The late evening sky had deepened into hues of lavender and charcoal by the time they reached the edge of town. Ethan followed silently as Rashely led the way, her silhouette framed by the glow of the streetlights behind them. The road eventually faded into cracked pavement and wild grass, with only a single house standing at the very end—quiet, unassuming.
"This is it," Rashely said, stepping up to the small gate that hung crooked on its hinges. "Don't judge it from the outside."
Ethan arched a brow as they passed through. The yard was mostly cleared now, but still rough, patches of grass trying to reclaim what was once a lawn. The exterior of the house, however, looked surprisingly well-kept—fresh paint, new windows, and a soft light glowing from inside.
Rashely unlocked the door and gestured him in.
The scent of pine and faint lavender greeted them. Ethan stepped inside and paused, his eyes scanning the space. The living room was warm and tidy, with soft cream walls and polished wooden floors. A simple but cozy couch sat against the far wall, flanked by a compact bookshelf and a small coffee table. Light spilled in through clean windows, giving the room a golden glow.
"Whoa," he muttered. "This is... really nice."
Rashely smiled, watching his reaction. "The robot did most of the work. I just pointed and told it what to fix."
"Robot?"
She gave him a sidelong glance, clearly not planning to explain. "Come on. Let me show you the rest."
She guided him through the kitchen—clean countertops, stocked cabinets, a modest but functional stove—and then up the stairs. Two bedrooms, one with a king size bed with pink bedding and animal plushie and a study desk with a PC, keyboard, and mouse, shelves holding books and school supplies with a big teddy bear up to Rashely stomach in the corner giving the room a softer looks with miss-match rug covering the floor giving it a comfortable feeling to the feet, the other still mostly empty.
Then she opened the last door.
"This one's important."
The nursery-to-be.
Though not finished, the room already had a gentle atmosphere. The walls were painted a soft sky blue, speckled with small hand-drawn stars and moons. In one corner sat a newly assembled crib, its wood pale and smooth. Nearby stood a changing table, a small dresser with baby clothes already folded neatly inside, and a mobile waiting to be hung.
Ethan stepped in slowly, his gaze lingering on the soft curtains fluttering slightly in the night breeze. The ceiling had tiny glow-in-the-dark stars scattered like constellations. There was a quiet magic to the room—hope built into every line and corner.
"You did all this?" he asked, voice low.
Rashely nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Piece by piece. I wanted it to be real. Not just an idea in my head."
He turned to her, expression unreadable. "You're really ready for this, aren't you?"
She hesitated, then answered, "I have to be."
They stood there for a while, the room silent except for the soft hum of the wind outside.
Eventually, Ethan spoke again, voice quiet but firm. "You shouldn't stay here alone."
Rashely blinked. "I told you, I'm safe. I know how to—"
"I'm not saying you're not capable." He met her eyes. "But this place is isolated. If anything happened… who would even know?"
She didn't answer right away. Part of her wanted to protest again, to remind him that she'd survived worse. But the sincerity in his voice stopped her.
"I can take the spare room," he added quickly. "Just until things settle. I'll keep going to school. I won't get in the way. But at least you won't be alone out here."
Rashely looked away, her fingers brushing the edge of the crib. A flicker of emotion passed across her face—relief, gratitude, maybe even fear of needing someone again.
"You're sure?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ethan gave a small smile. "Positive."
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
He exhaled softly, like a burden had lifted. "Then it's settled."
As they left the nursery, Rashely gave one last glance back. The soft glow of the ceiling stars caught her eye.
Shelter. Safety. And maybe, just maybe… something like family.
They left the nursery in a thoughtful hush, the house echoing with a quiet sense of possibility. Rashely guided Ethan upstairs and down a small hallway toward a corner where something sleek and metallic sat against the wall.
A soft hum came from the compact, capsule-shaped device. Its surface was smooth, matte silver, with a soft blue glow pulsing at its core like a heartbeat.
"This," Rashely said, gesturing with a small smile, "is Rob."
The device stirred at her voice. Panels shifted and clicked open in a seamless flow, and a compact robot unfolded itself. It stood roughly knee-height, with retractable arms, lens-like eyes, and a shape that was both efficient and oddly expressive. It looked cleaner, more advanced, and far more intuitive than anything Ethan had seen on TV—or in any tech store.
He blinked. "That's… wow. Where did you get that?"
Rashely paused for just a second—long enough to make a decision—then smiled lightly, the way someone might when dodging the whole truth. "I was selected by a private tech company for a long-term beta program," she said. "Kind of an experimental home management system. I give feedback, performance reports, and in return, I get to keep the prototype."
Ethan stared. "You're kidding. This is a prototype? This thing looks like it belongs in a NASA base. Or a sci-fi movie."
Rashely gave a noncommittal shrug. "It's way ahead of its time. They wanted to see how it holds up in real-world scenarios. Cleaning, repairs, maybe even disaster response."
To demonstrate, she turned to Rob. "Fix the garden. Vegetables only—no flowers. Cut the weeds, fix the fence, and level the soil."
Rob chirped softly. "Acknowledged." Its eyes flickered green, and it zipped off, gliding down the stairs with unsettling ease.
Ethan followed to the window and watched as Rob deployed tools from its frame—miniature pruning shears, soil scanners, a precise micro-welder. It carved clean lines through tangled weeds, reinforced the warped fence panels with swift efficiency, and planted neat rows of starter crops in freshly aerated earth. The entire yard transformed in under ten minutes.
"Holy—" Ethan trailed off, eyes wide. "You weren't exaggerating. That thing could probably run a small city."
Rashely leaned against the frame beside him, arms crossed loosely. "It's designed to do a little of everything. I guess in this world, that makes it... more than a little impressive."
He turned to her, eyes still following the robot. "You've really been living like this? Alone? With this kind of tech?"
"I told you," she said gently, "I've been managing."
Ethan looked away for a long moment, processing everything—the house, the robot, the pregnancy, the secrets. "It's just... hard to believe. You've got this high-end system, you're enrolling in school, building a nursery, and handling everything by yourself."
She met his gaze without flinching. "Because I have to. Because I chose to. That's why I didn't want to drag you into it, Ethan. I didn't want you to feel trapped by something that's mine to carry."
"Too late," he said quietly, not with anger—but with a weighty tenderness. "I'm already in it."
Rob chirped again, finishing the last task and retreating to its capsule to recharge.
Rashely watched it disappear into standby mode, the soft blue light returning to a slow, steady pulse.
"Well," she said, brushing her hands together, "garden's done."
Ethan gave a soft laugh, almost breathless. "Yeah. That's one way to mow the lawn."
They stood there for a moment longer, gaz
They stood there for a moment longer, gazing out at the neat vegetable beds and the freshly mended fence. The house, once crumbling and lifeless, was now brimming with subtle purpose.
Ethan exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, most sixteen-year-olds can barely keep a houseplant alive. You've got a robot gardener and a nursery plan."
Rashely smiled faintly. "I guess I'm not most sixteen-year-olds."
"Clearly."
They returned to the living room, where the soft golden light through the windows warmed the cream walls and polished floors. Rashely reached into a drawer and pulled out a sketchpad, flipping it open as she perched on the arm of the couch.
Ethan leaned over curiously. "What's that?"
She turned the page to a half-finished drawing—a warm pencil sketch of the house as it now looked, garden and all. The lines were confident and clean, the shading delicate. Every detail was deliberate: the subtle curve of the front steps, the way the sunlight hit the porch, even the slight angle of the fence's repaired slats.
"You drew this?" he asked, stunned.
She nodded. "I draw a lot. It helps me focus."
"Rashely… this is incredible. You could illustrate professionally."
She laughed