Charles arrived at his home like he did on most Saturday nights. Laughing raucously at one of his stupid friend’s jokes, and staggering drunkenly from the designated driver’s car. That’s how Saturdays were. Get drunk. Gamble. Then come home to deal with the wife.
        He watched as the little car drove away, blaring music and filled with the nonsense words of drunken men. Charles watched it go for a minute, trying to organize his rampant thoughts. Then he slowly turned toward the front door of a little house. Tannish, with a blue front door. A welcome mat in front of the entrance. Perfectly manicured lawn. Normal, in every sense of the word. Charles put one foot in front of the other (not without difficulty) and made his way to the door, opening it then shutting it behind him.
        “Annette!” He yelled, the alcohol really getting to him now. He had an urge to to kick something. To hurt it. To break it. To his surprise, Annette was sitting right in the living room, in a little red reading chair. On Saturday nights she would usually be in bed. Hiding. Probably hoping that her husband might just pass out in the living room and forget about his wife for once. He was even more surprised when she stood up, ever so slowly, clutching a steak knife in her trembling hand.
        Actually, Charles didn’t register the knife first. What first struck him was his wife’s eyes. Generally, the pale green little things were weak. They usually contained sorrow and nervousness, and looked at the floor more than anything. Yet now they were looking straight at Charles, intense and more angry than Charles had ever seen them.
        Then he saw the knife and his intoxicated mind registered one thing: fear.
        “No...not possible...” he muttered before falling to the floor. He stammered, attempting to crawl backwards, “Annette...Annette what are you doing?”. She advanced on him, and her eyes narrowed.
        “What am I doing?” she asked, her voice trembling, “I’m doing nothing that I’m sure you wouldn’t have done to me.” Charles could not speak, he was far too drunk and far too shocked by his wife’s sudden fury to find any words. He merely shook his head.
        “No?” she whispered. “No!” she repeated, her voice much louder this time. She was nearly screaming. “You wouldn’t have killed me? You would have just hurt me and abused me and taken away every last shred of myself...?” A single tear drifted down her anguished face, and for a moment her eyes closed.
        Charles was not in the state of mind to take advantage of her moment of blindness. His slowed brain was still trying to comprehend what was going on. His eyes drifted once again to her weapon, and he repeated the shaking of his head. His tongue managed to grasp the power of speech once more, and he said the first thing that popped into his head.
        “Annette...you’ve lost Control.”
        “Control?” she said. “Damn right I’ve lost control!” Her voice was positively shaking, her eyes alight with fury. “How could I not have after all you’ve done to me? I can’t handle it any more. I’m sick of you. Sick of being treated like an animal! An animal who has done something wrong and needs to be beaten.” She took a deep, rattling breath, and began to step towards her husband once more. “I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of being taken advantage of, being treated like scum! Like filth that doesn’t even deserved being looked at! And I’m so tired...so exhausted by the hurt...” For one moment her expression crumpled, but then her face became furious once more. “And now it’s time to show you all the pain you’ve showed to me...” she was whispering as she pulled the knife back to strike the fatal blow...
        Suddenly she collapsed upon the floor in a heap,and lay there like a little broken doll. Charles merely continued to stare at her, appalled for a few seconds more. Then he forced himself to his unsteady feet. But he couldn’t stop staring at the mess on the ground.
        For a whole minute husband and wife remained like this. Neither moving. Neither breaking the silence so thick it was nearly tangible. Then, Annette picked herself up and stood, just as suddenly as she had collapsed. Her eyes looked strangely glazed and blank.
        Annette opened her mouth to speak, and the voice that came out was calm, even, and slightly higher than the one she had been using before.
        “Good evening Charles Tollian,” she said, her blank expression staring and unwavering, her voice slightly dead, “The technicians at Persephone Female Control Center would like to apologize for the slight error in our programming. It appears that there was a lag in communications, and that connection was temporarily lost. Control has now been fully restored, and your wife, Annette, should have no further lags in her GoodWife installation. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, and hope that Persephone Female Control will still continue to receive your business. Thank you, Mr. Tollian, and have a wonderful night.”  With this, Annette was silent, eyes continuing to stare blankly into space.
        Charles eyed his wife carefully, hoping that her true thoughts did not break through again. When Annette made no advance for the steak knife, and did nothing to show that her programming had failed, Charles felt a great surge of power and satisfaction wash over him. And also anger. Yes, definitely anger. How could the little bitch dare yell at him like that? To threaten him? Who was the one who went to work every day and gave her a home, and a life? Well, she was an ungrateful little slut, and she deserved to be punished.
        So Charles kicked his wife in the shins, and slapped her hard across her blank, staring face.
        And as she fell, she smiled.