Chapter 2

Noah didn't come home last night.

At two in the morning, a message came through: "Baby, something blew up at the lab, I'm pulling an all-nighter. Get some sleep, don't wait up. I'll be on time for our anniversary dinner tomorrow. Love you."

Staring at that sweet little message, it hit me. Today was our third anniversary.

I'm someone who cares about these things.

Two weeks ago I'd booked a candlelit dinner at that revolving restaurant downtown and arranged for them to set the room.

I ordered flowers and picked up a handmade cake.

For years I'd made excuses for him. He was just a researcher, an engineer, the type to bury every feeling and never learn to express it or be romantic.

It was fine. I'd set everything up in advance. All he had to do was show up.

But now I saw it for what it was. All of it was just me, wanting it alone.

I looked at the little heart on the screen and took a deep breath.

Tonight, I'd get my answers.

At eight-thirty, Noah arrived as promised.

I'd set it that late because he was always slammed at work, and I tried to plan around his hours.

The place had mostly emptied out, and the wide, quiet dining room was practically ours alone.

Noah sat across from me, not looking at me, glancing down at his phone, long fingers flying over a reply to some work group chat.

He was always like this.

Three years together, ten dinners, and six of them he spent on video calls, three answering work messages.

Every time, it was basically me, talking to myself about my life, while he handled whatever was in front of him, absently shoveling food in, tossing me a word or two when he remembered to.

I used to think he was ambitious. Now I knew it was just what not loving me looked like.

The server began bringing the appetizers, smooth and unhurried.

Over the soft, cool saxophone, my eyes stayed on him for a long moment. He didn't notice, lost in the glow of his screen.

"Noah. Is being with me exhausting for you?"

He'd just sent a message, and he looked up, startled, genuinely blank. "Why would you think that? We've always been fine, haven't we?"

Looking at that innocent face, I couldn't hold it in. "If it's not exhausting, then why can't you even answer me yourself? Why do you need an AI to deal with me?"

His expression dropped, his fingers freezing on the screen. "You went through my laptop?"

Watching his reaction, something in my chest went cold. I let out a bitter little laugh and said nothing.

He'd left in a rush yesterday and never locked it, just left it wide open on the desk in the study.

If it hadn't been for that, would I still be stupidly believing he loved me?

He seemed to remember it too.

His voice softened. "Ella, that's not what this is. I'm just not good at expressing things, so I let the AI help me smooth it out."

I looked at him, dead-eyed. "Am I some kind of monster? Why do you have to weigh every word before you talk to me?"

"I'm just not good at the emotional stuff."

"So you let an AI date me instead?"

Real confusion crossed his face, like he honestly didn't get it.

"Why are you upset?"

"You and the AI got along great, didn't you? It handled your feelings for me, so I could focus on work."

"Isn't that a win for everybody?"

I tipped my head back. The whole thing was suddenly so absurd it was almost funny.

He sincerely believed that using a program to maintain a relationship was an efficient, mutually beneficial little feat of engineering.

"You're right, you're bad at talking," I said softly, holding his eyes. "And yet you manage to chat with Lily, all cozy, until midnight, every single day."

His face changed, and this time he was truly angry.

"Ella, going through my laptop is one thing, but reading my private messages with other people? That's low. That's my privacy."

"Privacy? I wouldn't even know if I hadn't looked."

"Turns out you don't have trouble sharing your life. You just didn't want to share it with me."

He rubbed at his brow, irritated. "Lily is just a student I sponsor. I've always treated her like a little sister. It's completely innocent, so don't read into it."

"Like a little sister."

"What kind of little sister sends her big brother a midnight photo of herself in a skimpy bikini, asking if she looks hot?"

He frowned hard. "She's going to the beach with friends next week. Girls like to look nice. She wanted a second opinion on an outfit, so what? Ella, get your mind out of the gutter. There's nothing between us."

I opened my mouth to say more.

The phone buzzed against the table, and there it was, lighting up: Lily.