Dear Auntie,
I'm back home now, but I'll soon be leaving. We stayed in District 4 until a month ago. I was unable to write.
It was hard, going into our little bedroom and rifling through the clothes that no longer fit, pulling out old things of Cinna's and inhaling the scent of them, through the dust catching the smell of him, his chubby three-year-old soap and the smell of sunshine.
I finished your diary about a week after his death. It was hard to read the final entry, but I keep it with me. It's still got the letters on it, although they're peeling off the cover.
Annie's dead, she died the day after Finn's sixteenth birthday. I told him she was with his dad now. He just nodded and stared at the ever-lengthening row of stones.
That day Mama was screaming, Daddy had had another flashback. I discovered what they were when I was eleven, the same day of Annie's death. It's sad.
Finn and I... We're getting married. Daddy tried to discourage me from it, saying that I'm only 18, I'm not ready yet, but I am. We both are.
Auntie, I'm pregnant. That's one reason we're getting married at such a young age, but it's not the main reason. The baby is Finn's. It's going to be another Cinna James.
I just wanted you to know that I think I'm finally where I'm supposed to be after a long while.
I have grown to love you, and I need you to know that. I love you lots.
Love,
Primrose Mellark.