Naturally.

Eric fumed the whole drive home. Jimmy and Sal were assholes, humiliating those poor golems for no reason. The golems were programmed not to mind it, but that didn't make it right. He focused on his anger, knowing that a far worse emotion was lurking underneath.

When he got in, though, he had a harder time ignoring it. Stacy greeted him at the door with a peck on the cheek and the delicious scent of roasting meat filled his nostrils.

"Hi, honey!" she said cheerfully. "I hope you had a good time! I didn't know whether you were gonna eat there or get dinner at home, so I- are you ok, babe? What's wrong?"

Stacy had noticed his grim, angry demeanor and immediately started comforting him. She took off his coat for him and rubbed his shoulders gently.

"Were those guys being assholes to you? You ought to hang out more with friends outside of work. Jimmy's such a-"

"Would you let a stranger grope you?" Eric asked curtly. Stacy was too stunned to reply for a second, then started laughing.

"Are you serious? Of course not! Is that what you're upset about? You don't think I'm having an affair, do you?"

He shook his head and sniffled. Stacy realized that he was close to tears. "What, then? Where's this coming from?"

Eric led her by the hand to the couch and sat down with her. His face was deeply serious and Stacy stopped smiling, waiting for him to articulate what was on his mind. With a quivering voice, he spoke.

"Stacy, I want you to be completely honest with me right now. Can you do that?"

She nodded solemnly. "Of course, Eric. You saw my script. I can't lie to you."

That only made him more upset. He took a deep breath, then asked his question. "Are you still capable of emotion?"

Her mouth hung open in shock. It reminded him of when she was a deactivated cadaver on their couch. "Of course, Eric. I told you, I'm fully-"

"Stop." He cut her off curtly. "I'm not done. Do you have free will? Are you able to make your own choices?"

She sighed and took her hand in his. "That's a more complicated question. The simple answer is that I have exactly as much free will as you do."

"Explain," he said pointedly.

"I am bound to abide by the logic of my script," she began, "but that doesn't make me a ****. My script is analogous to your mind. If you want a hamburger, do you have the 'free will' to want a salad instead? If you feel insulted by something Jimmy says, are you 'free' to not feel insulted?"

She paused, giving space for him to ask questions. When he remained silent, she continued. "I can't stop following my script and you can't stop thinking your thoughts. The only distinction is that my internal processes are artificially generated and yours are organically generated. You have an electrified chunk of meat telling you what to do and I have a piece of paper."

Eric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were watery. "How can I trust you?"

"The script-"

"No!" he cut her off again. "Don't tell me about the fucking script! I don't trust you because some app says you won't lie to me, I trust you because you're my wife and I love you!"

Despite his best efforts, Eric broke down in tears. Stacy rubbed his back gently and waited for him to cry it out. When he was done, she spoke softly.

"Eric, babe, what happened? Where is all of this coming from?"

He recounted the events at the happy hour. As he spoke, her face went from compassionate to shocked to angry to furious. When he was finished, she took a few seconds to compose herself before speaking.

"Jimmy is a lowlife piece of shit and a pervert," she said. "I wouldn't wipe my ass with him. He's probably been harassing waitstaff for years, and now he's fucking gleeful that he can do it openly. Don't let his bullshit get to you, babe."

"It's not just him." Eric's tears had stopped now, but his eyes were bloodshot and his face was haggard. "It's what the manager said. She said that it's all just an act. That golems don't really feel anything. That you're just a fucking machine. If you were, would you even tell me?"

Instead of responding immediately, Stacy took a second to gather her thoughts. When she spoke, it was with firm conviction.

"Eric, I'll never be able to prove to you that I still love you. No matter what I say or do, you can always tell yourself it's an elaborate facade presented by a clay computer. But that was true before I became golem. We can never truly see inside of each other, and that goes both ways. For all I know you never really loved me and you've been faking it this whole time."

"But you have no reason to doubt my love," he rebutted. "You've fundamentally altered yourself in a way that I'll never understand."

"You don't need to," she said quietly. She took his hand and held it to her face. "I can't give you the certainty you want. I wish I could, Eric, but I can't. You'll never really know whether I'm still me or I'm just an advanced algorithm. All I can offer you is my love, and hope that that's enough."

Eric felt wetness on his hand and realized Stacy was crying. He didn't know that golems could cry. Without warning he embraced her, drawing her tight against himself. He felt her body pressed against his, the slow rise and fall of her simulating breathing, the tickle of her hair on his face. A dam inside him burst and he erupted in a low, animalistic moan of love and despair and confusion.

"I love you so much," the golem in his arms said, and he decided to believe.