Perfect Companion

If the devil had been searching for a playmate, this thing Craig had created would have been the
The thing was not large. About the size of a large dog. It lay on its metallic side on the operating table, and it was alive. In its own way, it lived ... because Craig Stevens had given it life.
Now, Craig stroked that metallic surface and smiled. Very well, Sheila, he said pleasantly. Get out. Get out and never come back. I'm not keeping you.
The woman who stood across the table from him uttered a choked, strangled noise that could have been anger or sorrow. I hate you. I never thought that I could hate anyone, but you've taught me in these last three years, Craig. You've taught me.
The other nodded and picked up a small battery from the table. I'm glad that our three years together haven't been a total loss, my dear.
Sheila dabbed at her eyes. You don't even give me the satisfaction of seeing you lose your temper. I wanted you to be uncomfortable and embarrassed. I wanted to see you suffer as you've made me suffer.
And so you tell me you're leaving me. Hardly the proper stimulus to cause me to suffer, Sheila. A celebration would be more in order. His grey eyes regarded her with the cold objectivity of a lab technician observing the death agonies of a new species of insect.
Impulsively, she moved around the table to him. Craig, she began, and there was a note of entreaty in her voice, what's happened to us?
Mental cruelty is the complaint you lodged, I believe. He didn't look at her now, but focused his attention instead upon the mechanism on the table. Ridiculous phrase. The only real cruelty is mental of course. Physical suffering soon passes, but suffering in the mind, that endures.
She stared with loathing down at the thing on the table. And now this ... this monster that you've made ... I suppose you mean for it to replace me in your life?
Craig Stevens chuckled, Nothing could take your place, Sheila. I shall always remember you as a most individual subject.