I Wrote Seven Years Of Letters Answered By AI Chapter 03

I Wrote Seven Years Of Letters Answered By AI Chapter 03

It was a text from Summer.

[Mr. Rushton’s staying late to eat dinner with me at the lab tonight—you’ll have to figure out dinner yourself.]

I deleted the text without replying.

The night before officially handing over the café, I stayed late to pack up the last of my leftover supplies.

Weeks of missed meals and constant stress triggered a brutal stomach cramp. A searing pain tore through me, cold sweat dripping down my forehead as I slumped against the wall, barely able to stand.

Trembling, I dialed Carter’s number. The line rang and rang before he finally picked up.

“My stomach hurts so badly I can’t stand. Can you drive me to the emergency room?” My voice came out weak and thin.

His tone was dripping with impatience. “The model’s crashing hard at the lab, the whole team’s pulling an all-nighter. Can you be reasonable? Just take some antacids and power through it.”

He hung up before I could say another word, the dial tone severing the last thread of hope I had left.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright, pulling my coat tight around my shoulders before hailing a cab on the street to the hospital.

The emergency room waiting area was packed late at night. I hunched over my stomach to check in and wait for my turn, finally sitting down with an IV drip hooked to my arm.

I grabbed my IV pole to look for an empty seat—and froze when I looked up.

The man who’d claimed he was stuck working overtime at the lab was right there, kneeling in front of a hospital hallway bench.

He held a borrowed stainless steel thermos, carefully mixing warm water and blowing on it gently before passing it to Summer, who sat slouched on the chair.

She’d nicked her finger chopping fruit—a cut barely half an inch long, had stopped bleeding long ago.

She leaned back against the bench, voice simpering. “Mr. Rushton, my finger throbs so much I can barely type.”

Carter spoke to her with a tenderness he’d never once shown me. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Once I restore the training date tomorrow, I’ll have the AI write you a personalized letter. It’ll make you feel better.”

I stood less than ten feet away from them, and every drop of blood in my body turned ice cold.

He’d treated seven years of my genuine feelings as disposable training material for his algorithm, and now he planned to use that same artificial warmth to court another woman.

I stepped forward slowly, IV stand raised in my uninjured hand.

The second Carter caught sight of me, his face went pale. He shot to his feet, nearly dropping the thermos. But there was no flicker of guilt for being caught red-handed—only anger.

“Are you seriously following me here? Stop causing a scene. Why can’t you just be chill like Summer?”

I had no energy left to argue, not a single word to waste on him.

With my free hand, I unzipped my crossbody bag and emptied every spare house key and lab access badge I’d held onto for seven years onto an empty medical tray beside us. The metal clinked hollowly against the plastic.

Carter’s brows crumpled tight, convinced this was just a manipulative ploy to win his attention back. “Don’t try threatening me with these keys. You’d better come home tomorrow and apologize, or I won’t keep indulging your tantrums anymore.”

I yanked the IV out, pressing a gauze pad to my wrist, then walked straight out of the hospital without glancing back.

The frigid night air stung my cheeks, and my phone vibrated once: the full café transfer payment had hit my bank account.

Standing under a streetlamp, I opened the airline app on my phone and booked a one-way ticket on the earliest flight out of this city tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow happened to fall on our seven-year anniversary.