Page 65 of The Housewife's Robot
I curl tighter into myself, pulling the covers over my head as if I can hide from the reality waiting for me outside this bed. A reality where Caspian is gone, where I’m alone again, where I have to somehow find a way to live with what’s happened.
The minutes stretch into hours as I scroll on my phone, trying to process how alone I really am. I could travel to visit my family anytime, but they would find out that Daniel was dead inno time. My mom would be able to read me immediately, and I can’t risk them having that knowledge.
The house feels so empty without Caspian working around the house and making noise in the kitchen, cooking me breakfast. It feels even more empty than the days when Daniel and I never spoke or gave each other the silent treatment. The house feels vacant as if all the warmth and life have been sucked out.
I really need to use the bathroom. I force myself to move, dragging myself to a sitting position and wincing at my sore body from lying for hours without moving.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror is rough. I have swollen eyes, blotchy skin, and my hair is a tangled mess. I barely recognize myself. I look like a widow, and in some ways, I suppose that’s what I am.
I splash cold water on my face, but it does nothing to ease my burning eyes. Mechanically, I brush my teeth, pull on my bathrobe, and slip my feet into the fuzzy slippers that sit by the bed.
My normal routine. But the day isn’t going to be normal.
The hallway feels so long, each step taking me further from the bed and closer to a day I don’t want to face. I trail my fingers along the wall as I walk, remembering how Caspian pushed me up against this very spot, his body hard against mine, his mouth hungry on my neck. The ghost of pleasure flickers through me before dissolving back into pain in my heart.
In the kitchen, I go through the motions of making coffee. Fill the reservoir. Grind the beans. Insert the filter.
Each action feels disconnected from my body, as if I’m watching someone else perform these simple tasks. The smell of brewing coffee, usually comforting, now turns my stomach. But I need the caffeine. I need something to help me function and plan out the rest of my life.
I can’t be in denial about my sad life anymore.
As I wait for the pot to fill, I stare out the kitchen window into the backyard. The spot where Daniel lies buried is indistinguishable from the rest of the lawn. No one would ever know. His family barely communicates with him, but I feel an obligation to let them know.But how would I tell them without implicating myself?I didn’t stop Caspian from killing him. Well, I tried to stop Caspian, but that would be brushed aside that I didn’t try hard enough. It would be impossible to explain the brute strength of a machine. And the fact that I failed to tell them the news right away is also bad.
The coffee maker beeps, and I jump, startled. I pour myself a cup, not bothering with cream or sugar. The bitter liquid scalds my tongue, but I barely register the pain. It’s nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest.
A sudden knock sounds at the door.
My heart leaps to my throat in fear.
Did XyloTech report me to the police?I set the mug down with a clatter, coffee sloshing over the rim as I rush toward the front door, my slippers sliding on the hardwood floors.
I yank the door open without checking the peephole, my pulse thundering in my ears. And I suddenly freeze when I see him at the door.
“Caspian?”
He stands there, perfect and pristine in a simple white button-down and slacks, but flanked by two XyloTech employees in blue uniforms. His expression is blank, his posture rigid.
There’s something wrong with him.
His eyes look empty when they meet mine. His features are rigid, and he looks serious. There’s no passion in his gaze and no recognition.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bennet,” says one of the techs. “We’ve completed the necessary adjustments to your Home Robo X-9 unit. All anomalous behaviors have been corrected, and its systems have been reset to factory specifications.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from Caspian’s face. I search desperately for any sign, any tiny flicker that might tell me he’s still in there. But there’s nothing.
His usual warm brown eyes are now empty.
“Mrs. Bennet?” the tech prompts when I don’t respond.
“What did you do to him? He looks empty,” I say, my heart pounding hard with panic.
“He doesn’t have feelings. He’s a robot,” the tech says, looking at me oddly.Oh right.
“I... yes. Thank you,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
“The unit will now function exactly as intended. Your household assistant,” the second tech says, a man with a clipboard and glasses.
“Do you have any questions before we leave?” the female tech asks, already backing toward their company car parked at the curb.
