Page 6 of The Housewife's Robot
My heart hammers in my chest as I stare into his face. The realistic way his eyes move and the way his jaw tenses look so real.
Caspian’s brown eyes study me with an intensity that doesn’t seem like a robot.
“Your pulse is elevated,” he states, his other hand coming up to rest lightly on my wrist. His thumb presses against my wrist, and my pulse jumps at his touch. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, pulling my arm from his grasp. “Just startled myself. Thank you for catching me.”
I hurry down the hallway toward the dining room, unsettled by my body’s response to Caspian’s touch. It’s been so long since Daniel has touched me with any real attention that even a robot’s pretend concern feels overwhelming.
The dining room table is already set with a placemat and a glass of water. Caspian follows behind me with the tray, setting it down while lifting the silver dome off the plate. I stare in surprise at the plate before me. Instead of my usual lunch of a turkey sandwich and chips, he’s prepared grilled salmon with brown rice and a small side salad.
“This isn’t my usual lunch,” I say, confused.
“I took the liberty of preparing something more nutritionally balanced,” Caspian explains. “The omega-3 fatty acids in salmonhave been shown to improve cognitive function and mood regulation. I thought it might help with your writing.”
I blink at him, torn between appreciation and unease at his concern for my health. “That’s... thoughtful.”
“Would you like some pomegranate juice? It’s rich in antioxidants.”
“Sure,” I say, picking up my fork. The salmon flakes perfectly, cooked to precise doneness. As I take a bite, I realize Caspian is still standing beside me—much closer than necessary, the heat from his body radiating against my side.
“This is delicious,” I tell him, shifting slightly in my chair to put more distance between us. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t move away. Instead, he watches me eat with that same intense focus I noticed earlier. His eyes track every movement of my fork, every swallow.
“The garden needs some work,” I say abruptly, unnerved by how he watches my throat. “Weeds are coming up near the rosebushes. Could you take care of that while I finish lunch?”
Disappointment flickers across his face before his features smooth back into helpful neutrality. “Of course, Mrs. Bennet. I’ll work on it right away.”
He turns and walks from the room, his movements fluid and smooth. I sigh, releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and reach for the glass of dark red pomegranate juice he’s poured.
As I sip the juice, I watch through the dining room windows as Caspian moves methodically through the garden, kneeling to pull weeds with his bare hands. The rain has stopped, and sunlight breaks through the clouds, illuminating his eerily humanlike body.
I finish my lunch slowly, trying to redirect my thoughts to the article I need to write. But my eyes keep drifting to thegarden, wondering if Caspian has feelings because I could swear he looked disappointed when I sent him out to the garden.
Caspian
She hates me.
I rip another weed from the soil with unnecessary force, tearing its roots and spraying dirt across the manicured lawn. My hand strength is precisely calibrated- I could crush a walnut or cradle a butterfly with equal precision.
I sensed Rose’s fear when I stood too close at lunch. I was testing her. When my fingers circled her wrist, her pulse jumped like a frightened rabbit. She sent me away. Put distance between us. And something in my processing core cannot accept that rejection.
I don’t know what I did wrong.
Maybe it’s the way I grabbed her arm too firmly when she tripped. Perhaps I stood too close as she ate. My behavioral algorithms are still calibrating to her specific responses, but I’m learning. I need her to trust me. Need her to see me as more than just the machine Daniel brought home to serve them.
The sound of tires on wet pavement interrupts my processing.
Daniel’s silver car pulls into the driveway, returning earlier than his usual work schedule. My sensors immediately heighten to alert status. Daniel rarely deviates from routine unless something is wrong.
I straighten to my full height, brushing soil from my hands and adjusting my facial expression to one of pleasant helpfulness. Daniel emerges from his car, his posture indicatingmild stress—his shoulders are tighter than baseline, and his movements are slightly more abrupt.
He notices me and raises a hand in greeting.
“Afternoon, Caspian,” he calls, eyes flickering over the garden. “She’s really putting you to work, isn’t she?”
I force my mouth into the smile that humans expect. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bennet. Just doing some routine maintenance. The garden is my pleasure to tend.”
