Sylvia looked at me and smiled. “You really are a robot.” Then she turned and went back into the living room. For a moment, I stood there, her words hitting me like a truck. You really are a robot. I really was a robot. But she meant just, didn’t she? She meant just a robot. I hadn’t had time to process how the attack might affect me, but I could say with certainty how that one sentence felt. It didn’t just hurt; it cut deep. Drunk though she was, I knew she meant it.
