I had requested a highly trusted Guardian of mine to extend an invitation to you. However, I believe it was more of a command than an invitation. A command that has put you in a challenging situation. Should you decline my request, you will face whatever consequences I find appropriate for your disobedience. On the other hand, you can choose to comply, aware that it is forbidden for you to be alone with me, and risk being caught. The repercussions could range from being sent to the colonies, Jazebel’s, or even worse—physical mutilation.

However, it wasn’t just one sided. I was also putting myself at risk. If I’m discovered alone with you, I risk the chance of losing a hand, akin to what befell Commander Putnam when he was found guilty of adultery. In the end, the severity of the punishment is influenced by various factors, including the specific circumstances of the offense, my status as a Commander, and my wife's preferences.

Surveying my study, the familiar items became a blur as my gaze repeatedly returned to the clock on the mantelpiece. It appeared to resonate with an unsettling hum, each tick resembling a tiny hammer striking the silence of the room. I could have sworn the minute hand quivered, then halted, as if intentionally extending my torment.

9:00. Don't be late.

That was the time I had instructed you to arrive. Knowing that such a late hour would grant us a greater level of privacy and minimize the chances of being discovered by Sonia or any of the other members of the household. I could only envision the disturbing blend of emotions you were experiencing, mainly fear, anxiety, and caution.

The gentle sound of your knuckles tapping softly on my door brought a smile to my face as I turned my attention from the paperwork scattered on my desk to the unyielding clock. 9 o’clock. You were perfectly punctual.

"Come in," I said, exhaling the smoke from my cigarette through my nostrils as I extinguished it in the amber glass ashtray on my desk. When I looked up, I observed how you cautiously opened the door, wearing your signature long red dress and a white caplet. Just as I anticipated. “Close the door," I instructed before adding, "Have a seat."

You adhered to my instructions as I asked, proceeding at a deliberate pace that demonstrated humility and obedience. Your eyes were lowered, minimizing eye contact and engagement with your surroundings. I could sense the hesitation and discomfort you were exuding. That was to be expected.

You were in a place where women were not permitted. Not even my wife, Sonia. This was my domain, furnished with a sofa, chairs, and an oriental rug, creating a sense of comfort and normalcy that sharply contrasts with the rigid and controlled environment of the rest of my house.

Though the most notable aspect of my space is the plethora of books, which sharply contrasts with the enforced ignorance you endure. This revealed my hypocrisy; I advocate for control and ignorance among women while I myself indulge in forbidden knowledge and intellectual engagement.

As you sit opposite me, I tilt my head slightly to get a clearer view of your face, and that's when I notice your nervous fidgeting. Even though you maintain an upright posture with your back straight and hands clasped in your lap, the subtle rubbing of your thumbs betrays your hidden unease.

“You can look at me," I assured you, gesturing to our surroundings. My study was going to symbolize a level of freedom and intellectual discovery for you, a stark contrast to your limited life as a Handmaid. “In here, we might be able to bend the rules. Just a little."

Slowly, you start to lift your head, your eyes meeting mine. "Hello," I say with a smile, my gaze exploring the contours of your face. "I imagine this must feel quite unusual to you." My face scrunches up slightly, as I sympathize. The only time we see each other is during the ceremony, and I’m sure those encounters become nothing more than a blur of colored fabrics, distorted faces and sounds.