The Woman Who Played Robot

My left leg is wrapped in a thick cast, stretching from my knee all the way down to my ankle. Even the slightest movement sends sharp pain shooting through it. I fell while moving an easel in the studio last week. The doctor said I'll need to be on bed rest for at least three months. "Sophia, don't worry. I got you the latest model of a bionic robot. It's a lot more reliable than a caregiver." Felix Collins sat by my bedside, gently holding my hand as he spoke softly. He's my fiance—handsome, wealthy, the perfect partner in everyone's eyes. The next afternoon, a "robot" dressed in an off-white housekeeping uniform was brought to the door. It looked almost human, except its face was expressionless, and its voice was a stiff electronic sound: "Hello, master, I am Domestic Robot No. 07, at your service." "Pour me a glass of warm water first." I pointed at the glass on the bedside table. The robot turned and walked toward the kitchen, soon returning with the glass. As soon as I touched the rim, I quickly pulled my hand back; the tip of my finger instantly reddened. "Hot! This is boiling water!" I gasped in pain. "Detection indicates this temperature is suitable for drinking." Its electronic voice had no inflection whatsoever. I gritted my teeth against the pain and pulled up its control panel to reset it. "Set the water temperature threshold below forty degrees, understood?" "Instruction received, Master." When Felix Collins came back that evening, I told him about it. "Maybe the new machine needs some time to adjust. Let me take a look." He walked over to the robot and pressed a few buttons. "No. 07, pour a cup of warm water." Felix gave the order. The robot quickly brought a cup of water at just the right temperature, its movements precise and smooth. "See, no problem now." Felix Collins handed me the water, his voice calm and reassuring, "Don't be too sensitive. Just get some rest." I frowned as I took the water, a nagging feeling that something wasn't right. The next day, after Felix left for work, the robot's "malfunction" started again. At lunchtime, it made tomato scrambled eggs. I barely took a bite before almost spitting it out—the dish was loaded with cilantro, even though Felix had clearly noted my allergy to cilantro in the robot's memo. "I told you I don't eat cilantro. Why did you put it in?" I confronted it. "Ingredient pairing analysis shows that cilantro can enhance the flavor of the dish." It still showed no expression. I was so angry my whole body was shaking; I adjusted the settings again, even adding triple reminders. But by dinner, the fish-flavored shredded pork still tasted like cilantro. What was worse happened during the shower that night. I had a scrape on my leg that hadn't healed yet, and the robot grabbed steel wool and started scrubbing the wound. "It hurts! Stop!" I screamed in pain, tears instantly welling up. "The cleaning procedure requires all stains to be thoroughly removed." Its movements showed not the slightest hesitation. I mustered all my strength to push it away and grabbed the towel beside me to wrap around myself. The wound burned painfully, and the blood seeping out stained a small patch of the towel red. When Felix Collins came back and saw my pale face and the wound on my leg, he frowned. "What happened?" He asked the robot. "The owner became emotionally agitated during the cleaning process, resulting in an accident." The electronic voice remained calm and steady. "I asked you to help me take a shower, and you scrubbed my wound with steel wool!" I was so angry my voice was shaking. Felix Collins crouched in front of me, carefully checking my wound, his tone apologetic: "I'm sorry, Sophia, I must have picked the wrong robot." Then he turned to the robot and pressed a few buttons. "Run a system self-check." "System self-check complete; all functions are normal." Felix had the robot demonstrate the shower routine again. Its movements were gentle, carefully avoiding all the wounds—completely different from before. "See? It's working fine." Felix dried my hair for me. "Maybe you were just too nervous?" I remained silent, not saying a word. Over the next few days, I noticed a pattern: as long as Felix Collins was at home, the robot behaved flawlessly; but as soon as he left, the robot would malfunction in all sorts of ways and end up hurting me. I tried to record proof of the robot's errors, but every time Felix came back, the videos would mysteriously disappear. "Sophia, haven't you been a little too sensitive lately?" Felix looked at me, a subtle impatience in his eyes. "The doctor said it's normal to have mood swings after an injury. Don't overthink it." I looked at his handsome face and, for the first time, felt strangely unfamiliar. There's definitely something wrong with this robot. And Felix Collins has to know something.