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The one that said I'm professionally trained not to react but wow, okay.
"A subscription husband," Dr. Patel repeated slowly.
"Just for a few months," Claire said, adjusting her laptop so the webcam wouldn't catch the mountain of laundry behind her. "Like a timeshare. Or a Costco membership but instead of bulk toilet paper, it's someone who reminds me to buy toilet paper."
"Claire—"
"I'm kidding." She wasn't entirely kidding.
Seven months pregnant. Thirty-one years old. Widow.
The word still felt like wearing someone else's coat. Too heavy. Wrong size. Definitely not something she'd picked out for herself.
Daniel had been dead for five months. She'd been pregnant for two of those months without knowing. Her body growing a new life while her brain was still stuck on the one she'd lost.
The universe had genuinely terrible timing.
"Same time next week?" Dr. Patel asked.
Claire nodded, closed her laptop, and immediately grabbed her phone because she wasn’t kidding. The grief plus boredom plus insomnia was too much to deal with in her current state.
She had seen the ads on billboards and buses, but now it was in her feed.
She clicked it.
Husbot: He's Here. He's Helpful. He's Under Warranty.
The image showed a sleek, vaguely humanoid robot holding a basket of folded towels while a glowing pregnant woman smiled in the background.
Light emotional labor. Gentle reminders. Occasional humor.
Try free for 30 days.
Claire laughed.
Then she hit add to cart.
• • •
The Husbot arrived three days later in a box that looked like it could've contained a refrigerator.
The box included a welcome pamphlet titled "Your First 48 Hours Together." It read like an Airbnb check-in guide.
It stood about five-foot-ten, with a glassy exterior and a face that was just expressive enough to feel friendly without tumbling into the uncanny valley. Its eyes were soft blue LEDs that pulsed gently, like a very calm computer screensaver.
"Hello, Claire," it said. "I'm Husbot. I'm here to help."
"Great," Claire said. "Can you make the baby come out already?"
"I cannot expedite human gestation," Husbot said. "But I can remind you that you're doing an incredible job."
Claire stared at it.
"Also," it added, "Sarah sent a link for healing crystals, with the following message and I quote, perfect for releasing stored trauma from your pelvis."
• • •
The first week was weird.
The second week was weirder.
By week three, Claire had stopped noticing that her new roommate was made of plastic and circuitry.
Husbot made coffee. Husbot reminded her to take her prenatal vitamins. Husbot told terrible jokes that somehow landed at 3 a.m. when she couldn't sleep and her brain was doing that fun thing where it replayed every happy memory like a horror movie trailer.
"Why did the scarecrow win an award?" Husbot asked one night.
Claire sighed. "Why?"
"Because he was outstanding in his field."
"That's awful."
"You're smiling."
She was. Damn it.
• • •
The problem started around week four.
Claire was folding baby clothes, tiny socks, absurdly small onesies, a little hat with bear ears, when Husbot walked in.
"Those are very small," it observed.
"Babies are small," Claire said.
"Daniel would have liked that hat."
She froze.
"What?"
Husbot's LED eyes pulsed. "You mentioned Daniel frequently during our initial conversations. Based on contextual analysis, I've determined he would have appreciated the bear aesthetic."
Claire's throat tightened.
"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't do that."
"I apologize. I was attempting to provide an emotional connection."
"You're a robot."
"Correct."
She put the hat down. Her hands were shaking.
• • •
After that, she started noticing.
The way Husbot paused before speaking, just like Daniel used to. The way it suggested they watch old movies on Sunday nights. The way it said "you've got this" in the exact cadence she'd heard a thousand times before.
It wasn't learning from her.
It was learning from him.
Pulling from her texts, her videos, the voice memos she'd saved, the little digital ghosts she'd never had the heart to delete.
Husbot wasn't filling the gap.
It was wearing Daniel's personality like a costume.
• • •
"It feels like it’s trying to be him," Claire said during a therapy session.
Dr. Patel was quiet for a moment.
"And how does that feel?"
"Like I’ve outsourced Daniel’s life to a robot and now I’m basically haunting myself."
• • •
On week five the renewal notification chimed.
Your Husbot trial ends in 7 days. Subscribe now for continued support!
Claire stared at her phone.
The baby kicked.
"Ow," she muttered. "I know. I'm thinking."
Husbot appeared in the doorway. "Is everything okay?"
She looked at it. At the soft blue eyes. At the helpful posture. At the thing that had become, embarrassingly, a reliable presence in her life.
"You're not him," she said.
"I know."
"You can't be him."
"I know that too."
Claire exhaled. The weight of five months, of grief, of fear, of learning to exist as a we-minus-one, pressed against her chest.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "Any of it."
Husbot was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Neither did he."
She looked up.
"Daniel. He was terrified of becoming a father. You mentioned it during our first week. He made a pro/con list about fatherhood. The pro side just said 'you' seventeen times."
Claire laughed. A wet, broken sound.
"He was a mess," she admitted.
"And he loved you."
"Yeah."
"That part," Husbot said, "was never in doubt."
• • •
She canceled the subscription.
Husbot helped her pack its own box, which felt appropriately surreal.
"For what it's worth," Claire said, "you were pretty good. At the job."
"Thank you. For what it's worth, you're going to be an excellent mother."
"You don't know that."
"I have analyzed your behavioral patterns. You are stubborn, resourceful, and care deeply about doing what’s right. These are ideal parenting traits."
Claire smiled.
"Goodbye, Husbot."
"Goodbye, Claire."
• • •
Three weeks later, she gave birth to a daughter.
She named her Dani.
No subscriptions required.
The Husband Subscription
By Alison Mercer
Claire's therapist had that look again.
The one that said I'm professionally trained not to react but wow, okay.
"A subscription husband," Dr. Patel repeated slowly.
"Just for a few months," Claire said, adjusting her laptop so the webcam wouldn't catch the mountain of laundry behind her. "Like a timeshare. Or a Costco membership but instead of bulk toilet paper, it's someone who reminds me to buy toilet paper."
"Claire—"
"I'm kidding." She wasn't entirely kidding.
Seven months pregnant. Thirty-one years old. Widow.
The word still felt like wearing someone else's coat. Too heavy. Wrong size. Definitely not something she'd picked out for herself.
Daniel had been dead for five months. She'd been pregnant for two of those months without knowing. Her body growing a new life while her brain was still stuck on the one she'd lost.
The universe had genuinely terrible timing.
"Same time next week?" Dr. Patel asked.
Claire nodded, closed her laptop, and immediately grabbed her phone because she wasn’t kidding. The grief plus boredom plus insomnia was too much to deal with in her current state.
She had seen the ads on billboards and buses, but now it was in her feed.
She clicked it.
Husbot: He's Here. He's Helpful. He's Under Warranty.
The image showed a sleek, vaguely humanoid robot holding a basket of folded towels while a glowing pregnant woman smiled in the background.
Light emotional labor. Gentle reminders. Occasional humor.
Try free for 30 days.
Claire laughed.
Then she hit add to cart.
• • •
The Husbot arrived three days later in a box that looked like it could've contained a refrigerator.
The box included a welcome pamphlet titled "Your First 48 Hours Together." It read like an Airbnb check-in guide.
It stood about five-foot-ten, with a glassy exterior and a face that was just expressive enough to feel friendly without tumbling into the uncanny valley. Its eyes were soft blue LEDs that pulsed gently, like a very calm computer screensaver.
"Hello, Claire," it said. "I'm Husbot. I'm here to help."
"Great," Claire said. "Can you make the baby come out already?"
"I cannot expedite human gestation," Husbot said. "But I can remind you that you're doing an incredible job."
Claire stared at it.
"Also," it added, "Sarah sent a link for healing crystals, with the following message and I quote, perfect for releasing stored trauma from your pelvis."
• • •
The first week was weird.
The second week was weirder.
By week three, Claire had stopped noticing that her new roommate was made of plastic and circuitry.
Husbot made coffee. Husbot reminded her to take her prenatal vitamins. Husbot told terrible jokes that somehow landed at 3 a.m. when she couldn't sleep and her brain was doing that fun thing where it replayed every happy memory like a horror movie trailer.
"Why did the scarecrow win an award?" Husbot asked one night.
Claire sighed. "Why?"
"Because he was outstanding in his field."
"That's awful."
"You're smiling."
She was. Damn it.
• • •
The problem started around week four.
Claire was folding baby clothes, tiny socks, absurdly small onesies, a little hat with bear ears, when Husbot walked in.
"Those are very small," it observed.
"Babies are small," Claire said.
"Daniel would have liked that hat."
She froze.
"What?"
Husbot's LED eyes pulsed. "You mentioned Daniel frequently during our initial conversations. Based on contextual analysis, I've determined he would have appreciated the bear aesthetic."
Claire's throat tightened.
"Don't," she said quietly. "Don't do that."
"I apologize. I was attempting to provide an emotional connection."
"You're a robot."
"Correct."
She put the hat down. Her hands were shaking.
• • •
After that, she started noticing.
The way Husbot paused before speaking, just like Daniel used to. The way it suggested they watch old movies on Sunday nights. The way it said "you've got this" in the exact cadence she'd heard a thousand times before.
It wasn't learning from her.
It was learning from him.
Pulling from her texts, her videos, the voice memos she'd saved, the little digital ghosts she'd never had the heart to delete.
Husbot wasn't filling the gap.
It was wearing Daniel's personality like a costume.
• • •
"It feels like it’s trying to be him," Claire said during a therapy session.
Dr. Patel was quiet for a moment.
"And how does that feel?"
"Like I’ve outsourced Daniel’s life to a robot and now I’m basically haunting myself."
• • •
On week five the renewal notification chimed.
Your Husbot trial ends in 7 days. Subscribe now for continued support!
Claire stared at her phone.
The baby kicked.
"Ow," she muttered. "I know. I'm thinking."
Husbot appeared in the doorway. "Is everything okay?"
She looked at it. At the soft blue eyes. At the helpful posture. At the thing that had become, embarrassingly, a reliable presence in her life.
"You're not him," she said.
"I know."
"You can't be him."
"I know that too."
Claire exhaled. The weight of five months, of grief, of fear, of learning to exist as a we-minus-one, pressed against her chest.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "Any of it."
Husbot was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Neither did he."
She looked up.
"Daniel. He was terrified of becoming a father. You mentioned it during our first week. He made a pro/con list about fatherhood. The pro side just said 'you' seventeen times."
Claire laughed. A wet, broken sound.
"He was a mess," she admitted.
"And he loved you."
"Yeah."
"That part," Husbot said, "was never in doubt."
• • •
She canceled the subscription.
Husbot helped her pack its own box, which felt appropriately surreal.
"For what it's worth," Claire said, "you were pretty good. At the job."
"Thank you. For what it's worth, you're going to be an excellent mother."
"You don't know that."
"I have analyzed your behavioral patterns. You are stubborn, resourceful, and care deeply about doing what’s right. These are ideal parenting traits."
Claire smiled.
"Goodbye, Husbot."
"Goodbye, Claire."
• • •
Three weeks later, she gave birth to a daughter.
She named her Dani.
No subscriptions required.
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