His AI Heart

I am someone with a strong desire to share every little detail with my lover.

The blush of dawn outside the safe house window, a slightly-too-bitter espresso, the new flower shop on the corner.

Even if Carlo's shadow just flickered through my mind for a moment,

I couldn't stop myself from hitting send.

His replies were always brief, but they were instant. I used to think that was just how a cold man like him showed his love.

That all changed seven days before the wedding, when I found an AI auto-responder on the burner phone he never let out of his sight.

It broke down every sentence I sent, categorizing them and extracting keywords to generate the most perfectly dismissive answers.

When I said I missed him, it replied, "Behave."

When I said I was scared, it replied, "I'll handle it."

When I wanted to argue, it replied, "Be sensible."

So, for half a year, the one replying to my messages was never Carlo.

Meanwhile, in another chat window, the messages between him and another woman were piled high.

From simple good mornings to random midnight thoughts, From secret talks about family business to whether they should take the yacht out on the weekend.

I finally understood. Carlo wasn't a cold person. It wasn't that he didn't like to share his life; he just didn't want to share it with me.

And I finally decided to make a heartbroken exit from this absurd charade.

...

It was past midnight when Carlo returned.

He'd just stepped into the entryway, loosening his tie as he asked, "Still up?"

I sat on the living room sofa, watching him without moving.

"I was waiting for you."

He frowned and narrowed his eyes.

"You could have just texted. Did you really need to stay up just to wait for me?"

I looked at him.

"Carlo, do you think I talk too much?"

His fingers, unbuttoning his shirt, paused.

"Why are you suddenly asking this?"

"I want the truth."

He tossed his expensive, custom-tailored suit jacket onto the back of a chair, his voice completely nonchalant.

"Sometimes. A little."

I nodded. "When, specifically? For instance?"

"Like this afternoon, when you sent a picture of some apple pie and asked if I wanted any. Or later, when you wanted to change the wedding flowers to white lisianthus. And then tonight, you said a streetlight on the corner was out and you were scared to walk home alone."

He finished with a slight curl of his lip.

"Lindia, don't you get it? You give me a play-by-play of your entire day."

I just watched him in silence.

"Isn't that what people in love do? Share things?"

"But I'm really not in the mood."

He sat down across from me, his tone softening as if he were placating a clueless child.

"I'm out there fighting for us, and then I come home to this, to all your emotions. Can't you just be more mature?"

Be more mature. If I remembered correctly, he had been saying that for five years.

For five years, that had been the young Capo's favorite way to shut me down.

When I wanted a real anniversary celebration, he told me to be mature, not to bother with such superficial things.

When I wanted him to come see me try on my wedding dress, he told me to be mature, that all white dresses look the same.

When I wanted to complain about how hard it was to fit into his family, he told me to be mature, asking who doesn't have it tough in this life.

But this afternoon, I saw his chat history with Ava.

The chat log was endless. I spent the entire afternoon scrolling and only made it six months back.

The Carlo in those messages was someone I didn't recognize at all.

He wasn't just responsive; he was gentle to the point of being lovesick.

Ava said her herbal soup was bitter, and he spent half an hour coaxing her to finish one small bowl.

I stared at Carlo, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Then why doesn't Ava have to be mature?"

The moment he heard her name, Carlo's face darkened.

"Lindia, did you really wait up all night just to start a fight?"

He was a master at turning it all around on me. It was his signature move.

Every time a topic involved Ava, he would twist it until I was the one being unreasonable and petty.

But this time, I didn't back down like I always did.

"Fine. We won't talk about Ava."

I looked him straight in the eye and asked, enunciating every word:

"If you think I talk too much, you can just tell me. Why use an AI to brush me off?"

Carlo's expression finally changed.

A rare flicker of panic crossed through his impatience.

"How did you know? Did you go through my phone?"

"Is that the kind of person I am to you?" I asked.

I didn't bother to explain that I had simply plugged his burner phone into the charger this afternoon.

The screen had lit up, and it wasn't locked, showing the AI program processing my text right next to his endless chat window with Ava.

I just kept my gaze locked on his face, letting the silence stretch.

After a long moment, he seemed to give up the confrontation and let out a long breath.

"Weren't you always complaining that I never get you the newest gadgets? That AI... I was going to use it to record my feelings for you. An anniversary gift. It just wasn't calibrated yet."

I almost laughed out loud.

It occurred to me that everyone in our circle said Carlo wasn't a romantic, yet he was willing to go to such lengths for Ava.

For Ava's birthday, he personally designed a pair of earrings for her, the silver backs engraved with her name and a short Italian poem.

When Ava had insomnia, he had the linen bedsheets she used as a child shipped from Sicily, even having the sachets scented with her grandmother's recipe.

When Ava said her job was boring, he bought her a custom silver-gray sports car, the license plate ending in her birthday.

And me? I got a few lines of AI code to keep me placated.