Maddie was washing the dishes on a Thursday evening when she decided that she must be a robot. It made complete sense, once she started to think about it. There were so many bots on the market now, and she’d seen an advert just last week for Unreals, sentient models that didn’t know that they were artificial. When Maddie looked into it, she discovered they could have thoughts installed, set speech algorithms, even false memory implantation. Maybe Clint had done the same to her. Implanted a former living psyche, something to make her fully believe she was real. And there’d been the car accident three months back, the one she’d miraculously survived, then woken up from a coma two weeks later. Even if Maddie was once a real person, Clint could have easily swapped her then.

And he’d been so distant and unemotional lately, like maybe he regretted his actions. It wasn’t like when they were first married, when he couldn’t bear to be parted from her. They used to do everything together – travel, go out to concerts or exhibitions at fancy art galleries, dance classes, wining and dining every weekend.

She looked down at the soap suds now dissolving beneath her fingers. Cracked skin was peeling at the corners of her fingernails, so she pulled at one of the pieces. It made a thin red line up her finger and started to bleed, though she felt no pain. The sound of a car rumbled outside, and she dried her hands quickly on a kitchen towel. Clint was home. She put the dishes away and peered into the hall as he walked in, hung his jacket on the hook by the door, placed his hand on the empty one for just a moment, then made to head upstairs. He walked past her without a word, without even a glance.

‘What do you want for dinner?’ she called after him, forcing a cheerful tone.

He paused on the first step. ‘I’m going out with some work friends tonight, gallery opening,’ he said, then he turned, hesitating. ‘Would…you like to come?’

She blinked at him. ‘Go to work with you?’

‘It’s more of an informal schmoozing thing,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But maybe you’d enjoy it?’

‘Will you be driving?’

‘I’ll take a taxi, probably.’

She thought about it, a ringing in her ears as she looked outside, the street of their suburbia, grey and calm, quiet except for the sounds of the neighbour’s kids playing in the garden out front. ‘No…I think I’ll stay in. I’m tired.’

He sighed. ‘I’ll be home late, then. You know how it is.’

She didn’t. She’d not been for a night out in weeks. Maybe even months. The only time she really left the house was for groceries, or to go to work at the studio – both just a walk away. Then she came home, did her usual chores, maybe read a book or watched a TV show, but she never really went out out. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she had a single friend at all. It was another sign. Only a robot would have no friends, no social life. Only a robot would choose to stay at home while her husband went out to a gallery opening with friends. She used to have a life, didn’t she? A routine. A reason to leave the house. The ringing in her ears intensified, and she held her hand to her head. The reverb softened a little into a tinny echo as she slowed her breathing.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he said, looking at her raised hand, concern etched on his face.

Maddie dropped her hand, blood trailing from her finger. ‘Oh,’ she said, rubbing it on her apron. ‘Must have caught it on something clearing up, it’s nothing.’

He eyed her again, then with another sigh, went upstairs to change. She stayed in that same spot though, almost frozen in place, clutching her bleeding hand, until he came back down, dressed smart in suit pants and a white shirt, shiny shoes, and a waft of his expensive cologne.

‘You look nice,’ she said.

‘You know how these events are,’ he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Dress to impress and all that.’

She nodded, though she couldn’t really remember. She knew she used to go to these things with him, back when he was just starting up the business. Art curation – that was how they’d met, wasn’t it? The details of it were a little blurry, like the memories were from a movie, and Maddie was just a character she’d watched from afar. She had been an up-and-coming artist, and he’d purchased a collection of hers for an exhibition in the city. She tried to remember what any of the art looked like, but all she could picture was a colourless blur.

As Clint was leaving, he turned to her. ‘You know, I set up all your paint supplies upstairs. Thought it might be good for you to work on something again.’

Her hands clenched. ‘Upstairs?’

‘In the spare bedroom, yes,’ he said, a slight waver to his voice. ‘It’s all there if you want it.’

She gave a slow nod, then waved him off as the taxi pulled up outside. She felt an undeniable temptation to head out too, to change her mind. But when she stood at the opened door, looking up and down the street, at the taxi humming, seeming to get louder and louder, she found she didn’t even want to step outside the house. So, she did what she’d done for the last few months, since the accident. She defrosted one of her frozen batch-cooked recipes, ate half of it, poured the rest down the waste disposal, and sat on the sofa watching a sitcom, waiting for Clint to come home. Then, when it passed 11pm with no sign of him, she went to bed.

⁂

‘Do you ever wonder if you could be Unreal?’ she asked her colleague the next day. It had been a quiet day at the studio – she was teaching an afternoon pottery painting class for a birthday party, but otherwise she had a free morning. She’d once used these quieter times to work on her art, but lately she’d not wanted to pick up a brush – maybe it was her programming again. Could robots be creative? That seemed more of a human domain.

Leah frowned to her. ‘Mads, if you’re able to even wonder if you’re a robot, I think that answers your question.’

‘Hmm.’

Leah continued. ‘Unreals aren’t able to consider their own internal mechanisms, right?’

‘I could have malfunctioned,’ she said, putting a hand up to her ear. There was dried paint on her cheek, and she started scratching at it. ‘I saw an advert about Unreals, maybe that triggered something.’

Leah sat down opposite and pulled Maddie’s hand gently away from her face, then holding it on the table in front of them. ‘What makes you think you’re a bot, love?’

‘Well, Clint doesn’t look at me the way he used to,’ she said. ‘And I don’t like doing the things I’m supposed to love, like art and dancing. I can’t even remember why I used to love them in the first place. I don’t even like coming to work anymore.’

Leah laughed. ‘That makes two of us,’ she said, eyeing the studio where a pair of students were using the pottery wheel in the corner, a drone camera set up, filming themselves from all sorts of angles as they broke and remade the clay, again and again.

‘I just feel so alone,’ Maddie admitted.

Leah was quiet for a moment. ‘That’s natural, after everything you’ve been through, love.’ She squeezed Maddie’s hand then leaned back. ‘My friend and I are hosting a craft club this weekend. Bring a work in progress, or something. Tea, coffee, cake, everything supplied. You should come along.’

‘Where will it be?’

‘She lives down by the beach, great view of the sea too. Inspiring setting and all that.’

She’d have to drive or take a taxi to get there. ‘I’ll think about it,’ Maddie said. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’ll get better,’ Leah said, with a warm smile. ‘It’s going to take time, but if you need to talk to anyone, just call me, okay? I can even come to you if it’s easier.’

Maddie gave a nod and left to set up for her class. It was a small university group, and at the beginning one of the students came up at the start to tell her how much she loved Maddie’s landscapes, asked her where her inspiration came from. But Maddie didn’t know. She couldn’t remember.

⁂

After work, she walked to the west end of town. It was a long walk, but she preferred it to the alternative. She took care on the pavement, and at crossing areas, striding with her breath held and arms stuck to her side. At the corner of the main street, she found one of the latest Unreal model shops.

Inside, she wandered around the shop floor, browsing the Unreals in their glass boxes, like animals caged in a zoo. One of the models was cleaning a display kitchen. Another was cooking, following a lasagne recipe from a TV screen with ease. There were a few set up together in an office, inputting data and numbers into spreadsheets. According to the sign: only one of these employees is a real human, can you tell which one?

She stared in at them, watching their eyes trace across the screen, some automated fingers typing, their eyes blinking every so often, no discernible pattern amongst them.

‘Is it the woman with the red hair, the real one?’ she asked one of the shop assistants. The woman beamed at her, and laughed in a forced way, her face unnaturally still – from botox or roboticism she couldn’t tell.

‘Ah, she fooled you,’ the woman said, tapping her nose. ‘She’s one of the Unreal models. Our clients like to hire out Unreal office workers, balanced with the real, to give a good co-working culture but with lower costs and maximum efficiency and outputs.’

‘What are the tells?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, how can you tell if they’re real or not.’

The woman gave a rigid laugh again. ‘Oh, that’s the beauty of it, their algorithms are perfectly matched up to mimic all bodily functions as programmed.’

‘Even sleeping, eating, working?’

The assistant nodded. ‘Whatever they’re programmed for, they can perform those functions with an average accuracy score of 98%.’

Could she be one of the 2%?

‘What about art?’ she asked.

‘Are you looking for a creative model?’ the assistant asked. ‘We have various options, if so. One of our recent sales has gone on to display their outputs at a gallery in town.’

Maddie shook her head, and wondered if Clint knew about that. She turned her attention back to the office display. ‘There must be some way to tell, though. Which one is real, which is Unreal?’

‘Not from the outside,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Not without a very trained eye.’

Maddie frowned, staring at the models ahead of her. One of them sneezed, one of them seemed to have a nervous tic, another kept pushing their glasses up their nose. They all looked alive, real. They looked just like her.

‘Is there a particular model you’re looking for?’ the assistant asked. ‘An at-home assistant, perhaps?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m just browsing.’

The assistant tilted her head a little and gave Maddie a strange look. ‘Well if you change your mind, I’ll be over here.’ She gestured to the shop floor, then left to help another customer. Maddie moved on to the end of the shop to the final vestibule, but froze outside it. Inside, an Unreal was rocking a model baby in a crib, singing a lullaby. Her voice was beautiful, but soft, breaking slightly at the high notes, giving a gentle sadness to it. Maddie stood and watched the Unreal woman for a long time, until the woman looked up at her, stopped singing with her head tilted slightly, pupils widening. Then she waved to Maddie, laughed, and returned her attention to the fake baby. Although, even as she was watching, Maddie noticed the baby looked too real too, wriggling, sitting up, gurgling. Beside it, she noticed a sign that even baby and toddler Unreal models were available. Experience all the benefits and aesthetics of parenthood, without the mess or the need to be tied down. Simply show off your new model and watch your engagement levels grow – online and offline.

She watched the Unreal baby and its mother for a long time, her hands clutched across her abdomen. There was a ringing in her ears, a splitting headache, and a feeling in the pit of her belly like she was forgetting something. She stayed there, until the woman came to tell her the shop was closing, and that she had to leave.

⁂

Back at home, she decided to make dinner for when Clint got back from work. It was a Wednesday, and they always used to eat together on a Wednesday. It would help to start the routine again, so she found a social media recipe and propped it up. She cooked lasagne, with homemade garlic bread, all from scratch, then she set the table and served everything up. But Clint didn’t come home. Not until after 10pm, when he found her sat at a table, the candle burned down to melted wax, the food cold, not a single bite taken. He looked at her, his mouth forming an ‘o’.

‘I made your favourite,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘It’s Wednesday.’

‘I had a client meeting, I told you—’

‘No, you didn’t,’ she said.

He itched the back of his neck, then sat at the table, put a hand across, held hers for just a moment before she pulled it away. ‘Maddie, I did tell you,’ he said, sounding exasperated. ‘Remember, this morning, at breakfast?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d have remembered that.’

He went quiet for a moment, a mess of different expressions moving across his face, like he was trying to figure her out. Then he sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. Why don’t we heat it up, we can eat now.’ He looked to the dining table, then he froze. ‘You put out three place settings.’

She glanced down at the three glasses, three sets of cutlery, three plates, one of them smaller than the others. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Why did you set three place settings, Maddie?’ he asked gently, putting a hand on hers again. She stared at the table, at the third untouched portion she’d served up. Why had she done that? She felt the same clenching in her stomach that she’d felt at the shop earlier, then a sharp ringing in her ears. She pulled her hand from his and put it against her face, scratching at the dry skin there. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘It was an accident.’

Clint only sighed again, but his body tensed up. She watched him as he removed the third setting, put the serving into a Tupperware. Then he washed the extra dishes, and placing them carefully back in the cupboard, on a small pile set apart from the rest, plates, bowls, and crockery all patterned with woodland animals. There was one bowl that had a tiny handprint next to two big handprints – she recognised the shape of the bowl from the pottery studio. Clint closed the cupboard before she could dwell on it any longer, then he took the other plates to warm the food back up. He sat and ate his serving as Maddie only watched hers go cold again.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said once he was finished. ‘Maybe we could get a dog.’

She blinked at him. ‘A dog?’

‘It might help,’ he said. ‘I spoke to Dr Greene, and she thought it could be a good idea for us. You could get out a bit more, walks and stuff. A routine, like you used to have. And then if I have to work late, you wouldn’t be on your own.’

She frowned. ‘I wouldn’t be alone if you didn’t work so late.’

‘You know it’s a busy time of year,’ he said, his expression shifting. ‘It’s events season.’

‘Every single night?’

‘It helps, okay,’ he said, his voice rising slightly. ‘It helps to keep busy, otherwise I’d just be—’ He stopped himself.

‘Stuck here with me?’

He shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant, Maddie.’

‘Would it be real?’ she asked.

‘Would what be real?’

‘The dog,’ she said. ‘Would you get a real dog, or one of those Unreal models.’

His jaw clenched. ‘Whatever you prefer.’

‘I don’t want a dog,’ she whispered, then she looked down at her hands, cradling her stomach as though in habit. ‘I want a baby.’

‘I…Maddie. No. We can’t, not yet.’ His breath hitched. ‘It’s too soon, after the accident.’

She closed her eyes, trying to remember the car crash, and why that even mattered right now, but all that was there was that familiar crushing dread in her stomach. A ringing in her ears again, threatening to take over. She pushed the feelings away and clenched her hands together. ‘You don’t want me to be happy.’

‘That’s not true, Maddie,’ he said, standing up. ‘That’s all I want for you.’

She let out a long breath. ‘I don’t believe you. I want things to go back to how they were, before the accident.’

‘They can’t,’ he said.

‘Because I’m not real?’ she said under her breath.

‘What did you say?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

‘I’ll make enquiries at the weekend,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘You always said you wanted a dog.’

‘I wanted more than whatever this is,’ she said. ‘You don’t love me anymore. You’ve changed, Clint.’

He flinched. ‘Not as much as you, Maddie,’ he said, his face contorting. ‘You don’t even leave the house anymore. You don’t see friends. When was the last time you even saw Leah outside of work? When did you call your sister? When did you last go do something fun? Why can’t you even try something that isn’t this? Whatever this is?’ He gestured at the table, eyes falling to the cupboard behind.

She stared but didn’t move. ‘It’s your fault,’ she said. ‘You’re the one who so easily replaced me after the accident.’

He opened and closed his mouth. ‘How did you…how do you know…how did you find out about that?’

Her chest tightened. ‘So it is true?’

‘Maddie, it’s not like—’ He stopped and began to pace, as if trying to find the right words. ‘She….I mean, it all just happened okay, you don’t know how hard it’s been, with how you’ve been and—’

‘How could you do this to me?’ she shouted, standing up, stepping towards him.

Clint froze. ‘Maddie, put that down,’ he said, looking at her hand.

She followed his gaze and found she was clutching a steak knife, hand shaking. She hadn’t meant to point it at him – had she? She was just so angry – he’d replaced her, he’d made her this way. She had to get away from him, she had to get away from here. Still clutching the knife she headed to the door. Clint stepped aside to let her pass.

‘Maddie, come on can we just—’

‘I don’t want to be here anymore,’ she shouted as she went to the front door. She opened it, stood on the threshold, and sucked in a breath of fresh air. But it was suffocating rather than welcome. The road outside was blurred, and the ringing was louder in her ears now. Across the street, the neighbour’s kids were playing with bikes, riding up and down on the road. So reckless, dangerous.

‘Stop that!’ she yelled at them. ‘It’s not safe, get off the road!’

The kids looked up at her, one of them whispering into the other’s ear before they ran inside, away from her.

A hand on her wrist. ‘Jesus, Maddie, you can’t be like this.’

She turned and let him prise the knife from her hand. She was shaking all over now, she felt so cold. Her algorithms must be failing.

 ‘Come inside, please. I’ll call Dr Greene, maybe she can make a home visit.’

‘I don’t want to be here, in this house with you,’ she said, glaring at him. His skin was grey, dark circles beneath his eyes. ‘I don’t think you want me here either.’

He scanned her face, tensed his jaw, but he didn’t answer. So she left him there and ran upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind her.

Clint was knocking on it a moment later.

‘Maddie, come on, come out, please.’

‘Go away. I’m not Maddie,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Maddie is dead, isn’t she?’ she said. ‘She died and that’s why you replaced me with a robot.’

A pause. ‘What…what are you talking about?’

‘I died,’ she said. ‘It’s the only explanation that makes any sense. I wouldn’t be like this otherwise.’

‘No Maddie, you’re not dead. But she is,’ he said, his voice growing louder. ‘Isla is. Isla died, and you can’t even face to say her name.’

Isla. ‘Who’s Isla?’ The ringing was in her ears again, high pitched, like a scream. No, like the screech of car brakes.

‘Our daughter, for god’s sake. Even if you want to keep pretending that she never existed, she did. She was real, and we loved her.’ It sounded like he was crying. ‘You loved her, so very much.’

The ringing in her ears was like a siren now. ‘I…no, I’d remember that. You replaced me with an Unreal. You even said you did, you said you replaced me.’

‘That’s not what I meant, Maddie, I…’ he banged against the door again. ‘Just open the door, please.’

Maddie ignored his words, and went to stand at their wardrobe mirror, watching her movements, trying to see anything strange in the way her arms swung by her side. Her hands were shaking, knuckles white, skin flaking away. She was thinner than she used to be – had Clint made her Unreal model like this? She also had dark circles beneath her eyes. Maybe her model was experiencing some natural wear and tear, or maybe this was to make her look more realistic. Like the man sneezing in the shop. And then there were the marks on her cheeks where she’d been picking at her skin. She put her hand there, and wondered if she scratched hard enough, whether she would reach the metallic body beneath. A body that wasn’t hers, a body that wasn’t real.

Clint was hammering at the door now. He was trying to knock it down. He’d get to her soon. Maybe he’d send her for reprogramming again. But not before she learned the truth of it.

She started to scratch and scratch at her face, then when there was blood caked under her nails, and skin peeling from her cheeks, she headed to the bathroom and took out a razor. She pulled a blade from it and dug it deep into her arm. Blood flowed, but she kept going deeper.

‘Their algorithms are perfectly matched up to mimic all bodily functions.’ Even bleeding, even pain, even tears.

The door splintered open, and Clint was standing there, face as white as a sheet. ‘What did you do Maddie?’ he asked.

‘I’m not real,’ she said. ‘I can’t be real.’

‘Oh god,’ he said coming towards her, pulling her in, hugging her close. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll fix this. It’s going to be okay.’

He smelled different, she realised – expensive cologne mixed with a perfume she didn’t recognise, that wasn’t hers. Maybe her smell algorithms were messed up too.

She looked over his shoulder, catching her bloodied reflection in the mirror. Her cheek was open, and her arm was bleeding heavily, into Clint’s perfect suit. Inside the wound, she thought she saw bone. Or maybe it was metal.