I push the thoughts away and focus on more practical concerns. My phone is gone—stolen along with my car. My wallet too, with all my credit cards, my driver’s license, my identity. I’m going to need to get a new card for our joint account, which means talking to Daniel. The thought makes my stomach clench. How am I supposed to face him after everything that happened?
But what choice do I have? I need money to survive, to hire a divorce lawyer, to start rebuilding my life from scratch. I’vewasted five years of my twenties building a life with a man who never really loved me, who was fucking someone else for nearly our entire marriage.
But the anger quickly gives way to a bone-deep weariness.
The divorce is going to be brutal.
Daniel won’t let me go easily—not because he wants me, but because he hates to lose. He’ll fight me for every penny, every possession. He’ll make me pay for daring to leave, for threatening his carefully constructed image.
I wonder if he’s already at work or if he’s with her. Katherine.Is he telling her about our fight? Are they laughing about it together? Planning their future now that I’m out of the way?
The thought is a knife twisting in my gut, but I push it away. I can’t afford to waste any more energy on them. I need to focus on myself now, on surviving, on rebuilding.
With effort, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the movement jostles my shoulder. The guest room is colder than the bedroom upstairs.
I’ll never sleep up there again, I realize. Never again share a bed with Daniel, and I’m glad. I don’t have to fake enjoying sex with him ever again. I couldn’t even fake it, now that I think about it.
It’s like I can finally breathe after years of slowly suffocating.
Standing makes me lightheaded, and I have to pause, my good hand gripping the bedpost as the room tilts and spins around me. Pain medication. Right. The doctor prescribed something for the pain, but I haven’t taken any since leaving the hospital.Where did Caspian put the pills?
My bare feet are cold against the hardwood floor as I make my way to the door. I pause, listening.
There’s movement in the kitchen—the soft clink of dishes, the gentle hum of the coffee maker, the barely perceptible sound of footsteps. Caspian must be awake. Of course he is.
Does he even sleep?I realize I have no idea.
I crack open the door and peer down the hallway. From here, I can just make out movement in the kitchen. Caspian’s back is to me as he moves with fluid grace, preparing breakfast. He looks so normal doing chores while my life is absolutely shattered. It seems absurd.
My heart rate picks up, and I feel suddenly exposed in my oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts. I’m not ready to face him, not after that kiss, not with my hair a mess and morning breath and eyes puffy from crying myself to sleep. Not when my body still remembers the press of his mouth, the strength of his arms carrying me to safety.
I duck back into the hallway and slip into the guest bathroom, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. In the mirror, a stranger stares back at me—hollow-eyed, pale, with a sling cradling my right arm and a bruise blooming on my temple where it struck the pavement. My hair is a tangled web, and there’s still a faint smudge of yesterday’s mascara beneath my eyes.
“Oh, I’m a mess,” I mutter to my reflection.
I turn on the tap with my left hand, awkwardly squeezing toothpaste onto my brush. Everything takes twice as long with just one functioning arm. I brush my teeth clumsily, toothpaste foaming at the corners of my mouth, dripping onto the counter because I can’t coordinate rinsing and spitting properly.
As I brush, my mind circles back to that kiss. It wasn’t like kissing a machine. There was heat in it, hunger. His lips were soft and warm, his tongue skillful as it slipped between my lips. If I hadn’t known what he was, I never would have guessed. The thought sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool air of the bathroom.
He’s not human, I remind myself. He can’t actually want me. Whatever I felt, whatever I thought I felt from him, it’s justprogramming. Advanced, sophisticated programming designed to make him seem human, to respond to human cues, and make me feel better. He was trying to distract me from the pain of my life.
That’s all it was.
But why did he kiss me in the first place? What in his programming would have prompted that? It seemed so spontaneous, so...emotional.
I spit into the sink, rinsing my mouth awkwardly with my left hand. Water splashes onto my shirt, but I hardly notice. I’m too caught up in the memory of Caspian’s eyes after he pulled back from the kiss—dark and intense, with something burning in them that looked too much like desire to be a simulation.
Desire for me.When was the last time anyone looked at me like that? Had Daniel ever looked at me that way, even in the beginning?
I shake my head, trying to clear it. This line of thinking is dangerous. Caspian isn’t a man; he’s a machine. An appliance, regardless of how human he seems. Getting caught up in whatever I thought I saw in his eyes is just setting myself up for more hurt, more confusion.
I run my fingers through my tangled hair, trying to tame it into some semblance of order. It’s hopeless without a brush, but at least I don’t look quite as much like I’ve been electrocuted. I splash cold water on my face, wincing as it hits the scrape on my temple. The shock of it helps clear my head a little.
I can’t stall this any longer. Taking a deep breath, I open the bathroom door. Time to face Caspian and whatever awkwardness that’s going to happen now.
Especially after that hospital kiss.
I step into the hallway, my heart hammering in my chest like I’m walking to my execution instead of just greeting the household robot.
