His Younger Self’s AI Loved Me More Than He Did Chapter 10

His Younger Self’s AI Loved Me More Than He Did Chapter 10

A heavy, dull thud. Ethan was slammed hard to the ground by the bike. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead. The driver was apologizing frantically. A crowd started gathering.

I stood half a meter away, watching Ethan on the ground. His face was pale with pain, but he was still looking at me with frantic worry. “Zara, are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

He struggled to get up and realized his right arm was broken. I just pulled out my phone and dialed 911 for him. After making the call, I looked at him. “Ethan, this ends now. You saving my life once doesn’t mean I owe you the rest of mine.”

I turned to leave, but he grabbed the hem of my dress in a panic. “Zara, I’m not trying to make you owe me… I just want to be with you. Please, don’t shut me out like this.”

More and more strangers were gathering, watching us with concern.

They couldn’t understand the raw, broken Chinese. They just murmured to each other in confusion. I took half a step back. Then I asked him a question that seemed to come from nowhere. “Do you know what Al said to me before he died?”

Ethan froze, unable to process it. “What…” I spoke slowly, making sure each word cut.

“The eighteen-year-old Ethan said you’re not worth loving—not anymore. He told me never to forgive the man you turned into. And never come back to you.”

He stared at me, and the last glimmer of light in his eyes slowly died out. After a long moment, he lowered his head and let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Zara, I’m sorry. I won’t look for you anymore.”

The wail of the ambulance sirens grew closer. I turned and walked away, my heart set like stone. Ethan just stared blankly in the direction I’d gone. This time, he didn’t try to make me stay.

He flew back three days after being discharged. His right arm was still in a cast. The wound on his forehead had five stitches. When he got home, my AI companion was still sitting on the living room couch.

Hearing the noise, she slowly turned her head. “Welcome home, Ethan Davis.”

Ethan stood at the door and let out a bitter laugh. But as he laughed, tears fell.

From then on, he handed the company over to his assistant and moved every meeting online.

He kept the living room spotless. He even bought the flowers I used to love and set them in a vase at the center of the dining table. But no matter how bright the blooms were, they couldn’t mask the deathly stillness of that house.

Maya came by a few more times with the baby. He only gave her money and refused to see her. Every day, he’d talk to that AI companion, saying so many things. “Zara, I walked past your favorite bakery today. I bought a chestnut cake.”

The AI answered, “Excessive sugar intake detected. Please maintain a balanced diet.”

“Zara, I dreamed about you. I dreamed you finally turned back to look at me.”

The AI answered, “Current time is 3:27 a.m. Recommend going to sleep.”

The divorce papers arrived on a rainy afternoon. Ethan stared at those documents for a long time. Finally, he picked up the pen and signed his name.

In the days that followed, Ethan sometimes laughed, sometimes cried.

More often than not, he just sat in front of her and whispered over and over, “Zara, I know I was wrong.”

The robot would stay silent for a long while before responding with that stiff voice, “Welcome home, Ethan Davis.”

In that moment, he finally shattered completely.

“Just curse me. Say one thing.”

“Hate me, even.”

“Just don’t say only that to me.”

But a robot can’t hate. And it can’t love. Another six months passed. The next time I heard any news about Ethan was in a group chat with old college friends.

Someone posted a blurry photo. In the picture, the man who once carried himself with such confidence was being led into a psychiatric hospital by two orderlies. I just calmly closed the group chat.

Outside the window, a breeze drifted by. The Copenhagen sunlight fell warmly on my fingertips. The gallery owner walked over with a cup of coffee, studied the painting in front of me for a long time, and smiled.

“Zara, this one is beautiful. It looks like coming back to life.” I took the coffee.

On the canvas, a girl with a suitcase was walking alone toward a vast field of blooming sunflowers. Behind her, there was no road leading back. Only a bright sky and the wind catching the hem of her dress.

I looked out the window at the sunlit street. People were coming and going. White doves skimmed the rooftops. A soft smile touched my lips. “Yeah. My summer’s finally here.”