He stared at the front door.

It was black, like the shutters. It made the house look more sophisticated, Mrs. Waterford had said. He had nodded along. That was all she had wanted him to do anyway. It was part of how he ended up here. How he ended up in this house with a Martha and a Wife. It was how he ended up with an envelope with the dossiers of three Handmaids.

His driver was watching him. He could feel the question that wasn't being asked. But he didn't move to get out. He wasn't ready to leave the car yet. It was still the place he felt most comfortable. Not the spare bedroom he slept in. Not the office that felt too nice for a guy like him. Not with his wife.

He looked down at the envelope in his hand. He didn't want a Handmaid. He didn't want to bring a baby into this world. Especially not his baby- no kid deserved that. But mostly he couldn't imagine forcing a woman to give up her child so another woman- a child, actually- could raise it.

But he already knew he had no choice. He could get away with not sleeping with his wife, but Gilead wouldn't tolerate him not taking a Handmaid- not completing the Ceremony. He may be a Commander now, but that didn't mean anything. He was low-ranking and new. And if someone questioned his loyalty to Gilead's values- if they thought he was rebelling- they would put him on the wall. He didn't mind that so much.

But he had a feeling the fifteen year old he was married to would be right next to him.

The curtains at one of the windows fluttered- caught his eye. She was in there. She was waiting for him. And he knew that as soon as he walked in the house she would be there, smiling so hopefully. He hated it. He hated how he walked past her as if she didn't matter. He hated that doing anything else would encourage her. He hated that he couldn't just explain what this all was. Because if he could just talk to her then maybe she'd stop wishing for him to fuck her.

But that wouldn't work. She had too much faith in Gilead. She was too innocent. Their age difference wouldn't matter to her. The wrongness of this whole thing wouldn't come through for her. And there was a higher chance of her saying the wrong thing to the wrong person and getting them both in trouble. Still, he hated the tension that was always in that house- tension he couldn't break.

He watched as the curtain moved again.

He couldn't hide out in the car. He had to go in. He had to read the files in his hand. He had to decide which woman to rape on a monthly basis. He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. He glanced at his driver. He had never been a jealous guy. But he was jealous now, because this guy wasn't married to a literal child. This guy wasn't forced to play a part he didn't want. This guy wouldn't have to live with the guilt that he would soon be living with.

He got out of the car and walked up to the porch. Mrs. Waterford had called it a veranda. He didn't get the difference- didn't care. The door opened before he could pull his key from his pocket. And there she was- Mrs. Blaine. Eden. Named after paradise, the place where man first sinned. Innocent and sweet and unaware of how truly fucked up things were about to become. Her parents named her the right thing.

She smiled- wide and hopeful. He nodded- short and indifferent.

She stepped aside. He walked past.

The door closed behind him.

He was trapped.