My Husband Drugged Me for His Fake Robot Mistress

The hospital room was too bright. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, cold and clinical. I lay in the white bed with a thin blanket pulled up to my chest and stared at the ceiling tiles. Someone had tried to arrange them in a pattern. They'd failed.

Dr. Sandra Wells stood beside the bed with a tablet in her hands. She was older than me. Kind eyes. The sort of doctor who'd learned to deliver news gently. "Mrs. Scott," she said quietly, "the tests came back. You're pregnant. Approximately six weeks."

I didn't move. Couldn't. The words hung in the air between us like something fragile I might break if I breathed too hard.

"Pregnant," I repeated. My voice sounded far away.

"Yes." Dr. Wells set the tablet down and pulled a chair closer. She sat. "Given what you've been through in the last twenty-four hours, I want to keep you under observation for a few more hours. Make sure everything is stable."

I nodded but didn't hear the rest. My hand moved on its own, settling flat against my stomach. There was nothing there to feel yet. Just the cotton hospital gown and my own skin. But underneath—

A baby.

Something inside me that had been slowly dying for months flickered. Caught. Held.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the reason. The thing that would make him see me again. Really see me. Not as the woman who funded his lab or the wife who took up space in his house. But as the mother of his child. Our child.

Maybe this could save us.

Dr. Wells was still talking. Something about prenatal vitamins and follow-up appointments. I made myself focus. Made myself nod at the right times. She handed me a prescription and a pamphlet with a sleeping baby on the cover. I held it carefully, like it might dissolve.

"Do you have someone who can pick you up?" she asked.

I thought of Freeman finding me on the stoop. His horrified face. The way he'd wrapped his coat around me without asking questions. "Yes," I said. "I'll call someone."

She smiled. Stood. Paused at the door. "Mrs. Scott," she said gently, "take care of yourself. Not just the baby. Yourself."

I nodded. She left.

I sat alone in the bright room and felt the weight of the decision settle. I would go home. I would tell him. And maybe—maybe this time it would be different.

—

Freeman drove me back to the townhouse in silence. He kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror like I might shatter. I stared out the window and watched Manhattan slide past. People on sidewalks. Coffee cups. Normal lives.

When we pulled up to the townhouse, I made myself breathe. "Thank you, Mr. Freeman," I said.

He turned in his seat. His face was tight. "Mrs. Scott, if you need anything—"

"I'm fine," I said quickly. Too quickly. "Really. I just need to rest."

He didn't look convinced. But he nodded. Came around and opened my door. Walked me to the stoop where I'd collapsed less than a day ago. The memory was still there in the stone. I could feel it.

I unlocked the door myself this time. Stepped inside.

The house was quiet. Eithan's shoes were by the door. His jacket on the chair. He was home.

I set my purse down carefully. Folded Freeman's coat—he'd insisted I keep it—and laid it on the bench. My hands were steady. I was surprised by that.

I walked through the foyer into the living room. She was there. The robot. Sariyah. Whatever she was. She stood by the window in a white dress, hands clasped in front of her, staring out at the street with perfect stillness.

I stopped. Watched her.

Her chest rose. Fell. Rose again.

Robots didn't breathe.

I took a step closer. She didn't turn. But I saw it—the smallest shift in her posture. The angle of her head changing. Like she knew I was there.

My throat tightened.

"Mya." Eithan's voice came from the stairs. I turned. He was coming down, tablet in hand, barely glancing at me. "You're back. Good. I need you to pick up my dry cleaning this afternoon. The gray suit."

I stared at him. He didn't ask where I'd been. Didn't ask if I was okay.

"I was in the hospital," I said quietly.

He looked up. Frowned. "What?"

"Last night. After you locked me out. I collapsed. Mr. Freeman found me."

Something flickered across his face. Not guilt. Annoyance. "You should have called me."

"I did." My voice stayed level. "You didn't answer."

He sighed. Set the tablet down. "Mya, I was running diagnostics. The GL-7's integration phase is critical. I can't just drop everything because—"

"I'm pregnant."

The words came out before I'd planned them. Before I'd found the right moment. They just fell into the space between us and lay there.

Eithan went still.

I waited. Watched his face. Searched for something—anything—that looked like the man who'd once sold his grandmother's bracelet to pay for our wedding photos.

He blinked. "How far along?"

"Six weeks."

He nodded slowly. Picked up the tablet again. "We'll need to adjust your schedule. Prenatal appointments, that sort of thing. Let me know when they are so I can plan around the lab calendar."

That was it. No smile. No hand on my shoulder. No moment where everything stopped and he looked at me like I mattered.

Just logistics.

"Okay," I heard myself say.

He walked past me toward the kitchen. I stood in the foyer with my hand on my stomach and the prescription still folded in my pocket.

Behind me, by the window, the robot's head turned. Just slightly. Just enough.

I felt her eyes on my back.

And I realized I didn't know who—or what—I was living with anymore.