The ring on your finger felt heavier tonight.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this — like a question mark, like a lie waiting to collapse under its own weight. You stood by the window of the small home you shared with Peeta in District 12, watching the wind kick up ash where wildflowers used to grow.

He was in the kitchen, humming softly while kneading dough, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his cheek. He looked peaceful. He always did when he baked. Like this version of life — one without blood, without arenas, without Capitol cameras — might finally be enough for him.

But you couldn’t shake the doubt.

You turned around slowly. “Can I ask you something?”

Peeta looked up, smiling in that warm, open way that used to make your heart skip. “Of course.”

You swallowed. “Do you love me?”

The question cracked through the room like glass shattering.

His hands stilled in the dough. “What?”

“Do you actually love me,” you repeated, voice quieter now, “or am I just… the safe choice?”

His brow furrowed. “Where is this coming from?”

You stepped forward, arms crossed. “Katniss.”

Peeta’s whole body went still.

You pushed on, heart pounding. “You two were bonded by fire. You survived the Games twice. You were the star-crossed lovers — the ones who would rather die than be apart. I see the way people still look at you two. Like they’re waiting for her to come home and fix whatever this is.”

Peeta dropped the dough into the bowl and wiped his hands, silent.

You continued, voice trembling now. “We’re engaged. But I keep wondering… was that supposed to be her? Did I just step into the life she didn’t want?”

He walked around the counter slowly, eyes locked on yours. “You think I’m pretending?”

“I think,” you whispered, “you’ve been through so much pain, you’re trying to hold onto anything that doesn’t remind you of it.”

Peeta’s expression changed — the warmth gone now, replaced with something wounded, raw.

“I lost myself in those Games,” he said. “Snow hijacked my mind, made me think Katniss was the enemy. There were days I couldn’t even trust my own memories. And yeah, I loved her. Maybe a part of me always will.”

Your heart twisted.

“But what I felt for her was survival,” he said firmly. “What I feel for you? That’s peace. That’s choice. I wake up next to you and I don’t feel like a tribute. I feel like a person. You don’t understand how rare that is for someone like me.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “But what if she walked through that door tomorrow and asked you to run away with her?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’d stay.”

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat.

“I’d stay,” Peeta repeated, softer this time. “Because you are not a second choice. You’re the first thing I’ve chosen for myself since the Capitol stole everything from me.”

He stepped closer, brushing your cheek gently with his flour-dusted fingers.

“I don’t want a love that was scripted for an audience,” he whispered. “I want this. Messy, honest, quiet. I want you.”

You looked up at him, voice cracking. “Then stop looking at me like I’ll disappear.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m looking at you like you’re the one thing keeping me here.”

And in that moment, the weight of the ring on your hand didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

It felt real.