I make my way towards her room, one hand discreetly hidden away. I think about the Martha that gave me this piece of contraband and what I had to give her. It was worth it though. It was worth having a child to call my own. I knocked on her door. She doesn't get up to open the door so I open it myself.
"I've brought it for you" I say, to make her acknowledge me. She turns around, gets out of her chair and approaches me, her eyes drawn to my hand. To the contraband photo of a girl in a pure white dress who was once her precious daughter. It feels smooth between my gnarled fingers "You can only have it for a minute" I say in a low voice "I have to return it, before they know it's missing" It's funny; it almost feels like we're part of a childish secret gang, except the consequences are much more dangerous if we are caught. A flash of intuition and joy flickers back and forth underneath the almost hollow eyes. She takes it from me, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The flicker of joy sparked into a flame within her eyes. However, as she looks on at the picture it is dimmed and crushed out by realization and despair. It must hurt her to know that her own daughter has forgotten her and left her behind. At this stage I can feel a sort of kinmanship and sympathy for her. She- no, Offred stares blankly at it and I slip it out of her fingers, it is smooth enough for that. Offred continues to stare down at her hands where the photo had been just moments ago.