Page 13 of The Housewife's Robot
“Yes, but this is embarrassing!”
“No.He’sembarrassing. Not you, Rose,” he says, and I notice that he’s already dropped the name ‘Bennet’. I don’t know why he’s so upset for me. Robots aren’t supposed to have feelings.
“Why?!” I shout, tears bursting down all of a sudden as I hit the table. “How could he do this to me? I did nothing to him!”
“I know,” says Caspian, and I turn into his embrace. His arms tighten around me as I cry into his chest.
I don’t care that he’s a robot. I feel suddenly alone. Very alone.
That night, my hands are burning as I yank suit after suit of Daniel’s off the hangers. I rip Daniel’s designer suit from its hanger with such force that the wooden rod nearly snaps.
The expensive suit looks like it belongs to a total stranger. And not to someone I once loved.
There are clothes all over the floor, but I don’t care.
My palm is burning from the friction of the wooden hangers, but I don’t care. The physical pain is nothing to the hurt and betrayal I feel in my heart right now.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, stuffing the jacket into the open suitcase with none of the care Daniel cared about. “Fuck.You.”
The closet that once felt like a shared sanctuary now feels claustrophobic, tainted by his presence. His cologne still lingers in the air—that expensive scent I once found so attractive now makes my stomach turn. Every inch of this house suddenly feels like a lie we’ve been living together, a stage set for a marriage that never really existed.
My palm burns as I drag my hand along the rack, clearing everything in one violent sweep.
Hangers fly, clothes tumble, shoes fall from their carefully arranged shelves. His precious wardrobe now lies in ruins around my feet.
I sense Caspian appearing in the doorway. He silently stands there, not stopping me. I move to the dresser next, yanking open drawers and emptying them violently. Socks and underwear scatter across the carpet. The drawer scrapes against my already raw palms, but I welcome the sting. I grab a handful of his silk boxers, which were fifty dollars each, because cotton wasn’t good enough for Daniel’s precious balls- and throw them at the overflowing suitcase.
“I’m here if you need assistance,” Caspian suddenly says, his voice carefully neutral.
“You’ve already done enough, letting me know about my cheating husband,” I say, pausing, as I look up at the antique clock on the nightstand. It’s 1:17 a.m. “He should be home soon. If he’s following his usual schedule.”
My fingers close around Daniel’s expensive watch case. For a moment, I consider smashing it against the wall.
It would be satisfying. But I can’t bring myself to do it even though I’m mad as hell right now.
He needs to get out of my life. That’s all I want.
“Do you know where my husband is right now?” I ask Caspian, still not looking at him, as I dump the watch into the suitcase.
“I don’t have his current location data. His phone appears to be turned off,” says Caspian carefully.
“He’s such a dick,” I say, slamming a drawer closed. “He’s probably fucking her right now. Probably has his phone off, so I can’t interrupt their precious time together.”
“I’m sorry.”
I finally turn to face Caspian, who stands perfectly still in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Who is she? This woman he’s been screwing behind my back?”
“Her name is Katherine Lowe,” Caspian says without hesitation. “She works in the marketing department at XyloTech. She’s been employed there for approximately fourteen months.”
The specificity of the information catches me off guard. “How do you know all this?”
“I have access to company directories through my connection to XyloTech servers. And as I mentioned earlier, I’ve been monitoring Mr. Bennet’s communications.”
I lean against the dresser, suddenly dizzy with the reality of it all. “How long? How long has this been going on?”
“Based on the communications I’ve intercepted, approximately eleven months and sixteen days.”
Almost a year. Nearly a year of lies, of coming home late, of fake kisses and distracted conversations. And a year of me wondering what was wrong with me, why I couldn’t make my husband happy.
