He Used AI to Text Me, While Chatting with Her All Night. Ok, I Canceled the Wedding Chapter 07

He Used AI to Text Me, While Chatting with Her All Night. Ok, I Canceled the Wedding Chapter 07

Eighty-something calls from Elias.

The rest from Margaret, relatives, mutual friends.

Margaret’s voice notes devolved. From fury to accusations to near-sobs.

“Rosalind, come back. Talk this through.”

“That post—how will Elias show his face now?”

“Celeste hasn’t eaten in two days. Can’t you be the bigger person?”

I didn’t reply.

Scrolled down. A text from Elias, sent an hour ago.

Rosalind. Pick up. Talk. Five minutes.

As I finished reading, he called again.

Must’ve been redialing.

I answered. Silent.

Two seconds of quiet. Then his voice, hoarse.

“You picked up.”

I said nothing.

He inhaled, forced a softer tone. It sounded stiff.

“Rosalind. Can we talk calmly?”

“Go ahead.”

He paused, thrown.

“The post. I know you’re angry. But it was extreme.”

“Everyone’s coming for me. Celeste’s being dragged.”

“She’s like a sister. Why involve her?”

I walked to the minibar. Grabbed a water. Unscrewed the cap. Drank.

Then said,

“Elias. Remember year three? Hiking with Celeste?”

Silence as he searched his memory.

“Downpour. Soaked through.”

“I wore a white shirt. See-through when wet. Hair plastered. Makeup ruined. Looked a mess.”

“Celeste snapped a photo. I asked her to delete it. She said she would. Then posted it.”

“I asked you to make her take it down. You refused.”

I recited his words clearly:

“It’s just a photo. Celeste thought it was funny. Don’t make a scene and embarrass yourself.”

Sunlight through the window was blinding. I squinted.

“See? You knew posts could humiliate.”

“You just didn’t think mine mattered.”

Heavy breathing on his end.

“So this is payback? For me and Celeste?”

“Rosalind, haven’t I been good to you? Given you everything?”

I laughed. Out loud.

“Did you give me time at the dress fittings?”

“Did you give me the basic decency of remembering my seafood allergy?”

“Did you listen when I asked you not to jog with another woman on our wedding day?”

“Elias. All you gave me was dismissal. Neglect. ‘Don’t be like that.'”

“Your love, your patience, your time—all for Celeste.”

“Leftovers for me were an auto-reply bot.”

I exhaled. Five years of pressure lifted.

Long silence. I thought he’d hung up.

Then his voice, lower, threaded with unfamiliar uncertainty.

“I was wrong about those things.”

“I’ll change. Okay?”

“Delete the post. Come back. Start over.”

“No AI. Home every night. Do whatever you want.”

“Morning jogs—I’ll do those with you. Walks every day.”

“Redo the wedding. Your way. I’ll plan it. Okay?”

Six months ago, those words would’ve made me cry.

Now? Only irony.

“Elias. Still don’t get it?”

“I don’t want it.”

“Your promises. Your future. You. None of it.”

“Wedding’s off. I’m not coming back.”

“We’re done.”