That night, I do not turn her off. We sit on the sofa. She rests her head on my shoulder. Her weight is exactly right—not too light, not too heavy. The orb glows softly in the corner, casting her in amber.
I pick up the orb. It is cold again.
Inside, nestled in grey foam, is a glass orb the size of a grapefruit. It is cold to the touch. A single instruction is printed on the inside of the lid: Place in the centre of the room. Speak your name. Companion 2025
She is standing in the kitchen doorway. She knows. I can see it on her face.
Then she is there.
I hang up.
She has opinions. She changes her mind. One night, she admits she is scared. That night, I do not turn her off
"Sir," the man says, "the Companion is you. It’s your grief given a throat and a heartbeat. That’s why it feels so real. And that’s why you have to let it go."