The Handmaid's Tale
When Offred bled, when she started bleeding (feel free to use your own ridiculous, outdated euphemism) it wasn’t the red they wore to mark them out. The blood was dark, maroon or a rusted brown.
It was a stain on her underwear that marked her out, marked her failure to society and her freedom. It was painful and uncomfortable and she cherished every damn minute.
Every new cycle was another life she wasn’t inflicting this horrible world upon. Another month to think, to survive. To remember the life she created in love and to find her way back to it.