Page 5 of The Housewife's Robot
Of course, he’s been counting. “Thanks for the lunch.”
Instead of leaving as expected, he tilts his head slightly. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Bennet? Your cortisol levels appear elevated, and you’ve been sighing at a rate of approximately once every four minutes.”
I almost laugh at the clinical assessment of my misery. Of course, Daniel would program his robot to monitor my stress levels but never bother to ask about them himself.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them. Caspian’s eyebrows rise fractionally—surprise, or a programmed simulation of it.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing, I just…” I stop, catching my bottom lip between my teeth, wondering if it would help to trust a robot. “No, actually. Everything is not all right. My husband doesn’t love me. I want a baby so badly, I can’t explain it, but Daniel keeps putting it off. He says we’re not ready, but I think he just doesn’t want to be tied down.”
“I’m twenty-eight next year. My mother had three miscarriages before she had me. What if I wait too long? What if I can’t…?” My voice cracks, and to my horror, tears spill over as I talk to this robot who’s actually listening to me.
Caspian approaches, movements measured as if I’m a frightened animal, as he hands me a tissue that he produces out of nowhere.
“Thank you,” I sniffle, dabbing at my eyes. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. This is nuts.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to speak to someone who isn’t emotionally involved,” Caspian says, his voice softer than usual. “My programming includes basic psychological support protocols.”
Oh yeah. I’m not confiding in a friend; I’m talking to an appliance with a sympathy algorithm. The thought should be depressing, but it’s freeing in a way. I could say anything, and he’ll tell me what I want to hear.
“Do you want to know what I think, Mrs. Bennet?” he asks, standing perfectly still beside me.
I nod, curious despite myself.
“A child won’t fix what’s broken between you and Mr. Bennet,” Caspian says without mincing words. “Parenthoodtypically amplifies existing relationship problems rather than fixing them.”
The truth of it stings.
“I know that,” I whisper. “Logically, I know. But I’ve always wanted to be a mother. And I’m starting to realize I might have to choose between that dream and my marriage.”
“That’s a difficult position to be in,” Caspian says slowly. “If I may, have you considered discussing this explicitly with Mr. Bennet?”
I give a watery laugh.
“I did this morning before you showed up at our house,” I say. “He doesn’t like discussing it for some reason.”
A dark look comes over Caspian’s eyes. I could swear it. My heart starts to beat faster with worry that he could feel rage or something.
“Why have you stayed for five years?”
“We have the same friends, and our families are close. Everyone thinks we’re perfect together,” I say, swallowing hard. “And maybe I’m afraid of being alone.”
Caspian is silent for a long moment. Something in his eyes catches me off guard—a spark of something that seems almost like... life. Not the blank, helpful stare of a machine, but something more. Something deeper.
“But how do you feel right now? In this very moment?”
“Alone,” I say, with sudden realization that it didn’t matter what happened now. “Like really alone.”
“So it doesn’t make a difference being with him, doesn’t it?” he says. “Your lunch is getting cold. Perhaps you’d like to eat in the dining room? A change of scenery might help with your writing block.”
I nod and stand, surprised by how much better I feel after unburdening myself—even if it was to a robot. As I move toward the door, my foot catches on the edge of the area rug. I stumbleforward, a small gasp escaping my lips as I brace for impact with the hardwood floor.
But I don’t fall.
Caspian’s hand catches my upper arm, steadying me with perfect precision. His grip is warm.Verywarm. With humanlike skin. His hand doesn’t feel like cold metal at all, and I’m shocked.
“Careful, Mrs. Bennet,” he says, his face suddenly very close to mine.
