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.

I told myself I was looking for our wedding photos. That was the excuse I practiced while Eithan showered. While he dressed. While he kissed my forehead—distracted, already thinking about the lab—and told me he'd be home late.

The moment his car pulled away, I went upstairs.

His laptop sat on the desk in his study. The same desk I'd bought him when we first got married. Solid oak. I'd had his initials engraved on a small brass plate on the corner. *E.S.* The letters caught the afternoon light coming through the window.

I opened the laptop. No password. He'd stopped locking it around me years ago. I was furniture by then. Wallpaper.

I opened the photos folder first. Scrolled through images of circuit boards and lab equipment. Graphs I didn't understand. Then I saw the folder labeled *Personal*.

My hand hovered. I could close this. Walk away. Keep pretending.

I clicked.

The first photos were ours. Our wedding. The tiny studio in Midtown where we'd gone because it was all we could afford. Me in a simple white dress. Him in a borrowed suit. Both of us smiling like we'd beaten the world.

I scrolled past them. And then I saw her.

Sariyah. Real Sariyah. Not standing stiff by a window. Laughing in these. Her head thrown back. Eithan's arm around her waist. A hotel room behind them. Sheets unmade.

I kept scrolling. Couldn't stop.

More photos. A restaurant I recognized—the one in SoHo we went to for anniversaries. Except it wasn't me across from him in the booth. It was her. Same flowers on the table. Same candlelight.

My throat closed.

I backed out of the folder. My hands were shaking so hard I almost knocked the laptop off the desk. I opened his email.

The thread was right there. Not even buried. Just sitting in his inbox like something ordinary.

Sariyah's name at the top. The subject line was blank.

I clicked.

The messages loaded slowly. Or maybe time just broke. I don't know.

*Last night was perfect*, she'd written. *I love that you don't make me pretend anymore. That bed is ours now, isn't it?*

Eithan's reply: *It always was. She doesn't even notice.*

I kept reading. Couldn't breathe but kept reading.

Messages about my schedule. About when I'd be out of the house. About the sleeping pills—how many, what dosage, how long they'd keep me under. Sariyah joked about lying next to me. About how close she could get before I'd stir.

I was going to be sick.

I scrolled faster. Deeper. Months of messages. A year. Two.

Then I saw it. Near the bottom.

Sariyah's message from four days ago: *I think I'm pregnant. I'm three weeks late. I'm scared. What do we do?*

Eithan's reply, sent while I was asleep in the guest room: *Don't worry. I'll handle Mya when the time is right. This might actually make things easier.*

I stared at the screen until the words stopped being words. Until they were just shapes. Black marks on white.

The robot wasn't a robot.

She was his mistress. Living in my house. Sleeping in my bed. Wearing the face I saw every morning across the breakfast table.

And she was carrying his child.

I closed the laptop carefully. My hands were steadier than they should have been. I put it back exactly where I'd found it. Exact angle. Exact distance from the edge of the desk.

Then I walked downstairs and sat in the kitchen.

I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough for the light to change. Long enough for the house to grow quiet in that specific way it does when you realize you're alone.

I should have screamed. Should have thrown something. Should have called my parents or Freeman or anyone.

But I didn't.

Because if I broke now—if I confronted him with nothing but anger and tears—he would do what he always did. He'd manage me. Calm me down. Convince me I'd misunderstood.

I needed proof. Real proof. The kind that couldn't be explained away.

And I needed him to think I suspected nothing.

So when Eithan came home that night, I smiled. I asked about his day. I listened to him talk about the lab's new funding proposal and nodded in all the right places.

Across the room, Sariyah stood by the window. Still. Perfect.

I looked at her and thought about every night I'd slept in the guest room. Every morning I'd woken up groggy and confused. Every time Eithan handed me my vitamins with a glass of water and watched me swallow.

She turned her head slightly. Met my eyes.

I smiled at her too.

"Eithan," I said, keeping my voice light. "I was reading about the GL-7 today. There was this article about humidity exposure—how it helps calibrate the respiratory sensors?"

He looked up from his tablet. "Where'd you see that?"

"Some tech blog." I shrugged. "It said steam works best. Something about mimicking human environments."

He frowned. Interested now. "I haven't run those diagnostics yet."

"We have that big bathroom upstairs," I said. "The one with the rainfall shower. I could set it up tonight if you want. Get the steam going."

Eithan looked at Sariyah. Then back at me. Something shifted in his expression. Like he was pleased.

"That's actually useful," he said. "Good thinking."

I felt my smile freeze on my face. Held it there.

Twenty minutes later, I had the master bathroom running. Hot water pounding the tiles. Steam rising thick and white. The mirror fogged over completely.

Eithan walked Sariyah in himself. She moved like she always did—smooth, controlled. But I saw it now. The tiny adjustments. The way her eyes tracked him when she thought I wasn't looking.

She was a woman. She'd always been a woman.

And I'd let her live in my house.

"I'll monitor from the bedroom," Eithan said, setting his tablet on the counter. "Run it for twenty minutes."

He stepped into the bathroom with her. Closed the door.

I stood in the hallway and listened to the water run. Listened to the low murmur of his voice through the door. Couldn't make out words. Didn't need to.

I walked to the medicine cabinet in the hallway bathroom. Pulled out the prenatal vitamins Dr. Wells had prescribed. The bottle was exactly where I'd left it.

I opened it.

The pills inside were white. Round. Small.

My prenatal vitamins were oval. Pale pink.

I stared at them for a long time. Then I pulled out my phone and took a picture. Then another. Close-up of the label. Close-up of the pills.

From the master bathroom, I heard water shut off. Heard the door open.

I closed the bottle. Put it back. Walked downstairs.

In the kitchen, I sat at the table and opened my phone. Pulled up my parents' contact. My father's lawyer. Freeman.

I didn't call anyone yet.

But I would.

Soon.