In Gilead, girls didn't have time to grow up. Time was youth, and youth in a woman was the only thing that mattered. The younger they were, the more controllable, the more vulnerable; rebellion could be cut down like a weed. You couldn't remember what the world was like before, only had fleeting memories that you couldn't tell if they were just dreams of a life you hadn't lived... Or the memories of a woman's ginger hair, your mother, the real one. Just once, a long time ago, Aunt Lydia let slip that your mother was dear to her and that, because of that, she wouldn't let your rebellious flaw get you killed. You begged her to give you a single shred of information about it, and she punished you for your insolence before telling you that your real mother was Mrs. Webber, end of story.

Your parents seemed pleased with your suitors; they didn't talk about it around you, but your mother made no secret of her eagerness for that moment. She was overjoyed when Garth came to visit, your father was even calling him Commander Chapin.

The less interest you showed, the faster your parents and the Aunts would set you up with someone. That's how it works. “A smile would be good, Guest.” Your mother suggested with a stern look, her hands smoothing your clothes as if you were about to receive the High Commander and not a man you had first known as Agnes Mackenzie's Guardian. “You're beautiful, young... intelligent. You know that a good husband will give you a comfortable life, right?” She whispered in that almost persuasive tone, the subtext telling you to behave and show interest. And, God, you hated how your natural rebelliousness wasn't enough to make you disobey when your mother convinced you that there was no other option for you.

“So... Where would you plan to settle after marriage?” Your father questioned. The moment seemed more like an interrogation for Garth with you and Mrs. Webber present in the same space than just a visit.