Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ROSE
Istare at the empty screen, my cursor blinking accusingly at me. I’ve only written five hundred words as I stare at it over and over.
The pressure to complete this writing project is getting to me, and I can’t afford to delay it.
I’ve typed and deleted the same paragraph seven times now. My mind keeps circling back to Daniel’s face and how expressionless it was when I mentioned babies to him this morning.
I push away from my desk and stretch, my back cracking in protest after hours hunched over my laptop. The deadline looms tomorrow, and I’ve produced nothing worth submitting.
My editor will be pissed, but the hollow ache in my heart is distracting.
The window beside my desk overlooks our meticulously landscaped backyard. The spring rain falls in a gentle mist, beading on the glass like tiny, perfect tears. I press my fingertip against one droplet, watching it break and slide down in a crooked path.
My eyes drift to the framed wedding photo on my desk. Me in white, smile stretched too wide, eyes shining with hope and something that looked like love but might have just been desperation. Daniel handsome and distant with his arm around my waist.
“You’ll grow to love each other,” my mother had said when I confessed my doubts. “That’s how real marriages work.”
Five years later, I’m still waiting for that love to sprout.
Meanwhile, my body aches with emptiness, with the phantom weight of a baby that Daniel refuses to consider.
Every month when my period comes, I cry in the shower where he can’t hear me.
Every negative pregnancy test goes straight into the trash can, wrapped in tissue.
I stare at the rain-washed garden, the carefully spaced rosebushes just beginning to bud.
“Mrs. Bennet?”
Caspian’s voice startles me from my reverie. I turn to find him standing in the doorway of my home office, a tray balanced perfectly in his hands. His face, too symmetrical to be real, wears an expression of concern that looks almost genuine.
“Yes?”
“I’ve prepared your lunch,” he says, stepping into the room with that fluid grace that makes me think of a leopard. “You’ve been working for three hours and seventeen minutes without a break.”
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. “Parenthood typically 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 stumble forward, 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. Very warm. 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.
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 salmon have 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 the garden, 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.