I started writing the outline of this story almost 10 years ago, after finally leaving an abusive relationship and realizing that he had meticulous plans for how he wanted me to serve him. I wouldn't be his wife but his live-in maid, sex slave, secretary, and surrogate mother. No friends, no family, no life. My main purpose would be to serve and service him, even if I didn't consent.

As with the rest of my stories, it sat untouched on my computer for years. But with the rise and forceful shove of tradwife content in the mainstream, I decided to dust the story off and finish it.

I've never read or watched The Handmaid's Tale (I do plan to change that this year), but I know the basic gist of it, so I apologize if my story feels a bit derivative. I don't expect this to be some groundbreaking piece of literature. Also, if it feels a little Black Mirror-esque, that's because Black Mirror was one of my favorite shows when I started writing it and still serves as a huge inspiration for some of my work.

CW: Sexism, racism, mysoginy, religious abuse, SA, murder.

The Department of Morality
1747 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW
Suit #200
Washington, DC 20006

Miss Rose Bishop (formerly Mrs. Robert Cole)

Your allotted five days of mourning will end on 5/14.

Due to your inability to produce a male heir and in the absence of approved male relatives, the Department of Morality has granted you fourteen (14) days to find and marry a new husband. Should you fail to wed within that time frame, you are to report to your nearest Center for Family Reconstruction on 5/29 to be given to a husband of our choosing.

Should you find a new husband outside the Center for Family Reconstruction, you must fill out a marriage request forum with your names, addresses, social security numbers, the name(s) of your pastor(s), the church(es) you attend, the name and location of your employer(s), and the names of close adult relatives (preferably male) who agree to the marriage. If you do not have any living relatives, you may only need to write the names of your pastor(s). These forms can be found at any post office and must be returned to your nearest Center for Family Reconstruction before the fourteen days, after which you will be married in your center's ceremonial chamber.

Per social equity laws, your chosen spouse must be within your designated social range. See and adhere to the equity points below:

MALE
SINGLE
CAUCASIAN [GENETICALLY WHITE: LATINO OR "WHITE PASSING" NOT PERMITTED]
30–70 YRS OLD
CHRISTIAN — PROTESTANT
SOCIAL CLASS: LEVELS 3 OR 4

Additionally, your prospective husband must be in good standing with the state. This includes:

— Holding a steady job
— Regularly attending church
— Has no warrants and/or is not a political dissonant
— Commits at least 15 hours a month to state mandated community service

Courting must take place in an approved public setting with state-sponsored chaperones. See attached list of local approved courting places.

In compliance with the current property ownership laws, your late husband's finances and estate, as well as your children and any possessions you may currently have will be transferred to your new husband.

Choose wisely.

Aunt Jessica's hands frantically primped Rose's hair and clothes. "Now, Rosie, I know this is new territory for you. Your father and Robert, God rest their souls, were dreamers, and they gave you wildly unrealistic ideas about men and your role in marriage. Men like them are few, and it is unlikely you will find one like them in two weeks."

"I know, Aunt Jess," Rose replied somberly. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and winced. The pink tweed dress suit Aunt Jessica had given her was abysmal. The fabric was so stiff and the texture was like sandpaper on her skin. Worst of all was the pearl necklace that peeked out from under the collar of her blouse. It was too tight and looked terrible on her. The entire outfit needs to be thrown into the fireplace, she thought as she tried in vain to adjust the pearls.

"Can I take this stupid necklace off?" she pleaded in frustration.

"Absolutely not!" Aunt Jessica snapped. "The uniform of a good wife consists of modest, feminine clothes, appropriately styled hair, a clean face, and always, every waking moment, a pearl necklace."

"You mean a collar," Rose quipped.

Aunt Jessica sighed and turned Rose around to face her. "I wish your father had been more practical. He ruined a perfectly fine young woman with his sentimental nonsense. And that Robert, what a foolish man!"

Rose bit her tongue and turned back around. "Maybe I'll get lucky."

"Dear, your luck ran out the day the 8:15 derailed. You have been privileged your entire life, but that privilege has been revoked. It is time to live in the real world."

Rose could hear her etiquette teacher, Mrs. Marshall, whispering in the back of her head. Smile and nod graciously, Rosie. Being combative will only hurt you in the long run.

"I need to get going," she said. There was an edge to her voice that she couldn't hide, and predictably, it caught Aunt Jessica's ire.

"Watch how you speak to them, Rosie. A good man will never accept an attitude. It does not matter if you have had a bad day, or if you are on your cycle. You must always be soft-spoken and calm. You have no authority in the common family dynamic besides the inherent matronly authority over minor children."

"Fine," Rose said as she grabbed her purse and hat. "Can I take the car?"

"Take the bus, dear," Aunt Jessica said. "Female independence is close to sin. Driving is considered a strong turn off for most men."

The courting counselor tapped away on a dainty white keyboard, one of those ridiculous "made for female hands" versions of a perfectly genderless product. She glanced over the monitor at Rose periodically. Rose could tell the counselor was judging her harshly from the barely contained sneer on her face and the darkness in her eyes.

"Miss Bishop..." she said, trailing off as she scanned the screen. "Miss Rose Bishop, formerly Mrs. Robert Cole."

Just dig the knife a little deeper, why don't you," Rose muttered under her breath.

"Excuse me? Did you say something?" the counselor asked.

"Just lamenting the death of the man I'd been married to since I was 16," Rose replied. "And how suddenly I'm expected to find a new mate before I've even had a chance to really mourn him."

"You've had five days, Miss Bishop. Same as everyone else."

"Ah yes, five days for 13 years of marriage. That's a perfectly fair and reasonable grieving period."

"Yes, it is," the counselor affirmed. Her previously professional and forcibly pleasant tone shifted to one of annoyance. "Now, we have a rudimentary match making system that can point you to a suitable husband within the walls of this courting hall."

"Well," Rose thought for a second, "I like my men tall, dark haired, well read, soft spoken, creative, and inquisitive. Do you have someone here who matches that description?"

"That's..." the counselor paused, trying to hide her disgust. "...not quite how the system works, dear. It asks a series of questions and compare the answers to prospective suitors. First question. What is your favorite Bible verse?"

"Jesus wept," Rose answered without much thought.

"Oh, well, that is unusual," said while typing away. "Though I will say it is refreshing. Most people quote John 3:16. Right. Favorite book of the Bible?"

"Revelation."

The counselor grimaced and shook her head. "You certainly are unorthodox."

"Correct. I grew up Methodist."

"And a comedienne! Marvelous." The counselor moved the monitor to one side in order to address Rose directly. She straightened up, held her head high, and folded her hands on the desk in front of her, the way Rose's teachers used when fell out of line at school. "May I offer you a word of advice? Men do not like a sarcastic, smart-aleck woman, and that is, sadly, how you come across. Rest assured, you will find a husband, one way or another, but if you insist on making snide remarks and dry jokes, your husband will be forced to correct you by any means necessary."

"By beating me, you mean?"

"If it comes to that, yes. He will be within his rights to do so."

"Does your husband beat you?" Rose asked, studying the counselor.

"My husband is a good, God-fearing man. He only had to lay his hand on me once. Thereafter, I learned my place."

Rose rolled her eyes. Day-old bruises peeked out from under the collar and cuffs of the counselor's blouse. An extra heavy patch of makeup barely concealed a purple ring around her eye.

"Then what are those bruises?" Rose asked.

The counselor pulled her sleeves down as far as she could. For a moment, she looked like a scolded child. There was something innocent and pathetic in the way she tried to hide the evidence of marital correction. "You're going to be a problem for your future husband," she said, finally snapping out if it. "Women like you always are."

"Women like me? Now whatever could you mean, dear?"

"I read your profile. Frankly, men like your late husband are a shameful blight on society. How your father ever let him marry you-"

Rose held up her hand and interrupted her. "My father chose a suitor who reflected his own values. I'm the product of my upbringing, not my husband's hand."

The counselor stood and turned her back to Rose. A grin of childish pleasure crept across Rose's face. "Don't you have more questions for me?" she asked.

"No," the counselor replied. She refused to look at Rose. "I already know there are no matches for you in this building. I strongly advise you to try another courting hall, perhaps the one on State Street. Although, I suspect a counselor there will tell you the same thing."

State Street proved fruitless, as did three other courting halls across the city. By the fifth courting hall, she asked the counselor to let her fill out the match making questions herself. The counselor was reluctant, but eventually agreed.

The results came back with one name. Alistair Daly, age 40. His identification photo wasn't flattering. Then again, neither was hers. Bad lighting aside, he looked descent enough, and his match making answers were unorthodox enough to give her a modicum of hope.

She found Alistair sitting on the veranda on the third floor of the courting hall. He was tucked away in a corner, reading a book with the title scratched out on the cover and spine.

Reading a banned book in public? He lives dangerously, Rose thought to herself.

She took a seat in front of him and glanced around the book. "Is that a federally approved book?" she asked with a grin.

He pulled the book to his chest and glared at her.

"Oh, I think I got my answer," she chuckled. "My name is Rose. The match making system gave me your name, Mr. Daly."

Alistair cocked his head and studied her for a moment. "Is that a good thing?"

"Maybe. Depends on how honest you were when you answered the questions."

"Honest enough that the counselor wouldn't even look at me after answering them."

Movement from the window behind Alistair caught her eye. She leaned in, took the book from his hands, and tucked it into her dainty pink blazer. "Chaperone," she whispered before he could protest.

A moment later, an old woman in a navy dressed appeared on the veranda. She took a seat on the opposite side, her eyes scanning them over golden rimmed glasses.

"As I was saying, my name is Rose Cole." She realized her mistake the moment Robert's name name passed over her lips. "Bishop. Rose Bishop."

"Alistair Daly," he replied, offering his hand. The chaperone stiffened and glanced at Rose's ungloved hands. Rose glared back as she slipped her right hand into a glove and accepted his gesture.

"I wish I knew what else to say," Rose said, holding his hand for longer than she should have, "but I'm afraid that I have a hard time speaking when I'm being scrutinized."

"As do I," he agreed. The two glared at the chaperone whose stare only intensified in defiance. "She's not backing down."

"No, she's not."

"Should we just make her happy and get married on the spot?" he joked.

"My aunt would love that," she said.

"So would my father," he replied. "How about we get to know each other instead? Would you be opposed to answering a few more questions?"

"I suppose I could," she said.

"I want you to answer truthfully, no matter how uncomfortable the questions may make you," Alistair said.

"I think I can do that," she assured him.

"First question," be began. "Do you want to be here?"

"No," Rose answered without hesitation. They looked over at the chaperone, who made a face of disgust.

"Second question. Do you want a new husband?"

"I'd stay single if I had my way," she replied, a little louder this time. The chaperone's disgust turned to annoyance.

"Third question. How did your late husband die?"

The question made her hesitate for a moment. It wasn't uncomfortable, just upsetting. Suddenly, she was confronted with Robert's death a third time, and this time, it cut deeper than it had even at the funeral. "He was on the commuter train that crashed last week."

Alistair's face soften a bit. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"What about you?" Rose asked, wiping a single tear from her eye. "Do you want to be here?"

"I'd rather be at home, reading," he replied. The chaperone stared at them with wild, animal-like eyes.

"Do you want a new wife?"

"I didn't even want my first one," he admitted. The chaperone scoffed. "Our fathers had our wedding planned out since we were five years old. Sweet girl, but painfully boring."

"How did she die?"

He hesitated for a moment, visibly defeated by the question. "She took her own life after the third miscarriage. Not that having a living child would have changed anything. She was so unhappy with our arrangement and still pined for a boy she had met in her adolescence. I tried filing for divorce when his wife died so that she could be with him, but it was denied by the DOM. We didn't have an eligible excuse to break a holy contract, they said."

"And they would have taken her to a reeducation center if you had claimed infidelity," Rose added.

"Yeah. She was fiercely loyal, even when she was mentally at her worst. I offered to let her have an 'affair' with him, but she wouldn't hear it."

"It sounds like you were good to each other."

"We tried."

"Did you ever find a girl you loved?"

"No. My father was so insistent on my marriage to Loretta that I never even looked at anyone else." He inhaled deeply and stared off into the distance. "To tell you the truth, I don't even think love is real."

"It is," she assured him. "I loved Robert more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Losing him felt like I lost half of myself."

"Do you think you could ever feel it again?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I think it'll take time," she admitted. "I know that isn't what most men want to hear. They want us to be fine and over the deaths of our late husbands, and I'm sure some women can achieve that, but five days isn't a long enough mourning period when you truly love someone."

For a moment, Alistair didn't say anything. He looked deeply into her eyes. Rose looked back. Suddenly she was lost in green lush green meadows and dazzling emeralds. The identification photo did nothing for him. In reality, he was handsome. Too handsome. A strong, square jaw, cutting cheekbones, and a finely shaped nose that reminded her of long gone pagan statues. His thick black hair had been combed back, but had come undone throughout the day, leaving it messy in a most attractive way.

Alistair could have been a leading man, acting alongside Hollywood royalty like Anita Thornton or Mary Whittaker. Instead, he was there on the third floor veranda of a courting hall in a small city that hardly anyone of notoriety ever visited. A man like him should have had women throwing themselves at him, but they didn't. Other women in the courting hall passed him by with only a fleeting glance. Perhaps they knew something Rose didn't.

Nearby, someone cleared their throat, snapping Rose and Alistair out of their shared enchantment. They looked over the chaperone, who announced that the courting hall would close in five minutes.

"My aunt is waiting for me at home, anyway," Rose said regretfully. "How much longer do you have in your two weeks?"

"Seven days," Alistair replied.

"Would you like to meet me back here tomorrow?"

"I think so. Is 10 in the morning too early?"

"No, it's fine," she replied, trying not to sound too eager.

"I'll see you then."

Rose came home to dinner half picked over. Uncle Howard hadn't left much of the main course. He never did. Not that it mattered. She couldn't stand Aunt Jessica's cooking, so she fixed herself a small plate of sides that were so simple, even Aunt Jessica couldn't ruin them.

"How were the girls?" Rose asked.

"Fine," Aunt Jessica replied.

"No behavioral issues? No crying or tantrums?" Rose prodded.

"None."

"Why aren't they eating dinner with us?"

"Young children should never sit at the table with adults. They ate earlier and are now in bed."

They ate in silence for a while. The air was thick with contempt.

"So, aren't you going to ask me how it went?" Rose asked, cutting through the silence.

Aunt Jessica tried to maintain a neutral face, but her eyebrows twitched, giving away her true feelings. "I know how it went, Rose. You came home without a marriage request form in your hands."

"Did you expect me to make a choice the moment I laid eyes on someone?" Rose asked, laughing off such an absurd idea. "Shouldn't I get to know him first?"

"You don't have time to get to know anyone!" Aunt Jess snapped. She slammed her wine glass on the table, snapping the stem and spilling red wine all over the fine white table cloth. "Choose someone a social level higher than yours with a good paying job and a decent sized home in a reputable community for your children! It's not hard! You're an attractive girl and any man would jump at the opportunity to inherit all that land your father left Robert. Use those assets to your advantage!"

Uncle Howard, who had been ignoring the conversation until that point, made a gruff noise in agreement with his wife.

"Anyway, it went great," Rose said. "I had to go to five different courting halls to find someone I connected with. He's pretty cute, too."

"You're hopeless, Rose! Simply, utterly hopeless!" Aunt Jessica got up and stormed off to her bedroom.

Rose looked at Uncle Howard with a sly grin. Uncle Howard gave her a look that said, now, why do you enjoy tormenting her so?

"I'm going to meet him again tomorrow at 10," Rose called out. "So could you leave the car keys out for me? I want to make sure I'm not late because the bus is running behind. Wouldn't be proper, would it?"