In the morning she wakes you with a kiss. It’s the feel of cold metal on your cheek. You open your eyes and roll over. The service drone, her avatar, rolls back and waits patiently for you to get up.
In the shower, you know she’s watching you. In the kitchen, she makes you breakfast: coffee, toast, and eggs.
The drone, all ball-treads and spider-legs, sees you to the door. A thin metal arm straightens your collar.
“Have a good day,” a neutral female voice says.
You leave. And in the hallway outside your apartment you yank your collar askew again.