This is the hospital scene in Mockingjay, just differently.

"I remember the bread," he says from behind me. My eyes squeeze shut on their own accord and tears threaten, but I don't turn around. My hand doesn't leave the doorknob and my feet are glued to the floor. I can't turn around. Because I know if I do, I won't see the same Peeta that spent those nights on the train with me. And I'll realize he won't ever be that Peeta again. I don't want the pain of understanding to hit me. I don't want to know that he's not the boy I loved.

I flash back to the cold rainy day when I was sure my family and I would die.

My stomach hurts badly with the emptiness and the guilt of not being able to feed my family. My limbs are numb and the cold rain seems to seep into my body, meeting my core and stealing what little heat I have left. And then I see him.

I remember the boy with the bread in precise detail: his silhouette framed by the entrance to the bakery, the burn marks on his hands, the wetness of his eyes after a beating from his mother, and the strange look in them as he throws me the burned loaf.

Peeta isn't the same boy from so long ago, but then again, it's not as if I haven't changed as well.

"You remember?" My voice breaks and I turn toward the bed, awaiting his answer. It doesn't matter if my heart breaks a thousand times over. It doesn't matter if I drown in the realization of the disappearance of the old Peeta. I need to see him again somewhat sane.

"Yeah," he whispers. I could tell he was struggling with the conflicting emotions of wanting to kill me and the memory of saving a little girl and her family from starvation. "I must have loved you a lot."

The tears well over and I begin to cry. "You did," I said. The past tense of the statement kills me to say, and it seems I begin to realize how far Peeta is from me—the boy with the bread.

"So," he says, looking void of emotion, "do you love me?"

My voice is full of tremors and tears fall freely as I look in his eyes and say, "I did love you. But you're not him." I turn and get out as quickly as I can.

Haymitch is right outside the door, waiting for me to rush into his arms. We stand there for a long time and he generously lets me cry out my stress, hurt, and the debris of a broken heart.

"It's all right, sweetheart," he says. "It's going to be all right." It's not much consolation, since I know it to be false, but I accept it. Maybe because lies are all I have to hold onto now.

"I want my old Peeta back," I sob.

Haymitch strokes my hair and pats my back. "I know," he says, and from his tone of voice, I can tell he isn't lying. "I want him back, too."

Haymitch leads me inside the room where we can observe Peeta. We sit on a bench with our backs against the wall. There, we sit silently together.

Just two people who lost another someone to the madness of the rebellion.