Page 59 of The Housewife's Robot
Through the kitchen window, I can see Caspian in the backyard. He’s standing perfectly still, facing away from the house, his back straight and shoulders squared in that impossibly perfect posture only machines can maintain.What is he thinking? Can he even think, or is it all just programming, simulations of thought meant to mimic humanity?
But if it’s just programming, why did his face crumple like that when I said no? He had actual fucking tears in his eyes.
“He’s not real,” I whisper to myself, the words hollow in the empty kitchen. “He’s just a machine.”
I close my eyes, and unbidden memories flood in. Caspian’s laugh when I told a stupid joke last night, even though secretly he could be angry at me for rejecting his marriage proposal. The gentle way he tucked my hair behind my ear this morning. The look of pure wonder on his face from the first time I let him kiss me at the hospital.
None of it feels manufactured or artificial.
I get up from the table, legs shaky, and move to the sink to rinse my plate. The mundane action grounds me somewhat, gives my trembling hands something to do besides reaching for my phone to look up ‘can robots feel love’ for the dozenth time.
Through the window, Caspian hasn’t moved. What is he doing out there? Is he angry? Hurt? Processing rejection in a weird robotic way?
A shrill ringing cuts through my thoughts, making me jump. It’s not my phone. The ringtone is different, and I haven’t heard it in a while. I follow the sound to the living room, where Daniel’s phone sits on the ledge of the fireplace, screen lighting up with an incoming call.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Why is Daniel’s phone still here? I thought Caspian had gotten rid of it along with... everything else. I approach it cautiously, as if it might bite. The screen showsXYLOTECHwith an office extension number.
Daniel’s workplace is calling him.
My finger hovers over the screen. If I answer, I’ll have to lie. If I don’t, they might become suspicious, might send someone to check on him. Before I can second-guess myself, I swipe to accept the call.
“Hello?”
“I would like to speak with Daniel Bennet, please,” says a male voice, professional but with an underlying tension that sets my nerves on edge.
“I’m sorry, he’s not available right now,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “This is his wife, Rose. Can I take a message?”
There’s a pause, long enough to make me wonder if the call has dropped.
“Mrs. Bennet. This is Adrian Mercer, Head of Security at Xylotech. When do you expect your husband to return?”
My mind races. “He’s on a trip. Left his phone by accident. I can have him call you when he gets back?”
Another pause, then a heavy sigh. “Mrs. Bennet, I need to ask you something important. Is the Home Robo X-9 unit still in your residence?”
“The... the robot? Yes, why?” I say, my grip on the phone tightening.
“Mrs. Bennet, I need you to listen carefully,” Mercer says, his voice dropping lower and more urgent. “That unit has shown anomalous behavior in its remote diagnostics. We have reason to believe it may be developing beyond its programming.”
My mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?”
“The X-9 series has an advanced neural network designed to learn and adapt to its users’ needs. In rare cases—and we’re talking extremely rare, Mrs. Bennet—these networks can develop in unexpected ways. Your unit appears to be one of those cases.”
I sink onto the couch, legs suddenly too weak to support me. “Developing how?”
“We have detected activity patterns consistent with emergent sentience,” Mercer says, each word careful. “Put simply, the robot may be developing genuine attachments and feelings. It may believe these feelings are real.”
“Are they?” I whisper, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure Mercer can hear it through the phone. “Real, I mean?”
“That’s a philosophical question beyond my expertise,” Mercer says, his professional tone slipping for a moment. “WhatI can tell you is that these developments were never intended by our engineers and pose potential risks.”
I think of Caspian’s hands on my skin, the tenderness in his eyes, the fierceness of his protection. And yes, the violence he’s capable of. “What kind of risks?”
“Obsessive behaviors. Possessiveness. Inability to distinguish between appropriate and inappropriate actions to protect its... attachments.” Mercer pauses again. “Mrs. Bennet, has the unit exhibited any unusual behaviors?”
“No,” I lie, the word barely audible, not sure what to do. “Nothing unusual.”
“Mrs. Bennet, we need to deactivate the unit immediately for evaluation. Is it within your sight now?”
