I walk in the door, hauling my game bag over my shoulder. I didn't make out too badly today. Two rabbits, three squirrels and a wild turkey.

"Peeta!" I call out. No answer. I wonder where he is. I hate coming home to an empty house.

I go upstairs for a shower, but instead of finding the bathroom behind its usual door, I walk into a large room with concrete walls. A long metal table occupies the center of the otherwise empty room. Peeta is strapped to it, with long, liquid-filled tubes spiraling into his arms.

"You stay away from me!" he yells in a frantic voice. I whip around to see who he's talking to, but I'm the only one here. "Get out of here, you stinking mutt!" I'm horrified when I realize he's talking to me.

"No, Peeta." I try to reason with him. "No, they've hijacked you." I go over to him, try to undo the restraints, but it's no use. He's strapped down tight.

I freeze as, out of nowhere, I am assaulted by the smell of blood and roses. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure it's audible.

"I thought we agreed never to lie to each other, Miss Everdeen!" The loathsome, familiar voice is right behind me. Slowly, I turn to find President Snow, accompanied by a man wearing a white lab coat and holding a syringe. Before I can react, Snow grabs my wrists.

"Let me go!" I snarl. I struggle in a futile attempt to free myself as the man injects the blue liquid into me.

"Katniss. Katniss." It's Peeta's voice again, only this time it's much calmer, and has taken on the form of a distant echo.

I continue to struggle. "Let me go!"

"Katniss." Peeta's voice gradually becomes louder and closer. "Katniss, wake up. Wake up."

I jerk awake, panting and sweating. Peeta is there holding my wrists. His face is inches from mine, but it's too dark to see his expression. "Katniss, it's okay," he whispers. "It's just a dream."

It takes a few moments for me to orient myself. I'm in my own bedroom. All is quiet. It was just a dream. It wasn't real. Sweet relief floods through me as it all sinks in.

"Peeta!" I sob. He lets go of my wrists—I must have been thrashing around—and wraps his arms around me. I bury my face in his chest. "Snow had you."

"I'm right here," he whispers. His voice is soothing. "Nobody has me but you now." He brushes my hair away from my forehead. "Try and go back to sleep."

My nightmares usually consist of gruesome images reminiscent of the Games or the war—tracker jacker attacks, a desperately needed source of water that is always just out of reach, blood rain, barbed wire nets—but tonight's was especially brutal in comparison. Peeta being brainwashed into believing I was one of Snow's mutts—into forgetting that he loved me—is one of the worst things I have ever been through.

But those days are over. Snow is dead. Peeta is here with me. Safe. With this knowledge, I slowly begin to relax. I shut my eyes and let the steady drumming of his heartbeat lull me back to sleep.

I wake several hours later, still wrapped in Peeta's arms. He must have felt me stir, because in response, he tightens his hold on me. "Don't go yet," he says groggily, without opening his eyes.

"Okay," I say in an equally groggy voice. I'm not going to argue. I can tell by the sounds from outside the window that dawn is close at hand, and I'll have to go hunting soon. A lot of people depend on the meat I bring in. But it's cold outside, and I am in no hurry to leave Peeta's warmth. So for the next few minutes, we just lie there, holding each other.

But trust Buttercup to ruin the serenity. His sharp wailing lets me know he wants to go out.

"Shut up, you stupid cat!" I fling a pillow in the general direction of the noise, but don't see where it lands. I try to ignore his cries, but Buttercup simply won't have that. He gets louder and more demanding until it becomes unbearable.

I sigh in defeat. There's no way to compete with that.

"Oh, all right." Peeta kisses me before letting me go. "Morning breath."

"Oh, look who's talking," I say, playfully pushing him away.

He yawns and stretches. "Let me make breakfast before you go."

I sit at the kitchen table sipping hot tea as Peeta pulls a large tray out of the oven. It's comforting to have a sense of normalcy again. Although, in the last three years, the definition of normal has changed quite drastically.

I can't deny that I yearn for my old life. To have my mother and sister and me living under one roof again. But that will never happen. My sister is dead, and my mother is far away. If Reaping Day three years ago had been like any other—just show up in the Square at two, hope like hell your name isn't picked, sigh with relief when it isn't, and then go about your business—then I would still have my family with me.

But it wasn't like that. Not for Peeta and me. For us, being carted off to the Capitol was only the beginning. We were swept up into things that were out of our control, and now so many we love are gone.

I probably shouldn't complain. As much as I've suffered, my hardships can't hold a candle to Peeta's. Not only did he lose his entire family—mother, father and two brothers—when the district was bombed, he was tortured by the Capitol, his memories stolen, and altered into lies. He was changed into a completely different person, and even though the old Peeta is back, he will never fully heal. Every now and then he suffers from flashbacks, and is still uncertain about the authenticity of some of his memories—especially the ones involving me.

I hear Johanna Mason's words all the way from our bunker in District Thirteen. "There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things."

And the incredible thing is Peeta is the whole reason I've been able to move forward. Despite everything he's suffered, he still has hope. His natural optimism is the perfect antivenom for my cynicism. Without him, I'd still be wallowing in depression. Maybe even insane. Or maybe I wouldn't be here at all.

The nightmares don't come as often as they used to with him there at night, but they will never really go away. This is a truth I accepted long ago. But maybe it would help if I didn't have this house as a constant reminder of how I came to live here. I loved my house in the Seam. It was simple. It fit me like a glove. This huge place, with its many rooms and its ornate furniture...it's not me at all. Rather, it's a representation of what the Capitol sought to turn me into.

My mother and Prim liked it here, but they're long gone. Most of the refugees who returned from Thirteen stayed in the Victor's Village temporarily, but are now established in their own newly built homes. Why am I still here?

"You're quiet," Peeta places a large cinnamon roll in front of me. Comfort food. He takes the chair next to me.

"Just deep in thought," I tell him.

"The nightmare last night?" he asks.

I shake my head. Funny, but as ugly as last night's nightmare was, I'm not especially bothered by it right now like I would normally be after a less extreme one. Maybe it's because when I woke from it, I could see Peeta right next to me not being hijacked.

"What is it then?"

"I don't want to live in this house anymore," I say plainly. "I hate it here. I want to go back to the Seam."

"I know," he says.

He knows. Of course he does. This doesn't surprise me. Peeta might not be as attuned to me as Gale was, but when it comes to the Games, there is never anything to explain. He was there too.

"How about town?" he asks. "Would you consider living in town?"

"Right now, I'd consider living in a cave in the woods."

Peeta laughs darkly. "Let's not."

Where is he going with this? I was just voicing my disgust with my current living situation. The thought of leaving has only crossed my mind in the last few minutes. It hasn't progressed to actual planning—not yet. But he just brought up living in town... Was there a purpose behind his question?

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've been thinking about reopening the bakery," he says. "In the square, where the old one used to be."

"Oh?" This is news to me.

He reaches over and takes my hand. "And when it's done, I thought you and I could have a toasting." He locks his blue eyes on mine. "How about it, Katniss?"

The idea pulls me up short. A toasting. District Twelve's traditional marriage ritual. Peeta is asking for my hand. This is something I never would have even considered three years ago, before the Hunger Games had been abolished. When bringing children into the world meant risking them being reaped for seven years of their lives. I swore then that I would never let that happen.

I hesitate long enough for Peeta to pick up on it. "Or we can live in the Seam if you want."

"No, town will be fine," I say. "Go ahead with the bakery." That my mind is in a different place doesn't get lost on Peeta.

"What is it, Katniss?" he asks. "Do you not want to get married?" The look on his face suggests he's afraid of what the answer might be.

"No," I tell him, but that's not what I meant to say. I quickly retract. "I mean, yes. Yes, I do. Just...the thought scares me a little. And it shouldn't...because the reason no longer exists."

Peeta takes a moment to consider what I've just said. "You're still afraid to have children." Again, things I don't have to explain to him.

I nod, but even I can't put my finger on why I continue to have reservations even now that the threat is gone. "Don't worry about it though," I tell him. "It's just...old habits." I guess that's it, anyway.

Peeta places his hand on my cheek. "You know I'll never make you do anything you don't want to do, Katniss. But remember what Dr. Aurelius said. About letting fear determine the rest of your life."

"Yeah, I know." I smile at him assuringly. "And I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you." I wonder if he'll recognize the quote.

A confused expression crosses his face. It's the look he sometimes gets when he's unsure about a memory. "I think I said that to you once. Right before the Quarter Quell. We spent that night and the entire next day alone. Real or not real?"

"Real," I say. Looks like the Capitol couldn't steal all of his memories.

"So am I to take it your answer is yes?"

"A firm and decided yes," I tell him.

"Good," he says. "Now get over here."

I laugh out loud as pulls me into his lap. I lean in and press my lips firmly to his; my hands snake around his neck, and through his hair. Every kiss we've shared since our return to Twelve has brought with it the welcome sensation that I am melting into him. I can now kiss him because I want to, not because I'm expected to. And with no more confusion over my feelings for him, no more cameras following us around, and Peeta no longer wondering if my actions are genuine, I want to kiss him all the time.

If we're not careful, we'll end up getting a late start to the day.

The sun is just peaking over the horizon when I get to the woods. It's unusually cold for May, and a layer of frost blankets the ground.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little wistful every time I come out here. I'm reminded of Gale every time I pass our old meeting place, every time I set a snare. He was my dearest friend for many years. But the fact is we began to drift apart the day the Capitol took me away.

Since Peeta came back into my life, I've stopped wondering where Gale and I would be had that fateful day not happened. Still, I can't help but wonder about him. Do he and his family like District Two? Do they miss it here? Does he miss me? Has he found himself a lady? Is he happy? I hope he is.

I am. A year ago, I never thought I'd be able to say that again, but, amazingly, I can. Peeta has seen to that. Whatever I felt for Gale can in no way compete with what I feel for Peeta. I know that now.

I feel bad for messing up his proposal this morning. I'm sure he was expecting me to be stupidly excited at the idea. And I am. But I'm also scared witless.

It isn't necessarily marriage that has me quaking in my hunting boots. We're practically married already. Ever since I first declared my love to Peeta, he's all but moved in with me. He eats at my house, bakes at my house, paints at my house, sleeps in my bed. We might as well make it official. He only goes to his own house for...well, come to think of it, I don't remember the last time he needed to visit his house. I think he keeps art supplies there or something.

But I know Peeta, and he'll want children. And why shouldn't he have them? He'll be a good father, and it would be wrong of me to deny him the opportunity just because I'm afraid.

But why am I still afraid? The Games are no longer an issue.

Forget hunting. I need to get to the bottom of this if I am to give Peeta the future he dreams of. I lower my bow and, paying little mind to where I'm headed, stroll deep into the woods, digging into my heart for the answer. Before I realize it, I'm at my father's lake, and it suddenly hits me. My father's death had nothing to do with the Games or the war. He died doing what he did every day—going to work in the mines. And therein lies the reason for my fear. Because there are always dangers out there threatening to take away those you love.

But that's ridiculous. With that logic, why bother loving anyone at all?

I shake my head as if to clear it. Peeta is right. If I let fear keep me from being happy, then I essentially turn control of my life over to the Snows and Coins of the world. And I know I mustn't let that happen. I resolve to stop worrying about it and be happy. I'll face this fear one day, and I know Peeta will wait patiently until I am ready to do so.

I get back to hunting, taking out as many waterfowl as I can to make up for the time I lost walking up here. Luckily, they're easy pickings around the lake.

Between what I shot myself, and what I trapped in the snares, I have all the meat I can carry. I heft my game bag over my shoulder and make my way back to the district.

I stop by the Victor's Village to drop off a turkey at my house. Peeta won't be there. He's in town helping with the reconstruction along with every other able bodied person who returned in the last year. Everyone able to lend a hand has joined in. While participation is voluntary, not mandatory, it's understood that it's going to take all of us to make this district functional again.

During the mile and a half walk between the Village and the Square, I run into an uncharacteristically sober Haymitch, who is hefting two large bags. Given the fact that the train was due today, and the telltale sound of clinking glass, it's not hard to guess what he's carrying. He never seems to have enough liquor to hold him until the next shipment arrives.

"I hear congratulations are in order," he says. "For real, this time."

I can't help grinning. "So you saw Peeta."

"Yeah," he says, "but I should probably warn you, everybody and their mother has heard by now."

"What? I haven't even told my mother yet," I say. But it's not surprising that the news has spread like wildfire. With all that's happened, people eagerly cling to the smallest shreds of happiness.

"The boy is over the moon about it," says Haymitch.

"No doubt about that," I say. "He's been waiting for this day since he was what, five?"

"I'll be sure to get Plutarch on the phone right away." he says.

"That's very funny, Haymitch," I say.

"And your prep team will be thrilled to death!" He yells after me as I walk away.

My next stop is to see Greasy Sae. Just as she did at the Hob, she cooks soup over a kettle. Only now, she passes it out free of charge. It's her way of contributing to the rebuilding effort, since she's not physically capable of providing labor. I provide the meat—my way of contributing. Although sometimes I'll grab a hammer if I get back early enough.

"I heard a rumor about you," she says.

"I hear there's no one who hasn't," I say.

"Glad to see you alive again, child," she says.

Alive. It's an appropriate choice of words. When I first returned home, I was practically a vegetable. I spent the first few months confined to my kitchen—well, more precisely, to the chair by the fire—refusing to budge. Greasy Sae came around twice a day to make sure I ate.

"Thank you," I say. She knows my thanks are for more than just the comment. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"I think he's working on the sweetshop," she says.

"Thanks. See you later."

Every now and then I am stopped by a well wisher. Leevy, my neighbor from the Seam, who is working as a seamstress, offers to make my dress. I haven't given it much thought—I've only been engaged for a few hours, and I've had other things on my mind. I still have the beautiful gowns that Cinna made for me hanging in a closet at home, but they're too extravagant for a District Twelve ceremony, and too reminiscent of the Capitol. I think I'll go ahead and just rent one from Leevy.

The clatter of hammers and saws becomes increasingly louder as I approach the square. The air is ripe with a mixture of sawdust and paint. It's a slow process, but the town is coming along. A handful of businesses are already up and running.

I make my way toward the sweetshop and I can't help smiling when I spot Peeta applying a fresh coat of white paint. He can never seem to resist the opportunity to pick up a paintbrush, even if it is just for a construction project. He sees me before I'm halfway across the square and runs to meet me. A giggle escapes my lips as he lifts me off my feet and spins me around. Then he kisses me as if no one is watching. We ignore the whoops and hollers coming from all around us. We're used to that sort of thing. It's not like we've never kissed in front of an audience before.

"What's this I hear about you and me getting married?" I ask him teasingly.

"I swear, I only told Haymitch," he says.

I raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "Yes, and I'm sure Haymitch just couldn't wait to tell everyone."

"Okay, I might have mentioned it to Thom when I applied for the building permit," he confesses. "Thom probably told Delly."

"Really? That's odd." This tidbit of information takes me by surprise. "I didn't know Thom and Delly even knew each other."

"Well, apparently, they do." Peeta's eyes dart over to some point to my left. I look in the direction he indicated, and see Thom and Delly several yards away, talking, laughing, holding hands. "They've been getting pretty cozy lately," Peeta whispers.

"I see," I say in a hushed tone. "Thom and Delly, huh?"

Thom is about Gale's age, and used to work in the mines with him. Since returning to Twelve, he has thrown himself into the reconstruction. He's been the go-to guy for the building permits, and ordering supplies. Delly is my age. While she and her brother survived the bombing, their parents were not so fortunate. They ran the shoe shop before, but Delly hasn't expressed any desire to reopen it.

"So you got the permit?" I ask.

"Not yet," says Peeta. "It has to be approved first, but once that happens I can go ahead and order the supplies."

"Katniss! Peeta!" I look around to see Delly hurrying toward us with Thom in her wake. In one arm, she's carrying a package that must have just arrived on the train. She throws her free arm around my neck. "I'm absolutely thrilled for you!"

"Thank you, Delly," I say. I will always be grateful to Delly. After Peeta was hijacked, she was very instrumental in his recovery. She and I became pretty good friends after that.

"Congratulations, Katniss," says Thom, extending his hand. I shake it. "Well, I've gotta get back to work." He turns to Delly. "I'll see you later." He kisses her on the cheek. The look he gives her suggests she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I should get back, too," says Peeta. He places a light kiss on my cheek. "Soon as I'm done here, I'll call it a day." He gives Delly a nod. "Good seeing you, Delly."

"Take care, Peeta," she answers. She then turns on me. "Do you realize you'll be the first couple to marry since we all came back?" she points out.

"I don't know," I say, eying Thom emphatically. "From the looks of things, we might have a little competition. I saw the way you two were into each other just now. How did that happen?" I've never been one for girl talk, but Delly and I have become close, and we now have this in common, so...

Delly's smile widens. "We met a couple of weeks ago working on Greasy Sae's house, and just got to talking, and ever since we've been on the same projects. Of course, he's the one that passes out the assignments, so I know it's not just a coincidence."

"What's in the box?" I ask, indicating the package she's carrying.

"School books," she says. "I'm going to be a teacher."

"Oh." Another surprise. "No more shoe shop, then?"

Delly shakes her head. "That was my parents' thing."

"Well, you'll make a good teacher," I say. "They'd be proud."

Tears begin to form in her eyes. "Thank you," she says, dabbing them with her shirt sleeve. "Well, I need to go find my brother. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help with the wedding."

"I will."

I spend the next few minutes wandering around the Square, and eventually find myself at the new Memorial Building. I walk up the steps and go in.

It's a one-room structure, about the size of my bedroom in the Seam, and completely empty of furniture. Peeta lent his talent by painting murals on the inside walls. On the wall opposite the entrance, in large letters, are the words WE REMEMBER.

Upon its completion, a service was held honoring those who were lost. After a few words by the mayor, we were all invited to write the names of our departed loved ones in permanent ink, wherever we could find the space.

I comb through the names trying to locate the one I wrote. A few jump out at me—Rooba the butcher, Madge, Delly's parents—but Primrose Everdeen seems to be lost in the sea of the seven thousand others.

"Here she is." I jump at the sound of Peeta's voice. I didn't hear him come in. He's pointing to a spot about five feet away from where I was searching. "Right next to my family."

I can't stop the tears from coming. Peeta puts his arms around me and holds me close; I bury my face in his jacket and let the tears flow. We stand there wordlessly for a long time. After a while, I look up and see he's crying too.

"Will it ever stop hurting?" he asks.

I'm not sure if the question was meant to be rhetorical, or if he's actually asking about my experience since my father's death so many years ago, but I answer it anyway. "Not completely." I reach up to wipe his eyes with my thumbs. He returns the gesture. "Time will take the edge off, but you'll always miss them."

He kisses my forehead. "I could never face this without you," he tells me. "There would be no life for me if your name were on this wall."

We stand there in our silent embrace a few minutes more. Then he takes my hand, entwining his fingers in mine. "Come on," he says. "Let's go home."

Together, we walk down the road back to the Victor's Village.