SSS to prove I'm still writing When The Red X is on the Door
I was learning to pick my battles with Peeta’s overprotectiveness. I knew from what my mother told me that it was normal for a first time father, and I knew it was also connected to the swimming pool - sized bucket of fears he carried around with him from his time being hijacked in the Capitol.
When I complained about it, my mother made sure to remind me that Peeta’s Capitol torturers had tried very hard to convince him that the fake pregnancy before the Quarter Quell bad been real and that I ended it to hurt him. That this information so easily accessible and obvious to me, to her, to Haymitch, was to Peeta like the most jagged, minuscule shard of a beautiful vase that had been shattered into a million pieces.
He might have been able to eventually put it back together, but it would never look the same and the pieces would never fit back together quite the same way. She said that some part of Peeta’s mind would always hold those memories in question and I ought to be sensitive to his needs in that respect.
I’d kept my mouth shut pretty well on the subject up until that fourth month, but as I saw and felt the changes occurring almost daily in my body, it became increasingly more difficult to do so. Especially when Peeta just went right along peeing a reasonable number of times in a day, being able to pick up things he dropped on the floor with ease, and sleeping on his stomach like it was the simplest thing in the world to do.