Hester Prynne's time in prison was finally over. The door swung open, and she stepped out into the sunlight. But to her, it felt like the sun was only there to highlight the scarlet letter on her chest. At that moment, the pain she felt leaving the prison, all alone, was probably worse than anything she had experienced during the public shaming. In the procession before, she had been able to hold herself together, fueled by anger and pride. She had turned the whole situation into something of a twisted victory, standing tall despite the judgment from everyone around her. That was a one-time event, though—something she'd never have to face again. The energy she'd used to get through that day could've powered her for years, but now, as she walked away from the prison, the real struggle began. Every day after that would be the same—she'd have to keep going, handling the shame with whatever strength she had left, or she'd break down. She couldn't keep relying on the future to help her; each day would bring its own pain, but she had to face it. The future would keep piling on the misery, just like today. And over time, she would become a symbol—one that people pointed to as an example of a woman's weakness and sin. Young people would look at her, the woman with the scarlet letter, the woman who had once been innocent, and they would see nothing but sin. And when she died, her shame would be the only thing left to mark her grave.
It might seem strange that, with the whole world open to her—no longer tied down by her punishment in the Puritan settlement, free to go back to her home or even to another country to start over—Hester still chose to stay. She could have hidden her past, created a new identity, and left everything behind. The forest, where she could escape into the wilderness and live among people who didn't follow the same harsh rules, was also an option. Yet, she stayed in the place where everyone would see her as a symbol of shame. Why? There's something in human nature that pulls people back to the place where something major happened in their lives—especially if it was something dark. For Hester, her sin and shame were tied to that place, and no matter how far she tried to run, she couldn't escape them. It was like she had planted roots there, as if the land had become a part of her, even though it was harsh and unforgiving to everyone else. No place in the world, not even her childhood home in England, felt like it belonged to her anymore. The chain that kept her here was made of iron, and it was a weight on her soul that she could never escape.
Maybe, though she tried to ignore it, there was another reason Hester stayed in the place that had caused her so much pain. A part of her thought she was connected to someone, in a way no one else could see, and that connection would bring them together in the end, when they stood before God. She believed that at that moment, their bond would be recognized, and it would be like a marriage that no one on Earth could see, but would lead to their punishment together. Again and again, this thought haunted Hester, and she couldn't help but hold on to it, even though it filled her with both joy and guilt. She tried to lock the thought away, pushing it down deep inside her. What she told herself—what she convinced herself was the reason for staying in New England—was a mix of truth and self-deception. She told herself this was the place where her sin happened, so it had to be the place where she faced her punishment. Maybe, through all the shame and suffering, her soul would be cleansed, and she'd find a new kind of purity, one that came from suffering.
So, Hester didn't leave. On the edge of the town, on a small piece of land, there was a tiny, run-down cottage. It had been built by someone before her, but abandoned because the land was too poor to farm and too far from the rest of the community. It stood by the shore, looking across a bay at the forested hills. A small group of scraggly trees didn't really hide the cottage, but more like they made it seem like something that should be hidden. In this lonely little house, with what little money she had and permission from the authorities who still watched her closely, Hester made a life for herself and her baby. Almost immediately, people started looking at the place with suspicion. Little kids, not understanding why this woman was shunned by everyone, would get close enough to see her working at the window, standing at the door, or tending to her small garden. When they saw the scarlet letter on her chest, they would run off in fear, spreading that same fear to others.
Even though Hester was all alone, with no one willing to be seen with her, she wasn't in danger of starving. She had a skill that could provide for both her and her baby, even in a place where it wasn't easy to find work. That skill was needlework—something most women knew how to do back then, and still do today. The embroidered letter on her chest was a perfect example of her fine, creative talent, something that women in royal courts would have loved to have for their fancy outfits made of silk and gold. While the Puritans didn't dress in fancy clothes, there were still special occasions where Hester's skill was needed. Events like the ordination of ministers or the installation of leaders required a serious ceremony, and sometimes they needed detailed, beautiful clothing for those in power, like embroidered gloves or ruffs, which were expensive and only allowed for the wealthy and powerful. Even at funerals, when mourning was symbolized by black clothing, Hester's needlework was in demand. She also made clothes for babies, who wore expensive, fancy robes back then.
As time passed, Hester's needlework became something people actually wanted. Whether it was out of pity for her, curiosity about her, or because she was filling a gap that others couldn't, she was getting more work than she had time for. People even chose to wear clothing she had made for formal events, as a way to show off her work, even though she was seen as an outcast. You could find her needlework on the Governor's collar, on military men's scarves, on ministers' collars, and even on the baby's tiny cap. It was even used in the coffins of the dead. But there was one thing her work was never asked for: to embroider the veil for a bride. That was the one thing that was reserved for women who were seen as pure, showing just how harshly society judged Hester for her sin.
Hester didn't want anything more than the basics to survive for herself and a little extra for her child. Her own clothes were made of rough fabric and dark colors, with only one thing standing out—the scarlet letter that she was forced to wear. But her child's clothes were different. They were creative and unique, showing off the girl's early charm, but there was something deeper about them too, which we'll talk about later. Other than the money she spent on her daughter's clothes, Hester gave away whatever she could to help those in need, even if they often turned on the hand that fed them. Most of her time, which she could have used to make more beautiful things, was spent making plain clothes for the poor. It's likely that she thought of it as a way of atoning for her sins, sacrificing any personal pleasure to focus on this hard work.
Hester had a natural, almost exotic love for beauty, something most men wouldn't understand, and she was drawn to things that were beautiful, even if she couldn't show that side of herself in any other part of her life. For Hester, sewing was a way of expressing and maybe even soothing the intense emotions she felt. She rejected any joy from it, feeling that it was sinful. This conflict between her passions and her conscience suggested that she might not truly be repentant, but that there was something deeper, and perhaps wrong, beneath the surface.
In this way, Hester found a place for herself in the world, despite how society had rejected her. Her natural strength and skill couldn't be completely pushed aside, even though she had been marked by the scarlet letter, a symbol of shame that felt worse than anything else. But no matter where she went, she never felt like she truly belonged. Everything about the way people acted around her—whether in their words, gestures, or silence—made her feel like an outsider, as if she were in a completely different world, disconnected from the rest of humanity. She was near the heart of moral matters, but separate from them, like a ghost who returns to a place it used to belong but can no longer be part of. She could no longer join in the joy or grief of others. And if she tried to show any sympathy, it only caused fear and disgust. In fact, it seemed like all she had left was the anger and judgment of others.
This wasn't a time of gentleness, and Hester's situation, which she fully understood, was often painfully highlighted by even the smallest actions. The poor people she helped sometimes hated the very hand that offered help. Wealthy women, whose houses she visited while working, often showed her bitterness, either through subtle, quiet insults or more obvious, harsh words that hurt like a physical blow. Hester had learned to control her emotions well. She never responded to these attacks, except for a flush of red that would suddenly appear on her pale face before disappearing. She was patient, like a martyr, but she didn't pray for her enemies, worried that even in her desire to forgive them, her words might turn into a curse instead.
Hester felt the weight of her punishment in countless ways every single day, like the constant sting of a sentence that never stopped hurting. Every time she walked down the street, clergymen would stop her to preach at her, drawing a crowd of people who stared at her with a mix of smirks and frowns. If she went to church, hoping for some peace, she would often find herself the main topic of the sermon. Over time, she started avoiding children, because they had been taught to fear her. They'd watch her as she passed, whispering something that made no sense to them, but sounded terrifying to her. It felt like the whole town knew her secret. It would have hurt just as much if the trees had started talking about it or if the wind had carried the story.
Another painful part of her life was how strangers would always stare at her scarlet letter. Every time someone looked at it, it felt like they were cutting her deeper, and she had to fight the urge to cover it up. But even worse was the way people who were used to her would look at her with cold, familiar eyes. That constant, unfeeling gaze was just as painful. No matter how much time passed, the sight of the scarlet letter always felt like a fresh wound.
But sometimes, after what seemed like ages, she would catch a glimpse of someone looking at the letter in a way that felt different—like they understood her pain, even just for a moment. It gave her a little relief, as if someone was sharing the burden with her. But that moment was always fleeting. The next second, the pain rushed back even stronger, because in that instant, she was reminded that she had sinned again. Had she sinned alone?
Hester's mind was starting to get affected by all the pain she was going through, and if she were more sensitive, it would've hurt her even more. Walking around alone in her small world, sometimes it felt like the scarlet letter had given her a strange new ability. She hated to believe it, but she couldn't stop thinking that it allowed her to sense the hidden sins in other people's hearts. She was terrified by the things she could sense. What were these feelings? Were they just whispers from some dark force trying to convince her that everyone who seemed pure was hiding something, and that, if people could see the truth, a scarlet letter would be on a lot of other people's chests too? Or should she believe these strange feelings were true?
There was nothing more unsettling to Hester than this feeling. It confused and shocked her, especially because it would hit her at the worst moments. Sometimes, when she walked past a respected minister or magistrate—someone who everyone saw as a perfect example of goodness—the scarlet letter would burn on her chest. She'd think to herself, "What's going on here?" When she looked up, all she'd see was the person's saintly face.
Other times, when she passed a woman known for being cold and distant, someone who had always acted so pure and perfect, she could feel the scarlet letter react again. It was like the letter was saying, "Here's someone like you." And sometimes, when she'd see a young woman glance at her letter, her face would blush with shame as if that one look had tarnished her innocence.
Hester couldn't help but wonder, "Is there no one left to look up to anymore?" This loss of faith in others was one of the hardest things she had to endure. Even with everything she'd been through, she still wanted to believe that no one else was guilty in the same way she was.
Back then, the town's people had a story about the scarlet letter that made it sound like something from a creepy legend. They said it wasn't just red cloth, but that it was heated by hellfire, glowing bright whenever Hester walked at night. And while it might sound like an exaggeration, Hester's pain was so real that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to what they believed.