Borders keep us in and keep them out. They are getting closer.

Being so close to the border of both the Colonies and Canada, there is always a threat posed to the city. The Resistance did not dare venture near the city, but their blood-soaked victories over Gileadean armies breathed down our necks. They knew better than to waste their resources and wavering strength on fighting the fortresses that freckled the city limits. They would be outnumbered and defeated before they could make a battle cry or a declaration of war. A few hours to the west, mostly the north by the border, young rebels loom and lie in wait to aid runaways or escaped prisoners in their liberation. To the south the Colonies are rife with chaos. Some of the unlucky souls banished to the toxic wastelands accept their doomed fate while others band together before the toxicity spoils them, becoming a resistance.

Daniel takes a risk in telling me these things at night when he comes to brush my hair.

"The handmaids are accompanied by two Guardians at all times now." I say. "Did something happen?"

Daniel pauses, holds in a breath, and releases it. "Promise-swear to me for the sake of the child that you will not breathe a word of what I am about to say to anyone. Not Jane, not the Marthas; no one."

Shit. This is bad.

"You have my word."

Daniel sets down the brush and watches me through the mirror. His eyes wander over my reflection as if he is expecting-or wishing-another reflection to be in my place.

"A handmaid escaped from the city."

Escaped. He doesn't say run away. He said escaped. Does he believe that where we live is a place worthy of escaping?

"The day before her Commander was notified that she had conceived." He finishes with a strange tone of bitterness.

"Did they find her?"

Please, God, if you are listening, protect this girl and her child. Let her be free and safe. Please.

Daniel shakes his head and stares at me, not my reflection. He isn't finished with this conversation, but he can't continue. There is something eating at his mind. "If you knew something, you would tell me, wouldn't you?" He thinks I know something that he doesn't. Or maybe he is looking for valid proof that he can trust me.

No. I would never condemn someone to this life.

"I know nothing."

Daniel narrows his eyes. I haven't given him the answer he wants. "If you hear anything and someone discovers that you are harboring information, you, me and the baby would all be put in danger." He asserts grimly. His eyes are dark.

"I would never endanger the child." My teeth are gritted painfully. I'm astounded that he would accuse me of consciously placing the little monster in a perilous situation. More perilous than Gilead, that is.

"I'm not part of the government. I'm not a Commander. If anything were to happen and you or I are involved or even associated, I have no foothold on our safety. No leverage. Everything that I do is to protect this house from harm."

My husband is a mystery to me. One minute he appears devoted to Gilead and the next he fears it. I am reminded that he pledged allegiance to a government he did not care for just so he could survive. Is he only surviving?

"You do it for the glory of God and Gilead." I say severely, even convincing myself.

Sing to God

Hope He listens to me

The toxic land we trod

Is where we are meant to be

Death made of sod

Prison far as the eye can see

Gilead oh Gilead

We shall be glad

To die for thee

An uprising at the colony to the south, one-hundred and nine miles away to be exact.

We heave

We hoe

Into the ground we are destined to go

They fi, they fie, they foe and fum

God has not come

To die is to be free

From this hell we cannot flee

The toxic earth wasn't killing the damned quick enough, and soon the Aunts and the Guardians were outnumbered. In a rare victory, the slaves of Gilead defeated the confinements of their colony and ran. To where, I do not know, and if they lived, I pity them. The farther away from civilization, the more toxic and treacherous the land.

Upon hearing the news, I cry openly in the safety of my room but I bury my face in my pillow. I cry not because I grieve the loss of the damned at the colonies, but because they are free. In death or in a life on the run forever until Gilead finds them and kills them for their uprising, they are free. I pray for their safety and their sacrifice, and I pray that they make it to whatever solace exists after death.

At breakfast, Daniel looks through the mail, tossing many things to the side. He then looks up at me and announces, "Esther, there's something here for you." I see him move to slide it towards me before he remembers himself and opens it. Conveying the message to me, he reads "Mrs. Tarleton is invited to an afternoon tea at the residence of Mr. & Mrs. St. John." He pauses to look at the time. "You'd better get dressed, this is an invitation for today at noon."

I lower my fork and stifle a sigh. I fear that Jane, still my only friend, will not be there, and if she is, we have been invited as a courtesy to be a spectacle for the other Wives to mock.

As I leave to go to the tea party, I spot my old partner looking at me in all my regalia. Hurt. All I see is hurt. I yearn to say something to her, but from this distance even reading lips would be impossible. The two Guardians flanking her quickly rustle her into their grip as they lead her away from me. She does not look back.

I feel sick in the car. I'm nervous, almost more nervous than I was when I got married. There I could be silent. Here I am expected to talk.

The house is an old Victorian with a wrap-around porch painted an immaculate white. I can hear the commotion of the many muted and low voices blabbering within the house. The stairs creak as I ascend them, giving myself away and announcing the entrance of the pregnant woman.

As soon as I enter, all eyes are on me. Voices hush if only for a moment, before resuming to their previous volume and passion. Instead of watching me, they are ignoring me. I am thankful for that little pleasure.

A middle-aged woman with honey colored hair approaches me. Despite the lack of makeup in Gilead, this woman has made do with her resources. She has pinched her cheeks to allow a blush to liven the skin that is beginning to loosen with age. Her eyelashes have been brushed out to better show off their magnitude in the absence of mascara. Her lips are a mysterious shade of red-beets. She had used beets to stain a color on her lips. Clever.

"Mrs. Tarleton, how wonderful for you to join us this afternoon." The woman greets me sweetly. Her voice is deep and full, the voice of a woman who doesn't have a care in the world. "I'm Lily St. John." It sounds like a stage name, or a name that would have some sort of value to someone from an aristocratic upbringing. She reaches out her hand to greet me, and I shake it before I remove my gloves.

"My husband sends his thanks for inviting me to your home." I don't have the status yet to where I can thank someone myself without indirectly stating that it is my Husband who has allowed me to be thankful.

Lily chortles. "Now Mrs. Tarleton, that will be the last thing you say about your husband this afternoon. This is a hen party, you see. No talk of roosters to ruffle our feathers, you see. Besides, it's you whom we all wanted to meet, isn't it?"

My face goes pale. I feel an ambush coming on. Sensing my worry, Lily laughs again and wraps her delicate arm around my waist, like a mother bird guiding its young. "Don't worry yourself, you're not meant to be the center of attention, you see, I simply mean that all the Wives wanted to meet our new friend in a more relaxed setting, you see?"

I begin to take a tally in my head of how many times she says, "you see". She says it so quickly and so nonchalantly that it sounds like she's saying "yusea" and recording it into a microphone to write down in her diary later.

She glides over to a group of three women at a couch in the parlor, all of whom immediately cease their conversation before Lily says a word. One woman is very thin and looks to be in her early thirties. The other two look like sisters in their mid to late forties.

"Ladies, this is Mrs. Tarleton." She announces, squeezing a hand on my shoulder. The three women all mutter some sort of greeting in unison. "Mrs. Tarleton, this is Camille McNamara," she says, directing her eyes towards the youngest woman on the couch. "Right beside her is Agnes Sunil and Veronica Mason. Now, please sit down and make yourself comfortable. One of the Marthas will come by in a moment to make you a nice cup of tea."

The women shift over, so I can take a seat between Mrs. McNamara and Mrs. Sunil. I delicately pluck the gloves from my fingers and fold them, stowing them away in a small pocket on my dress.

"My my," Mrs. Mason says, giving me a once over. "The Lord is testing the strength of that young body of yours, isn't He?"

Not sure if that is meant to be an insult or an inner thought that managed to slip out and into her mouth, I reply, "Yes, the Lord made me fruitful and I am thankful."

"Isn't it awfully hard to do things in that state?" Mrs. McNamara asks.

"Well, yes, it does pose a challenge…"

"How far along are you now?" Mrs. Sunil chimes in.

"A little over seven months-"

"Have you prepared the nursery yet?" Mrs. Sunil asks in a rush.

"You must let us see it!" Mrs. McNamara exclaims before I can open my mouth to give them an answer.

"Well I-"

"Tea for you, ma'am." A Martha extends her hand out with a cup and plate of priceless china, steaming with fresh tea.

"Thank you." I reply, more for saving me from more questions than for giving me the tea.

Where is Jane? I ask myself, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. Was she even invited? I excuse myself quietly to use the restroom, using pregnancy as a scapegoat, and try to weave through the waves of blue to find the restroom. I can't find Jane anywhere.

Once I am in the safety of the restroom, I grip the porcelain sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Surrounded by other Wives and then facing my own image, I can hardly recognize myself. What the hell am I doing here? This isn't the life I had planned-this isn't even the life that Gilead had planned. I know I will never fit in-even with a child, I won't ever be one of them. I will never be the woman who shares petty gossip behind the wall of well-manicured nails and fingers that never exert work for a wage. I will never be the woman who envies another woman that is oppressed simply because their state or their circumstances are able to please the men and the institution that oppresses us. I cannot be a Wife and a mother.

I splash water on my face and smooth the stray hairs framing my head to encourage even some semblance of composure to these other women, even though I shouldn't care what they think. But I must. We think whatever the men tell us to think, and that means keeping one another in check on our appearance, our attitude, our temperance. We'd been doing this since the beginning of time, but now it matters.

Upon exiting the restroom, I see Lily in the center of a group of Wives chattering endlessly. She smiles when she sees me, and the women follow her gaze. "Esther, come and join us!"

I should have stayed in the fucking bathroom.

As I start to head towards the group begrudgingly, the phone rings. A Martha answers and quickly hands the phone to Lily. The expression on her face falters, and she begins to frown with a grave look on her face. I see her say something, and then her eyes light up and she places a hand over her heart. She hangs up the phone as I join the group and prays silently.

"Ladies, ladies!" Lily doesn't yell or scream, but is loud enough to get the attention of the entire house nonetheless. "As some of you may have heard, earlier this week a pregnant Handmaid went missing. I have just been informed that they have found her, and she is back in the city!"

So much for secrecy, I think as I roll my eyes. Then my heart drops. The women are all cheering and praying, some of them are even brought to tears. My stomach turns and the little monster kicks twice. I grip my stomach and try to breathe. They said she went missing. Not that she escaped. God, why didn't you hear me? I ask, holding back tears.

I know what happens to the Handmaids, pregnant or no, that escape. If you're pregnant, you are put in isolation and monitored constantly. You are force fed and confined to a bed until you give birth. After that, I can only imagine.

Lily is praising God with her eyes tilted towards the heavens as tears begin to roll away from her eyes. Her eyes land on mine, and she can see that I am not happy. "Sweet Esther aren't you overjoyed that the Handmaid has been found, and that the baby is safe?" She does not ask this but tells me this. She is telling me that others will soon notice my sadness.

"Yes." Is all that I can manage to say as the lump in my throat grows bigger and makes it hard to speak, or even to breathe.

Lily comes near to me and leans in so that her lips are almost brushing against the shell of my ear. She knows that the Handmaid didn't go missing. Her husband knows everything that goes on. "Did you ever try to escape?"

Blood drains from my face and I feel my ears grow hot. The little monster is kicking again. We need to go, he says. We need to escape. But escape from where? Before I can even process what is going on in my stomach, I feel vomit begin to gurgle up my throat. I make a mad dash to the restroom, pushing past women as I run, and empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet with everyone nearby watching in disgust.

I take my dinner in my bedroom, and Daniel doesn't protest.

I fill the bathtub with water, as hot as I can make it without scalding my skin and submerge myself until my lungs can no longer take it and I come back up to gasp for air. I don't even wash my body or my hair, I just lay in the bathtub and think until the water is cool.

I had never truly thought about attempting an escape until I had been accused of it by Lily St. John. Yet, after hearing the news about a failed escape attempt, I feel a strange energy buzzing through my body and wrapping around my brain when I wonder what it must have been like for the Handmaid to be free, even for a moment.

I allow myself in the serenity of the water and the safety of the tub to hypothetically plan an escape. Every scenario fails when it is played through in my mind. Even if I escaped, where would I go? How could I live? I have no money, no food, no way to hunt or cook food, and the presence of a pregnant belly makes me even more visible.

Despair suddenly hits me with such force that I begin to tremble. For years and even in the months after I became pregnant, I have been suppressing the agony and the hopelessness that lingered in my heart at the prospect of being trapped in this life. I had never allowed myself in that time to accept, truly accept, that this is my fate. It is as if I had been dissociating for years until the reality finally gave me a physical reaction.

There is no use in fighting anymore. All the energy I have spent on distancing myself from my emotions and disobeying Gilead in my own mind has left me exhausted beyond the point of recovery. All that energy is wasted. No matter how much strength or intelligence I can muster, there is no escaping. I can't fight any longer.

I dissociate completely in that moment. I don't know how much time has passed, minutes or even hours, only that when I hear a knock on the door that the water in the tub is now freezing cold. Before I can compose myself and come back to my senses, Daniel opens the door. Upon seeing me, I hear him let out a quiet sound of concern and rush towards me. I wonder if he thinks that I am dead.

"Esther, baby," Daniel cries, plunging his arms into the freezing cold water to shake me and pick me up. "Esther, Esther, baby wake up," He moans, holding my soaking wet body against the warmth of his clothes.

"You called me baby." I whisper deliriously. I think I am smiling. Affection. Care. Concern. Love.

Daniel lets out a heavy sigh and kisses the west strands of hair plastered to my cold forehead. He holds me close, so close that it hurts, and carries me out of the bathroom. Cradling me as best as he can with one hand, he reaches for my towels and covers me with them before pulling back the heavy comforter on my bed. I can feel the resistance when he lays me down, afraid that I'll expire if he lets go of me for a moment. I see that his suit-his good one- is covered in water and that the arms of it are soaked. He removes the many layers of his clothing at a lightning fast speed, with a button flying off and a rip coming from his shirt. As soon as he removes his clothes he lays down besides me, pulling the heavy blanket over us and holding me tight to give me all his warmth. He's kissing me all over my face and on top of my head, shivering as the cold of my skin meets his.

"What were you doing?" He asks breathlessly, not expecting an answer. "Don't ever do that again, please," he pleads. "I need you here. Don't ever-don't ever scare me like that." I hear his voice catch in his throat and the strain in his lungs to breathe. Maybe it's my mental state, but the way he is speaking to me is like I'm not even carrying his child. He doesn't mention what could have happened to the baby-he fears for me and me alone.

"I just-I just…" I whisper, my teeth chattering. I try to say something else, but I can't find anything to say. I wasn't trying to kill myself. I know that, and something tells me that he knows that too, or else he wouldn't be holding me like this and trying to give me warmth. He would have called an ambulance. He would have reported me for a sin.

"Shh," he coos, loosening his grip around me. "I know, I know." He says, even though he doesn't know a thing. All he knows is that something brought me here and that I'm not fighting him trying to comfort me. "Oh God," he moans, moving his hand to hold the back of my head and tangling his fingers in the wet tendrils of my hair. "I love you." He cries. "I love you, I love you, I love you," He repeats, kissing my eyelids and then my lips.

His kiss is tender but forceful, trying to prove to me that he is telling the truth. If he didn't start to kiss me he would have repeated those same three words until we fell asleep. I kiss him back weakly, my body starting to warm up and relax. These kisses aren't like before, where it was him kissing me or us kissing each other-soon I am kissing him and hearing him sigh against my lips as I reach up my icy fingers to grasp his face and pull him closer to mine. Without a word, I am telling him "Yes, I love you too"-because I realize that despite everything that has happened or that he has done up to this moment that I do. I love him. The love is not that of a friend or a lover-it is something else. But it is real, and it is surging through my body as my blood begins to flow more and my heartbeat quickens.

Then, as I dig my nails into his skin, he begins to kiss me back fiercely until we are practically competing to match the viciousness of our emotions coming to the surface. I wrap my leg around his waist and ignore the swell of my stomach separating us as I grind the lower half of my body against his. He tears his mouth away from mine and begins to bite and suck at the column of my throat, progressively travelling lower down my body.

I do not dissociate again-I have an out of body experience. Gilead and the entire world outside of it fades away into nothingness as his mouth connects to my body. Each bite, each kiss, each swipe of his tongue tries to keep me grounded in my body, but I am free. I am far away from everything in the world that tries to chain me and control me. My soul-if I even have one-leaves my form and travels somewhere unreachable outside of this moment. I see bright light and darkness twisting into one pure essence and I wonder if it is heaven and if Gilead has been hell or purgatory this whole time.

I am free.