The nightmares only come once or twice a week now, which I am beyond grateful for. I know I'll never truly escape them—their grip around me is suffocating, iron and metallic and causes me to thrash in the night, entangled in the bed sheets until Peeta's soothing voice croons me back to sleep.

Yes, once or twice a week I can now deal with.

My breath dances out in front of me as I exhale-inhale-exhale in the cold, the trees surrounding me are barren and white and I perch myself high in a tree feeling a surge of pride that even five years after the fall of the Capitol and the end of the war, even after all of the medication and nightmares and moments where I literally thought my heart would stop, I can still climb a tree to heights that even I don't want to think about too closely.

Peeta is expecting me in a half hour and I don't want to worry him, but I've always cherished my moments alone. We've been married just over a year and I love Peeta Mellark more than I love myself, but being a loner is ingrained into my bloodstream. It's what keeps me sane and Peeta, because he is Peeta and is better than any man I have ever met, understands this. He just nods or smiles softly every time I tell him I'm going for a walk, knowing that my feet lead me to the woods where I can climb or hunt or sit by the lake and let my mind wander. He never asks to come along, never follows me suspiciously. I think he knows he's too loud anyway for hunting, but mostly I think he loves me and trusts me. And after everything we've been through, trust is a precious gift I feel blessed to have.

I let myself shimmy down the tree, enjoying the sensation of the cold in my nostrils, the little hairs frozen. I think of Prim every day and although the dull throb in my chest has diminished to a little 'patter' it's still there and I know it always will be.

The walk to our home is short and one I thoroughly enjoy. Before Peeta and I were married we decided living in the Victor's Village wasn't something we could do. For me it was too many stifling and painful memories and for Peeta, justice was always a passion of his and he would always feel guilty living in the Village while the rest of District 12 rebuilt their lives outside the gates. Peeta and myself, along with the help of a few men in 12 and surprisingly Haymitch (when he wasn't stumbling in drunk), began the long two-year process that would result in our cottage next to the Meadow. We moved in the day we were married. Peeta began baking and painting and actually started a small baking business, using our kitchen as his workspace. We made a living off of his baking salary and he also worked as a kind of freelance painter—painting for weddings, hired by the school for a mural—any odd painting job around town. He was happy to be keeping busy and working and I was happy to see him back to his self again, although the haunted look in both our eyes would probably never completely leave.

As for me? I continued to hunt, bringing my game to town in exchange for money. It took awhile, but eventually I made my way as a somewhat unconventional healer. I guess part of it was the loss of Prim and it was my promise to her, to continue healing people even when my heart wasn't in it. I didn't have an office or anything—like Peeta, my home became my workplace. I liked it that way. No fuss, extra bills—it was real and reality was all I could handle.

Our cottage comes into my view and I can't stop the warm feeling in my belly.

Home.

There is a whisper of snowfall in the air and I wish I had a scarf with me, but I'm so close to home and the soft glow of the lights inside warm me enough to make the last few yards to the front door.

The doorknob is familiar in my hands as I twist it, opening the door only to be met with a chorus of, "Surprise!"

My first instinct is to run from the loud noise but then my eyes adjust to the light and I can't believe what I'm seeing. My friends—smiling, scarred, young, old, happy, haunted, alive—are all standing in our living room, smiling at me. There is a beautiful cake on the table, sage green with dandelions all over it and it steals my breath away because I know only Peeta could create something this beautiful.

I'm a little confused until I feel my husband's hand on my lower back and his blue eyes are in front of mine, twinkling with mischief.

"Happy Birthday Katniss," he says before kissing me. I let a laugh bubble out of my throat as I look around at all the faces—my mother, older and greyer but attempting a smile for my sake and looking genuinely happy to see me. Johanna with her spiky hair and her self-confidence beaming through, pretending to gag at Peeta's kiss but actually smiling toward us. Annie and her little five year old son, Jem, reaching his pudgy arms up to his mom who is smiling down at him and trying not to see her late husband Finnick in the blonde hair and the beautiful eyes and yet seeing only her husband at the same time. Haymitch, older and still one hell of a mess but here all the same, with that cocky smirk on his face but actually, someone I truly care about it.

And Gale. Gale who is tall and broad and whose eyes hold something I can't name. Regret? Self-hatred? Loneliness? I check my heart for a minute and am happy when there is only a memory of a best friend there. Maybe one day we will be close again, but not like those hunting partners. I am not that same hunting girl in the woods and I know Gale and I will never have that same relationship. I am okay with that and—it's taken five years for us to even be in one another's presence. This is a good start.

All of them—all of my family—here for me. For my birthday!

My birthday?

I suddenly smile so big, so happy and so silly because I had totally forgot it was my birthday today. It may seem a little unbelievable, but if you lived in 12 nowadays, celebrations are few and far between. Not to say we didn't have them—people still got married, still smiled and were just beginning to move their feet in our special District 12 dancing style—but it is a slow process.

"Thank you," I say, horrified at the thought that tears are actually forming in my eyes. Johanna is smirking big after all. Our friends begin chattering in their own way and I'm free to turn to Peeta, who is so beautiful in the flickering firelight that my throat even further constricts. Since when have I been the sentimental one?

"Did you do this for me?" I ask, reaching for one of his hands as the other rests on my hip. I

He smiles, bringing me close. "It's always for you Katniss." I look at the man before me, my husband, and I still see the boy with the bread but Peeta Mellark is changed. He is taller, yes, and his hair is a bit longer so he needs to keep flicking it out of his eyes, but he is also scarred the way I am scarred. Literally and deep inside too. I love everything his is and was.

"I love you," I tell him and it feels good to be able to say the words free of any confusion. I've known for a long time my heart belongs to Peeta. I like sharing this information with him.

"I love you forever," Peeta responds, leading me over to our friends. I suddenly feel embarrassed in my leather boots and hunting apparel. I don't look like a birthday girl.

Peeta, because he's Peeta, senses my hesitation and looks back at me. I give him a playful glare.

"Even though this surprise is lovely, technically I could be really mad at you for not wishing me happy birthday this morning and warning me to dress a little nicer tonight," I say. I watch his eyes light up and he crosses his arms, cocking his head to the side.

"And do you really think you would have let me put this together if you knew about it?" His question reaches me and since I can't argue I just kiss him on the cheek, leaning in close to his ear.

"Thank you," I say and he smiles, pulling me toward our friends. The word is not enough—it does not convey everything inside of me that I want to give to Peeta. Words are lost on me and as the boy with the bread pulls us toward our family and friends, I finally feel like maybe, just maybe things will really be okay.

My name is Katniss Mellark. I am twenty-two years old. I am…happy.

Love & Strawberries,

The Good Girl