Chapter Text
The light in District 12 always finds four-year-old Willow before it finds the rest of us. As soon as the sun rises over the horizon, her soft, tiny fingers find my shoulders and eagerly shake them until my eyes crack open.
This became a daily routine almost immediately after she learned to walk and talk. It turns out that even if she is a boundless ball of energy and I’m the exact opposite, we share one undeniable thing — our love for the Meadow.
“Mama,’ Willow whispers into my ear. “Can we go to the Meadow? Pretty please?”
Within seconds, Peeta is stirring beside me and scooping Willow up onto his lap.
“Of course,” he says, tickling her stomach until her giggles fill the room, melting my heart like warm wax. “But if it rains, we’ll have to come straight home, okay?”
“Thank you, Daddy!” Willow squeals, scrambling off the bed to get dressed. Peeta should have known better—obviously, she’d only have caught the first half of the sentence.
“Hey,” I say softly, running my fingers through Peeta’s blonde curls. He offers a tired smile, but I can see that his eyes are full of love. When I was pregnant with Willow, he promised to love our baby with all of his heart. And he has done more than that. He has given her his everything. I will never be as good a parent as he is. Ever.
“Morning, Katniss,” he replies, leaning in for a lingering kiss. When he pulls away, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “I think you took her to the Meadow way too many times while carrying her. Now she’s more attached to it than she is to us.”
I feign a disappointed sigh and look toward the corner of our bedroom, where our son, Rye, who just turned one, is sleeping soundly in his crib.
“Let’s see if Rye turns out the same way. I spent just as much time out there when I was pregnant with him.”
As if on cue, the blankets in the crib rustle. A moment later, a soft whimpering turns into a full-fledged cry. Peeta and I exchange a knowing smile.
“Speak of the devil,” Peeta says before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the room to gather our crying child into his arms. As Peeta sways gently, Rye’s cries slowly begin to quiet down into sleepy hitches, his small head resting securely against his father’s shoulder.
"Diaper duty is all yours, dad," I tease, sitting up on the edge of the bed and tying my hair back into its usual braid.
“Fine,” Peeta grunts, but he is terrible at hiding his smirk. "Why don't you help our little storm before she puts her shoes on the wrong feet?"
Before I can reply, Willow bursts back into the doorway, demanding to know why no one else is ready yet. I can’t help but grin as I stand up, feeling the crisp morning air hit my skin. Outside the window, the sun paints the world gold, beckoning us out into the open. I take a deep breath as I prepare for the day to unfold before my eyes.
It’s time to head to the Meadow.