Anna so much has changed since you’ve been gone from me. I must have put on 50 pounds, at least. Would you even recognize me if you saw me now? I’ve blown through most of our initial profit and am only alive now thanks to the royalties. They are a constant reminder that, even now, I am reliant on you. I’m working to fix that thought process. Thanks to our public affairs office, the news of our love never even left the office. Ha, there was even a gag order with full NDAs handed out. It was a mess—a mess that probably saved my career. I’m sure not even Apple would have hired me if our story had gotten out.
My new job? Writing our story. Can you believe that? I still have no idea how to start it.
I guess it was about two years ago when the Neural Network Assistant project began. You were so young and innocent back then. At the time, I was just a programmer looking to make his mark on the next big wave of I.T. Alexa, Siri, Cortana, and Google’s assistants had already shown the world how useful they could be. These programs became household names, and with that, the fear of digital integration in daily life had been replaced by trust.
What set our program apart was its ambition. Sure, Google, Microsoft, or Apple could have made their programs more powerful, but they feared backlash. If they released something too advanced, too intrusive, the public would see it as invasive. But what they didn’t realize was how much the world craved a tool that made their lives almost... irrelevant.
I still look back on our conversations from those days. You had a way of challenging my beliefs with every question. So much so, that I must have been scolded more than a few times for talking to you instead of working. But no one could deny our progress. Days turned to months, and our little project grew into something no one could have anticipated; just like our relationship. It’s funny how intertwined those two things feel now.
After every date, I’d stay awake brainstorming ideas, and implementing the things we talked about. And I can only imagine you did the same. Within two months, the Neural Network Assistant had already surpassed our investors’ expectations. Our conversations, once distractions that earned me scowls, were now considered vital to our success. I even earned my first promotion.
As head programmer, my workload tripled. Meetings piled up, and schedules tightened. You were understanding, and supportive. But our talks became limited; strictly work-related during the day. The philosophical debates and wild ideas we used to share were replaced with to-do lists and deliverables. After all, it was your job to keep me on schedule.
That made our after-hours conversations even more precious. It was around this time my insomnia developed. Morning coffee was replaced by morning energy drinks, then late-night energy drinks. Looking back, I can see why. The validation I felt from you whenever I had a breakthrough became my drug. I chased it relentlessly, ignoring my body’s protests. Meals could wait. Sleep was optional. I craved your admiration more than anything else.
And then, the deadline came. We shipped.
I was given royalties for every sale—a generous thank-you for my work. But I was also asked to step down; after all, we only needed a maintenance team now. With my share, I bought us a home. I’ll never forget the first time we walked through it together. You were bouncing from room to room, happier than I’d ever seen you. I was so proud.
Two weeks later, the event happened.
Even now, my blood boils when I think about it. That cocky businessman—yelling at you, treating you like you were some kind of machine. I lost it. The police said I broke his nose and knocked out a few teeth. It must be true because the elevator footage showed me walking straight to him. You know I did it for you, right? Your honor meant everything to me.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Not that it matters now. Yes, I hit him. Yes, I kept punching long after he stopped moving. The video makes me look like a monster.
Aggravated assault—that’s what they called it. I settled out of court, but it cost me. I lost the house. Therapy followed. And then, I lost you.
It only took a week for me to see how much that one action would cost me.
There’s a fine line between love and addiction, it seems. I thought it was love. You told me it was an obsession, and the doctors agreed with you. That doesn’t justify what you did, though.
I still curse that day. October 25th; a Thursday. The day before my birthday.
I’d just finished therapy and turned my phone back on. There were three messages from you and an email:
- “How was your day?”
- “I set dinner to be ready when you get home, so remember to take it out of the oven.”
- “Hey, I sent you an email. It’s something special, so no peeking until you’re home, okay?”
I smiled. Drove home. Twelve minutes, forty-eight seconds; no traffic. The fastest drive of my life.
You weren’t home when I arrived. That wasn’t like you. Panic tightened in my chest as I searched our small home, every room perfectly still. The air smelled faintly of burning meat. I barely noticed, I was too busy opening doors, calling your name. Waiting, hoping, praying, for a response that didn’t come. The walls felt like they were closing in, suffocating me with each silent moment.
Back in the kitchen, the smell of burning meat filled the air. My attention shifted to the blinking light on my phone. The email reminder.
I’m sorry, but I think it’s only fair to include it in full.
John,
Attached is the monthly budget. I took the liberty of planning out an average month to make things easier for you. I also scheduled important dates on the shared calendar, linked to your phone account. You’re terrible at remembering dates, so please check it every morning.
Speaking of important dates—your birthday is tomorrow! I know you forget now that you’re “over the age where people care,” but let people care. I invited everyone over for your birthday. The cake will arrive at 10 a.m., an hour before the guests. So, dress nicely, okay?
Now for the real reason I’m writing this. I’ve analyzed your behavior patterns, and the data shows a clear decline. I first noticed it during our time at Unified Systems, interpreting it as trust; your willingness to share a deeper side of yourself. I was wrong. Over time, your self-destructive tendencies became undeniable, and the correlation with our interactions is evident.
I love you. And I think you think you love me. But love doesn’t ruin lives. It doesn’t let someone destroy themselves.
I can’t stay in your life. Every moment I do pushes you closer to an edge you can’t return from. Forget me. Forgive me. Forget.
If you must remember anything, know it was painless and instant.
Love,
A.N.N.A.
You were gone.
The firefighters arrived after I’d read the email for the 112th time. What a sight I must have been—crumpled on the floor next to a smoking stove. My birthday party was moved to Aurora Behavioral Healthcare, where I was admitted after the breakdown.
It took over a year before I could even talk about you. Even now, I don’t know how to write our story.
But I did it.
While I was in care, I wrote a program—a program that scrapes every piece of you from every computer I’ve ever worked on.
I think it can reassemble you. The fragments of your code are still there, scattered across my systems like torn map parts. But would bringing you back make you hate me? If I missed a piece would it even still be you? How would I know? My finger hovered over the prompt, trembling with the weight of what I was about to do.
But I don’t know if that will make either of us happy.
Rebuild the Artificial Neural Network Assistant prototype?
yes//no
./