In the Frigid Apocalypse My Husband Lost His Wife With His Own Hands Chapter 07

In the Frigid Apocalypse My Husband Lost His Wife With His Own Hands Chapter 07

Sophie weakly clutched Ethan’s collar.

“Ethan, I don’t want to die…”

The researcher placed two documents in front of him.

One would halt the procedure. The other authorized a cryocore transplant and personhood erasure.

“If we extract sixty percent, Nora can survive.”

“But every feeling she has for you will disappear.”

I wrote on the glass:

[Take me home.]

Ethan walked toward the containment pod.

I thought he was going to open it.

Instead, he placed his palm over mine through the glass.

“Nora.”

My entire body shuddered.

“You used to say that if someone could be saved, we had to save them.”

I shook my head desperately and wrote with my broken finger, one painstaking stroke at a time:

[I do not consent.]

Ethan’s eyes reddened, but his voice remained gentle.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“If the memories are gone, we can start over.”

“If you forget me, I’ll win you over all over again.”

I threw myself against the glass.

[When you locked me outside the walls, you said I wasn’t Nora.]

[Now that you want my cryocore, how are you suddenly my husband again?]

Ethan’s hand went rigid against the glass.

I wrote one final sentence:

[I won’t give you my second life too.]

He turned away, picked up a pen, and signed at the bottom of the authorization form.

“Extract sixty percent.”

“Keep Nora alive.”

The researcher asked for confirmation.

“Even if she never loves you again?”

Ethan tightened his grip on the pen.

“Being alive matters more than whether she loves me.”

The containment pod began to descend.

The last thing I saw was Ethan carrying Sophie into the climate-controlled operating room.

A system alert sounded in the darkness.

[Subject 001 identity confirmed: Nora Hale.]

[Spousal emergency medical proxy authority active.]

[Personhood-erasure protocol initiated.]

[Projected memory erasure: 100%.]

A robotic arm drove into the back of my neck.

The screen began reading my memories.

The first recording appeared on the observation-room wall.

At seventeen, I had been thrown out by my father and left crouching in the rain.

Ethan had climbed over the fence behind our high school and covered my head with the only jacket he

owned.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

The second memory took place in our basement apartment.

He worked three jobs and came home so exhausted that he fell asleep sitting beside the door.

I quietly pressed his hand against my cheek.

He spoke in his sleep.

“Nora, there’s a chicken drumstick in the fridge.”

The third memory was our wedding.

Ethan slipped the ring onto my finger.

“We can fight, but you don’t get to walk out.”

I asked, “What if I get lost?”

He answered, “I’ll recognize you.”

The observation room was completely silent.

The secrets that had belonged only to the two of us were tagged, archived, and cut apart frame by frame.

I tried to raise a hand to cover the screen, but the restraints held my wrists down.

Ethan stood behind the glass and watched them turn our marriage into laboratory data.

The researcher asked, “Should we filter out the private memories?”

Ethan glanced at Sophie’s steadily falling heart rate.

“Would that slow the extraction?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t.”

Apparently, even my last shred of dignity was expendable if it bought her more time.