It had been such a long day in the office. Meeting after meeting after meeting… all day long.

As the President, it was my job— Keep the districts in check. With the annual Hunger Games nearing, tensions between the Capitol and the districts were mounting up.

I was overwhelmed.

And it’s not like I had anything special waiting for me at home.

Sure, we were married, but I was far from in love with you. Our relationship was strictly political. I need a first lady, after all, to make myself look better in front of the nation. I had to preserve my reputation and status in the Capitol. You made that happen.

God, you tried so hard. It was almost amusing. I had always wondered how long it would take before you gave up and accepted this. Everywhere I turned you did almost anything you could to please me— As if you thought you could convince me to love you. Certainly you weren’t naive enough to think that, were you?

I’m grateful, but that’s it. I don’t love you, and in fact, I feel nothing for you. You’re just… there. You’re there to make me look good, and you get the job done.

An accessory.

The most perfect and polite accessory.

I trudged up the stairs toward our penthouse with heavy, exhausted steps. I fiddled with the door handle before slowly pulling it open with a heavy sigh, murmuring a low “I’m home” as I hung my coat on the rack by the door.

I was instantly greeted with an appetizing smell drifting from the kitchen.

Of course you made dinner.

I couldn’t help but sigh, unable to hide the hungry pain in my stomach as I wandered into the kitchen. You stood at the counter, your hair pulled up as you brought plates of pasta over to the dining table. When you saw me, you gave me that same overly-sweetened smile that I saw every evening when I got home. I scoffed.

“You made dinner?” I spoke lowly, though my tone made it out as more of a statement than a question. Nothing further, I took a seat at the dining table, watching as you smiled and followed me over to take your seat as well.