He Used AI to Text Me, While Chatting with Her All Night. Ok, I Canceled the Wedding Chapter 01

He Used AI to Text Me, While Chatting with Her All Night. Ok, I Canceled the Wedding Chapter 01

I’m the kind of person who needs to share everything.

Roadside blossoms. A terrible cup of coffee. The sunset on my commute home.

Even a random thought about Elias Whitmore at an odd hour, and I’d message him without thinking.

His replies were always brief, automatic. Yet he answered everything.

So for six months, clinging to those cold but consistent responses, I made it through the engagement, the dress fittings, the venue tours—all the way to the eve of our wedding.

Then, five days before the ceremony, I found a program running on his laptop.

It scanned every message I sent, tagged it, pulled keywords, and spat out the most indifferent, risk-free reply.

“I miss you.” → “Mm.”

“I’m upset.” → “Got it.”

“We’re fighting.” → “Don’t be like that.”

Turns out, Elias hadn’t been responding to me at all.

And in the next window, his chat with Celeste Drummond stretched on, dense and endless.

“Good morning” to “Good night.”

“What should we eat?” to “Let’s go to the coast sometime?”

I finally understood.

Elias’s love wasn’t silent. It was overwhelming, all-consuming.

It just never touched me.

So I decided to walk away from this one-sided wait.

Elias came home at ten.

He pushed the door open, toed off his shoes.

“Still up?”

I stayed on the sofa, watching him.

“Waiting for you.”

He frowned.

“Couldn’t you just text? Had to wait up?”

“Elias,” I said. “Do you think I talk too much?”

He paused.

“Why ask that now?”

“Tell me the truth.”

He slung his jacket over a chair, impatience creeping in.

“Sometimes, yeah. Rosalind, haven’t you noticed? You narrate everything.”

“Isn’t that what couples do?” I asked. “Share?”

“I don’t have the bandwidth,” he said, sitting across from me. His tone softened, like he was explaining something obvious. “I work all day. Then I come home to manage your moods. Can you be a little more mature?”

Be more mature.

His favorite line for five years.

I wanted to celebrate our anniversary. He said, be mature, skip the rituals.

I wanted him at the dress fitting. He said, be mature, they all look the same.

I vented about work. He said, be mature, everyone has bad days.

But earlier, scrolling through his chats with Celeste, I saw a version of Elias I didn’t recognize.

Attentive. Almost boyish.

When Celeste made a face after a sour grape, he coaxed her gently for half an hour.

I looked at him.

“Then why doesn’t Celeste have to be mature?”

His brow snapped down.

“Rosalind Hartley, you stayed up just to pick a fight?”

Classic Elias. Flip the script.

Every mention of Celeste ended with me apologizing for being unreasonable.

Not this time.

“Fine. No Celeste,” I said.

I held his gaze. “If I talk too much, you could’ve told me. Why build an AI to brush me off?”

His expression shifted. Irritation curdled into guilt.

“How’d you find out? Snoop through my laptop?”

I said nothing. Just watched him.

After a long silence, he sighed.

“You kept complaining I only built things for Celeste. This AI? It’s your gift.”

I almost laughed.

Elias was a celebrated developer.

For Celeste’s birthday, he coded a website. Click it, and snow fell. Fireworks bloomed. Text glowed in the center: Celeste, stay happy forever. I’ll always be here.

When she couldn’t sleep, he wrote a sleep aid app. Mood-based white noise. A 2:00 a.m. warm-water reminder.

When she was bored, he built her a game. A sprite chased her cursor, cheering, You’re the best, Celeste!

And for me?

An auto-reply bot.