He Used AI to Text Me, While Chatting with Her All Night. Ok, I Canceled the Wedding Chapter 10

He Used AI to Text Me, While Chatting with Her All Night. Ok, I Canceled the Wedding Chapter 10

Elias stayed in my city for a week.

Each morning, breakfast appeared at my door.

Pan-fried buns and soy milk from across town. Delicate pastries, artfully arranged. Different daily.

If clouds gathered, an umbrella hung on the knob by evening.

When I came home late, his silhouette waited under the streetlamp, watching until I was safely inside.

But the gestures I’d once craved now only exhausted me.

On the seventh evening, I stopped him at the gate.

“Go home,” I said. “Stop.”

“Rosalind, I just wanted to—”

“Make amends,” I cut in. “Give me what you gave Celeste.”

He didn’t deny it. Looked down.

“Too late.”

“Elias. Everything you do now reminds me how easily you gave that goodness to someone else while rationing it for me.”

“Every day you’re here, every ‘kindness’—it doesn’t move me.”

“It only reminds me of those five years. Only makes me…”

I paused. Said it clearly.

“…hate you more.”

I walked past him into the complex.

That night, rain woke me at 2:00 a.m.

I got up for water. On impulse, peeked through the curtains.

Under the dim streetlight, Elias stood in the downpour.

No umbrella. Motionless. Staring up at my window.

He didn’t leave until dawn, just as I was leaving for work.

After that, he vanished.

A month later, an email arrived.

Sender: a string of code.

Subject: For Rosalind.

I opened it.

A custom site logging every wish I’d ever mentioned.

A scheduler reminding me to carry an umbrella, suggesting pain relief before my cycle.

A game. A sprite in a white dress chasing the moon. Each level cleared, a message popped:

Rosalind is amazing.

Don’t be scared, Rosalind.

Rosalind deserves to be loved.

I clicked through. Page by page.

The more I saw, the more ironic it felt.

Everything I’d once ached for, now laid before me.

And it was all… so ordinary.

Snow fell on the screen. Code ran flawlessly.

Effort poured in. More thoughtful than Celeste’s versions.

I watched, quiet.

Then tapped “Delete.”

Confirmation prompt: Permanently delete?

I tapped “Yes.”

Page vanished. Screen went blank.

Like the heart I’d offered him five years ago.

Burning. Hoping. Stumbling forward.

But in the long stretch of life ahead,

it would fade. Slowly.

Until nothing remained.