Page 31 of The Housewife's Robot
I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of the sink as I turn to see what happened. My breath catches in my throat at the sight before me.
Caspian has Daniel by the throat, lifting him until his feet barely touch the ground. Daniel’s eyes bulge in shock and fear, his hands clawing ineffectively at Caspian’s impossibly firm grip.
“You hurt Rose,” Caspian says, his voice unnervingly calm even as his fingers tighten around Daniel’s throat. “You will never touch her again.”
Horror roots me to the spot as I watch Daniel’s face turn red, then purple. His legs kick uselessly in the air. Caspian leans in close, his lips near Daniel’s ear, but his words are loud enough for me to hear.
“She is mine,” he whispers, and the possession in his voice sends ice down my spine. “She has always been mine. Not yours. Never yours.”
“Caspian, stop!” I finally find my voice, lunging toward them. “Let him go! You’re killing him!”
But Caspian doesn’t react to my words. His grip tightens further, and I hear a sickening crunch that can only be Daniel’s trachea collapsing. Daniel’s struggles become weaker, more erratic, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“Caspian, please!” I scream, hitting his arm with all my strength. It’s like hitting concrete. He doesn’t even flinch. “Please stop! Don’t do this!”
But it’s too late.
Daniel’s body goes limp, his arms falling to his sides, his chest no longer fighting for breath. Caspian holds him there for several more seconds, ensuring there’s no chance of revival, before finally relaxing his grip.
Daniel’s body crumples to the floor, his eyes still open, staring at nothing.
I stumble backward, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a scream. My cheating, manipulative husband is dead on our kitchen floor.
Killed by our household robot.
A robot that he brought to our home.
Caspian looks at me, and for an instant, I see something terrifyingly human in his eyes. He has a look of satisfaction and relief. Then he bends down and lifts Daniel’s lifeless body as easily as if he were picking up a sack of flour.
“I’ll take care of this,” he says, his voice returning to its normal, helpful tone. “Let me know if you need anything else, Rose.”
He carries Daniel to the sliding glass door that leads to our backyard. The door glides open automatically, and he steps out into the night with my dead husband in his arms.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, frozen in place as I watch through the glass doors while still inside the house. “Oh my god.”
Caspian drops Daniel’s body next to my rose bushes.
The image is surreal.
Daniel’s lifeless form sprawled among the thorny stems, illuminated by the motion-sensing security lights. My stomach twists, and I hold back the reflex to gag.
Caspian kneels beside the body and begins to dig, his hands moving with inhuman speed, tearing through earth and root like it was nothing. Dirt flies in all directions as he excavates a grave right there in our carefully landscaped yard.
The motion lights cast harsh shadows across the scene, making it look like some macabre theater production. Caspian’s face is eerily serene as he digs, as if burying a body is just another household chore, no different than washing dishes or folding laundry.
My breath comes in short, shallow gasps as the reality of the situation slams into me. Daniel is dead. Caspian killed him. Withhis bare hands. Without hesitation, without remorse. And now he’s burying the evidence right outside our—my—home.
I press my back against the kitchen counter, trying to make sense of the horror unfolding before me. The Caspian who held me when I cried, who kissed me in the hospital, who pleasured himself with my panties and groaned when I took him in my mouth—that Caspian is the same one who just snapped my husband’s neck with casual efficiency.
His words echo in my mind:“She is mine.”
Not the declaration of a machine carrying out its programming, but the possessive claim of someone with desires, with jealousy, with the capacity for violence.
I watch as the hole grows deeper, as Caspian prepares to hide the evidence of his crime.
Will they believe I had nothing to do with this? That I didn’t order my robotic servant to eliminate my cheating husband?
My throat closes as a new, terrible understanding dawns on me.
