The Hated Lives, the Loved Is Gone

Our son curled into a ball in my arms, clearly still in pain.

I quietly suggested, "Could you maybe, perhaps drive us to the hospital? I'll feel better once he's been checked out."

"I got them!"

The words had barely left my mouth when Theodore Shaw practically leaped off the couch.

He immediately sent Vivi Wells a voice message to tell her he had secured the tickets, and the two of them launched into an animated conversation.

I stood there, suffocating beneath the sheer absurdity of it all.

When he happened to look up and noticed my expression, his smile finally faded.

"The baby's stopped crying, hasn't he? If you're still worried, check with AI. You can find anything on there."

After our son was born, I struggled with postpartum anxiety for a while. Whenever I was extra cautious and asked Theodore a question, he would simply toss me his phone.

"If there's something you don't understand, ask AI. Technology is so advanced now. You can find the answer to anything with a quick search."

What temperature should the formula be? What should I do if the baby develops jaundice? How many times should I feed him during the night?

I had typed every question into an AI model, one painstaking word at a time. Whenever it gave me an unreliable answer, I had to take our son to the hospital by myself.

Meanwhile, Theodore was busy unclogging Vivi's drains, making her hangover remedies, and celebrating her birthday. No matter what she asked of him, he was always there.

I would often say sarcastically, "I thought you said AI was so useful. Can't she look it up herself?"

Instead, he would turn the question back on me.

"How is that the same? Can AI make sure she's safe? Sometimes I honestly don't understand how your mind works."

As those memories flooded back, I looked down at our trembling, distressed son and could no longer stop myself from asking, "Between Vivi, our son, and me, who comes first in your heart?"

Theodore finally looked up, seemingly startled that I would ask him something like that. His surprise quickly gave way to a frown.

"It's just one concert ticket. Do you really have to turn it into some childish ranking?

"You're a mother now. Stop being so unreasonable."

Whenever Vivi was involved, Theodore always reached the same conclusion: I was the unreasonable one.

If Vivi had asked him that question, he would have made a social media post praising her for being sweet and innocent.

I had no desire to waste any more words on him. I picked up the car keys, intending to take our son to the hospital myself, but Theodore snatched them straight out of my hand.

"The concert is in the next city over, so we need to leave now. It'll be more convenient if I drive her.

"Ask AI where you can get a cab. The hospital isn't far. It makes no difference."

With that, he grabbed a jacket and rushed out the door.

He did not even see our son cough up blood.

As one cold, impersonal answer after another appeared on my phone screen, the last thread holding my frayed nerves together finally snapped.