would never miss their birthdays and milestones.

"Did you tell Prim about us?"

"She squealed like a pig and frightened her cat, Buttercup Junior."

Peeta chuckles, and if it was at all possible, he hugs me tighter before kissing me between the eyes. I could just stay right here, right now, in his arms, and live in it forever.

"I'm so glad," he says in a muffled voice.

The rain, all of a sudden, starts pouring outside, and the chimes tinkle with the light wind blowing from the lake. I cuddle onto Peeta's chest, and he covers our shoulders with the soft blanket. It's so cozy, and I feel so safe in his embrace.

"What would Delly think about us, Peeta?" I find myself asking softly. It's a question that has kept me up many nights.

"She'd be happy, and I'm not just inventing that to get into your pants." I pinch his side hard for his playful and inappropriate remark.

"Oww! Not fair!" he protests and rubs his side.

"You silly, Old Man."

Truth be told, I don't even know if we can be that intimate at this age. We're sixty and definitely not getting younger. Good genes are in our favor with our personal health, but even with that, I can't help but wonder if couples in their sixties explore that aspect of a romantic relationship. If they do, all I know is that Peeta and I are not there yet. We do love each other though, and I feel it growing every day.

"I'm serious, Peeta," I say and continue on. "You were married for decades." Decades. And this is one hindrance in my mind. Sometimes, I feel guilty coming into Peeta's life. Delly was such a wonderful human being, and I didn't want to take anything away from her - even after her death. She loved Peeta, and I know that he loved her too.

"Katniss, loving you now doesn't change how much I love Delly. I have devoted my life to her, our son, and our life together. She was my wife, my best friend, and my companion. We had a memorable twenty-eight years of marriage, building a good life of our own with Eli. I grieved her passing, and it had taken years for my heart to heal. I never imagined it would beat again out of romantic love for another until I saw you again."

"How could you love two people like that, Peeta?" I ask genuinely. I don't mean to wrong him because I feel the truthfulness of his love for Delly and for me.

"I don't know, Katniss ... I just know that I do, and I feel no shame or guilt in loving you while I also have her in my heart. I know it will be hard to understand for some people, but we're not having an affair or anything. I didn't seek you while I was married to Delly. I loved her, and even after her death, I still do. But Katniss, our love is different. I don't know if there's a word out there to describe what we have but being with you here, right now, makes sense to me."

What does it mean to fall in love again after being widowed? Is it really possible? Is it love or just a means to fulfill a need for companionship? My mother was widowed in her thirties, and she never married again. She was consumed by her love for my father, almost to the point of dying. Even when she became well, her heart only belonged to him. No one else could take his place. Thinking about it now, I don't know how I would have felt if my mother had chosen to remarry. Will the other man be a replacement for my father? For her husband? What am I to Peeta? Am I a replacement wife? I definitely won't be a mother figure to Eli. Will I be okay to be less than his love? A second love? Even a third, because he will never stop loving his son, Eli, too.

"How much do you love me?" I ask and sound like a jealous and insecure person. Even at sixty, sometimes I feel so small.

"What would be enough to convince you?" he answers, and I hear the hurt in his voice. Suddenly, I feel ashamed for putting him in such a position.

"I don't know," I whisper, and pesky tears fall from my eyes. I wipe them hard and hide my face from Peeta. "I'm sorry for even asking."

"Shhhhh ...," he coos, "It's okay, Katniss. I don't know how to explain it. I'm new to our relationship myself. But I am sure of how I feel for you. Trust me, I tried to fight it, thinking I might hurt you, or put you in a bad light with the town folks. Delly changed my mind, though. God bless her soul for her generosity."

"What do you mean about Delly?" I pull back, and the space between us makes me feel colder, but I have to do it. What did Delly say about us? How could she have known?

"She left me a letter, and I found it four months ago. She wrote it with Madge while undergoing chemotherapy."

"What did she say?"

"Many things. How much she loves Eli and me. How grateful she was for the life we built since we got married. We didn't start out well, there was so much pressure from our mothers, and we thought we didn't have control over our lives."

This I heard from another gossip long ago. On top of Peeta getting Delly pregnant and doing the honorable thing by proposing marriage to her, their family also wanted them wed for financial gain. Specifically, Mrs. Aurora Mellark and Mrs. Divina Cartwright. As much as possible, merchants try to marry within their social class. That kind of thinking no longer holds now, but back then, one would be disowned if one married from the Seam. It happened to my mother, and that was why I never got to meet my family from her side.

"That must be terrible, Peeta," I sympathize.

"It was, but that's for another conversation."

"What else did Delly write?"

"A lot of reminders per usual." Peeta counts with his fingers as he recalls the list. "To stay healthy, to not overwork myself, especially since we were in a better place financially than when we started. To continue loving our son and being patient with him, and to open my heart again if love ever comes my way after her passing." Peeta quiets down when he says the last one, and my heart feels for him. "It hit me when I read it that I have Delly's blessings. I never asked for it, but she left me with an answer to a question that didn't exist ten years ago." Peeta brushes my hair away from my forehead. "I don't know how she knew or how she felt when she wrote the letter, but I know that Delly is not one to say these things lightly. She has pondered them and taken them to heart."

"Oh, Peeta …" I brush his cheeks, smoothing out the wet tears from them.

"That's my Delly, Katniss. I loved her and still do, but I also love you now. I love you so much for different reasons. It's all I could give you. A heart that has loved and is loving again. Loving you. I hope that that is enough."

"It is, Peeta," I tell him honestly and touch his chest where his heart lies under. "I feel your love for me." I brush the rest of his tears and lay a kiss on his cheek. "I feel the weight of your love on my heart. It scares me most nights to be loved this much and in this way. But I love you, and I don't want to stop."

"I'm scared too, Katniss. Old age makes one a bit braver, but it doesn't mean I have no fears. I don't want to lose you."

"Together then?"

"Yes, together, my love."

"I love you, Peeta Mellark."

"And, I love you too, my Katniss Everdeen."

…

Age 95

Even though Peeta said we didn't have the luxury of time, we still took our time to get to know each other and our families. Falling in love was the easy part when you compare it with living together and having your whole routine upturned while remaining in love. We're not young and idealistic; we know what we want and what we're willing to compromise in our lives. Our life experiences taught us that little things, if not resolved, lead to bigger things or arguments later on. Peeta has his habits, and I have mine.

One day after my sixty-second birthday, Peeta surprised me by "organizing" my kitchen. For the first time in forty years, I didn't know where my utensils and dishes were kept changed. I couldn't find anything easily because nothing was in their usual place. I was upset, and Peeta tried his hardest to appease me. On the outside, our argument seemed to be about spoons and cups but on the inside, it was about losing your autonomy. And I value my autonomy. After that, we promised each other to ask and talk first. The more we got to know each other, the more we let go of our own routines and power over our lives and allowed the other in.

It was important for us to build a life together after living our separate lives. Peeta was accustomed to town life and its many folks, while I'm used to solitary living in the woods. Peeta and I knew it wasn't our goal to change each other. What we wanted was to share a life. So we did. It was easier for Peeta to fit into mine, for I lived a simpler and slower life. His was more dynamic and social. Our compromise involved having longer meals at the lake because Peeta liked to talk and hold me after our meals. My afternoons, which were usually spent preparing my trades like cleaning hides or drying plants, became preparing trades while he sketched me. When I was done, he always asked me to help him in the kitchen. We made snacks for the week together or cooked jams for his pastries. Jam-making was a little messy with all the sugar and Peeta's jolly side. He liked making me taste what he cooked in stages, sharing his joy in transforming raw ingredients. How he worked magic in the kitchen, feeding both our stomachs and souls with food and stories. I love watching him in his natural environment, and he always said he loves having me by his side to get free kisses. I've grown fond of receiving so much of his affection and reciprocating them over the years.

Peeta still bakes but is no longer in the bakery. His son has been in command of everything there for years, and he was adamant that his father stays away from working himself out. In the beginning, Peeta didn't take to it easily. He was almost heartbroken to not be needed anymore. In hindsight, that was why I met him in all those odd places thirty years ago. He helped Serena with her crates of vegetables on delivery days, Adeline with her nursery for the latest Undersee grandchild, and Timotea with her pigs.

When I saw Peeta sprinkling cornstarch over the pigs and rubbing it on them as if soaping them, I thought he had lost his marbles. The baker using starch to coat live pigs was an odd sight. It turned out, he was giving them a dry bath. He read it from an old book to help pigs stay cool and comfortable. Like a baby getting powdered after potty, he said.

Peeta did odd jobs because he lost his place at the bakery and didn't know what to do with himself. It was important for him to have a job and a routine, being used to one all his life. Everyone he helped "pushed" him away, telling him to rest and enjoy his retirement instead, not knowing that the work actually makes him happy. Being useful, and being able to help was a need for Peeta. So after some explaining to his son, Eli, Peeta was allowed to help in the bakery every other day. He only served customers and stayed out of the kitchen. His son made him decorate cookies and cakes once in a while, and Peeta loved reminiscing about his time with his son when he was teaching him to do such.

On days when Peeta was not with his son's family, he was with me in the lake cabin. He helped around the house, doing repairs to make my life easier. I've gained a few paintings on my wall from him too. Outside, we also built a simple storage for his paints and easels. He loved to draw and paint while he waited for me when I hunted. Once a month, we would bring a painting of his to trade or loan to the different shops in the district. It made him happy to have found a new purpose aside from providing bread and pastries for town folks.

Peeta and I officially got married two and a half years after that lunch at Serena's. At the age of sixty-three, we both said our vows to each other. It was funny to promise your future and your heart when you're already so old. But Peeta and I did, and we did it as if we had a whole lifetime ahead of us to offer.

Our wedding wasn't big, far from it. Just our immediate families sharing a meal together at the bakery. Our toasting was just between us in the lake cabin. We didn't need a witness then, for we had Delly in spirit.

The matter of where to live was a no-brainer for me, and I was glad that Peeta never argued. We lived in the woods, in the quiet embrace of trees and sky and wildlife. In the winter time, we stayed in his small home in town because winters have been really harsh in District 12 in the last twenty years. I didn't have to do as much hunting at that time, so it was all right to live in town. Peeta also assured me that I could always have my alone time in the woods when I wanted to.

Intimacy was a funny thing between Peeta and me, and I was relieved. Having no experience with the age that I have, was hilarious, and we enjoyed getting a good laugh on my account. In my youth, it would have irritated me to receive Peeta's "pure" description of myself, but now, I just laugh it off. It was sort of true, anyways. Virgin at sixty-three with only a single bad kiss under my belt was pathetic. But Peeta changed all of that by making sure I got kisses and hugs every day. Prim, or as Peeta would have it, Doctor Primrose, gave him some sort of rejuvenating tea for our first time. It was a funny joke, but Peeta said he did try a cup to see the effect. I don't know what difference it made. To what could I possibly compare it with? All I knew was that Peeta was gentle with me, and he gave me his full attention. He took his time in making love to me and eased my bodily insecurities away. I felt loved and valued in his arms, and it was beautiful being with him that way. Our age didn't matter then because we loved each other very much.

Now, I know and am confident that old people can share passionate kisses, old people can have lingering hugs and touches, and old people can cuddle and want the familiar smell of their beloved. Most importantly, I learned that old people can fall in love, get married (or remarried), and live another lifetime together.

Peeta and I have promised to stay lovingly married until our time ends. We don't feel any older than forty inside but outside a few aches and stiffness have settled in. Arthritis started affecting us at eighty, and our skins were perpetually dry and impossibly freckled and wrinkled. We have a lot of loose skin and even have skin tags on our elbows.

I'm thankful that our eyesight wasn't as bad, and we haven't gone blind or developed cataracts. At ninety, though, it was harder for Peeta to paint and keep his hands steady. It didn't matter, because he found another love in listening to audiobooks that Eli got for him. He enjoyed the classics and painted with his imagination while he listened every afternoon. We did it together sometimes too, and he would bring his portable sound device outside while I still prepared my catch. I loved spending time with him - his companionship and presence were a weight that grounded me and made me feel safe. I didn't think I would have it again. The feeling of safety being held in another's arms apart from my father's. Only Peeta could give me that. Has been giving me that.

We are happily married for thirty-two years and still counting. I cannot believe how old we are and that we are still alive. It feels like another lifetime was given to us, and we never failed to recognize such a gift. We got a scare when Peeta had another mild stroke while walking home from the bakery. After that, we moved to town permanently. The long walk to the lake cabin had been taking a toll on his heart, and it would kill me if that was the reason why he would pass away. I love him more than I love my woods. I already stopped hunting and am enjoying my time by the fence, sitting beside Peeta to watch the sunset. Lately, we've been talking about our last wills, and comfortingly enough, it doesn't make us sad or scared. Many of our friends and families have left us, and we are the few remaining survivors who had endured the Reaping Ceremonies in our youth. Peeta would like to be buried beside Delly's grave so his son could visit his parents. I said I would like to be cremated and scattered in the woods where I feel my mother and father's spirit. Eli knows all of these, as well as his children. For now, Peeta and I enjoy each other's company, holding each other's hands all the time while we listen to books that fill our hearts and minds.

To growing old together …