A few days later, I'm released from hospital.

I've been told to take it easy, but how can I when I am trying to find answers to the last apparent seven years of my life?

"Here we are, home." Peeta tells me as we approach a bigger house right by the lake I remember treasuring as a child. But don't remember living here.

"We extended the old lake house. So our small family could grow up here. We both love it." Peeta must see the slight confusion I have.

He opens the door, but no new memories register. I stand by the door and Peeta walks in, placing the couple of bags we had on the floor. He looks back over to me, sighing.

We both seem to have a slight frown disfiguring our faces. This connection we used to have much have slipped from our grasp the second I somehow landed in hospital.

My vision has no focal point, I don't know what I'm looking at. But my eyes are training on something. Him? The floor? The glass windows?

"You can go look around, get your bearings of where things are." I jump at Peeta's sudden voice. My eyes dart to his and my muscles slowly relax.

He nods before walking into one of the rooms and I begin to slowly walk down the hallway, studying all the features. Paintings, magnificent ones. I approach one that catches my eye. A woman, looking much like me. Tears of possible joy on her face as she smiles at me, with a newborn baby in her arms.

I feel my muscles contract at the sight. This surely is supposed to be me with one of my daughters. But nothing registers in my mind, just a big black hole full of nothing.

I flit my eyes away and keep walking.  I stumble upon a chest of drawers, sitting on top of them are a collection of photo frames. I study them to discover a bride and a groom, Peeta and I, on our wedding day. But no memories of that jog to mind except the image of the photos being embedded in the list of things I need to remember.

We seem so full of joy and love in these photos, but I can't see any of that now. Many of the photos have us kissing and holding each other in a tight and romantic embrace, I wish I could remember those sweet small moments.

I turn into one of the rooms and discover it to be the kitchen. Not aligned with any paintings that someone has painted. I go further into the kitchen, looking around, not remembering any of this.

Maybe I should just give up the home of never getting any of the lost memories back.

My eyes go to the floor and my mind twists in even more confusion. Faint red marks on the tiles. I lift my head and watch as my world jaggers and unbalances.

I hunch over the table and stabilise my own breathing. What's going on? 

Everything. One by one. Floods my memory.

I grasp my stomach as I struggle to stand up straight again, tears wanting to leak out of my eyes. I scramble to the door frame, clutching it in my free hands grasp. My breathing becoming heavier.

Peeta must be in the living room, working on one of his new paintings. I must make a grand entrance, making Peeta turn around from what I expected him to doing. Painting.

I begin to sob, continuing to clutch my stomach with both my hands. Struggling to even continue breathing.

He runs up to me, placing his hands against my cheeks. "What's going on?"

"I - I don't know. I don't know Peeta. I -" I make out in between my sobs. I tilt my head down, watching as my hands clench my stomach. Tightening and loosening. I can't even look into his eyes without seeing anything.

"I - I don't know." I whine and drop to my knees. Still crying, I manage to look at him. One hand remains clutching my stomach but the other reaches up and threads my fingers in his hair.

I abruptly press to lips to his. Making all that I can be passionate. My sobs continue as I kiss him, my body can't cope. My body struggles to hang on. 

But I keep going.

And return to him.