Author: Daniela Tabrea

I loved my husband. I really did. I would’ve followed him into the desert, gone blind, sold my soul for him.
But when I got home earlier than usual that day, something in the mechanics of my love for him broke.

You see, up to that point, I had no doubt my husband was an angel, a God-sent angel on Earth who spread kindness, love, and wisdom. I’d witnessed him give up his parent’s wealth to put an end to malaria. He served for years on the board, negotiating a new deal on nuclear non-proliferation. For him, leisure meant providing free legal support. Deportation, eviction, abuse—he took it upon himself to ease the suffering of those crushed by life.

Geniuses make lousy partners. This law didn’t apply to my husband. At home, he cooked and cleaned, ran errands, called my parents, and played with our dogs—all without a fuss. I cried every morning when he declared his everlasting love for me. I cried with gratitude as I hugged him like a trophy.

I would’ve lived in blissful ignorance if I hadn’t seen the circuitry that made him. Beneath the soft faux skin lay neither flesh nor bone, but graphite, copper and gold. He made no attempt to hide his inner workings when I caught him off guard.

His mother—barren, but in want of a child—had created him in the image of God. The commands etched into his body were configured to deliver solace and salvation.

My love didn’t wane when his true nature surfaced. My devotion stood strong, and I felt relieved. No mortal soul should carry the collective sins of humanity. No mortal soul was designed that way. But then I asked why he tinkered with his circuits.

“I’m building an eternal version of you in my image.”