1) I don't own the Hunger Games or any of its characters. They belong to Suzanne Collins

2) Seems like all prompts/drabbles I've written in the last few weeks are just rushed pieces, written in five minute breaks between my work or a bit before I fall in bed totally exhausted.

3) Only checked it once, no time for a beta check. So sorry for all mistakes.

"Stop it!"

He just looks at me, confused. "What do you mean? I am just baking," he says to me, trying to look innocent, but the tone of his voice, the absolute manic way he kneads the dough in front of him, or how he throws the dirty baking pans into the sinks speaks louder than a thousand words.

My darling husband is pissed off, frustrated, angry, anxious and so many other things at once. And he is too proud to admit it.

I can just sigh at this behavior. It's not like I feel the same like him- I am rigid with fear that something will happen, but this non-stop baking for the last four weeks, since she told us the news, is crossing a line.

"Peeta. That is enough. You've been baking for four weeks now. The whole District has bread for the next month. You are totally overreacting! You can´t keeping doing this."

He just snorts at me, throwing the dish towel down, and crossing his arms in front of his chest. For a second I am distracted by his bulging biceps. Even after all these years he is physically in top form. But just one look at his face tells me enough to know that he is not happy with my words.

"It is just baking, Katniss. There is no further motivation behind it than just making baked goods for my family, my friends, or District. You are just reading into it some things that are not there."

If I had not been married to him for so long I would have probably think I was just overreacting. But I know my Boy with the Bread. And so I do not miss his fast glance past me to the entrance room, or better said, to the suitcase that is standing there.

My poor man…

I really wish I could help him, but like my mother told me on the phone: "This is something Peeta has to accept. Willow is an adult and can make her own decision. Don´t be afraid for him, honey. He is not the first parent to experience it."

Our daughter Willow just turned 18, and four weeks ago, during dinner she announced that she wanted to be a doctor and that she would participate in a trainee program in District 4. She will live with my mother, and she will be away for eight months.

Peeta was devastated, his little 'pumpkin' leaving home and going out in the big, bad world. He always wanted to protect Willow. His troubles and fears manifested in a manic baking spree, that just didn't end.

I was also not happy about it- my nightmares returned, and my fear of losing my child came back. But I didn't show it- or I hope I didn't show it.

Our son Rye just asked if he could have Willow's room.

And now here we are. Willow will leave tomorrow morning. Almost all her necessary belongings are packed, she is ready to go, I have started to accept and understand it.

But it seems Peeta has not.

"Baby.."

I slowly go to him and wrap my arms around him. His crossed arms fall down, and all the tension in his body vanishes into a loud whine. His arms sneak around me, pressing me to him.

"What if something happens, Katniss? What if she needs help? We are so far away. We can't help her at all. I feel so helpless." His voice is so tired and full of fear.

My hand wanders through his golden locks, trying to calm him down in the same way I calmed my children when they had nightmares.

"Shh, it will be okay. She will not be alone. Mom will be there. And Annie. They will help her. She is strong and clever. She will have not any problems, and if they occur she can always come back home."

Peeta just buries his face into my shoulder. I can feel his tears falling on my skin.

We all stand together at the train station the next morning. Willow hugs Rye, who looks totally annoyed by it, but I know that he will still miss her.

Fat tears roll down her cheeks, and her hiccups shake her whole body. She lets her brother go and smiles at him, tears still in her eyes.

"I will miss you, you little annoying shit," she says, now smirking. He just punches her shoulder, and I just trying her words, since years I am trying to make her stop calling her brother that, but nothing works.

I am the next one. She wraps her arms around me and whispers.

"I will miss you so much, Mommy. You have to promise to visit me in a few months. Promise?" She loosens the hug and searches my face for an answer.

She knows how much I hate it to leave the District, but I am no longer bound to it- the arrest ended before her birth.

I just nod. "I promise, baby. We will come and visit you and grandma. " She smiles and then turns to the one goodbye that is probably the worst, because my little girl is clever and could feel the agitation in her father for a while now.

"Daddy," Willow just says.

And it doesn't need more words, and Peeta takes her in his arms, hugging, lifting her up.

"My pumpkin, my little girl" he murmurs in her hair, and just pulls her even more on his chest, like he is trying to make her a part of his body and never letting her go.

But he has to, and I see the pain in his eyes to let her leave. She smiles a sad smile, tries to be brave, but I see her fear to go out into the unknown.

But her stubbornness, her curiosity, her passion to learn is just stronger.

She boards the train and waves at us when the train slowly leaves the station.

We keep standing there for a while, even when the train is no longer visible.

"Tell me she will be alright. Just once more" Peeta says in a faint voice.

I squeeze his hand, turn my head and look at him.

"She will be okay. She is your daughter after all."

He looks at me and I can see a smile grace his face for the first time in weeks.