Our cabin is deep in the woods, with only bears and deer for neighbours. There’s no one around to stick their nose into our business, or to knock on our door asking for flour or coffee, or whatever provision they want to borrow.

It’s just an excuse to snoop around. So they can see what you’re doing, how you’re raising your kids, so they can gossip about it with their neighbours, and have something to talk about at the grocery store.

I saw how they watched Harlan and me and the kids when we’d visit town. The comments they’d make about how Mary was dressed, and why Paul hadn’t been to school, and how long it’d been since we’d been to Sunday service.

We’d buy our supplies, and return to our abode in the wilderness without answering any of their questions.

Our ways are not theirs.

If only Mary hadn’t run off when she began to show. We would have taken care of it, like we had before. But she must have got mixed up with some of those do-gooders at town. We should never have allowed her to go to school at all.

One day she’ll realise the terrible mistake she’s made, and we will forgive her.

I look forward to the day when we can return to our sanctuary, and shut the door on the rest of the world again.

Match the story (and the number) to the face at Mirrors.

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