I was stressed about my AI hackathon entry. My husband Toby, usually just beside me, set down his book, removed his gold-rimmed glasses, and took my laptop—something he’d never shown interest in before. He rolled up his sleeves, and in the glow of the screen, his fingers flew across the keyboard. In under a minute, he solved a problem that had stumped me for a month. “Did you learn that recently?” I asked, my heart swelling, thinking he’d done it for me. He only smiled. A man focused on his work is irresistible. I snapped a photo of his handsome profile and posted it online. My usually quiet account blew up overnight. Comments flooded in: “It’s 2026 and I’m seeing those hands code again! The ultimate intellectual crush!” “‘Learned that recently?’ LOL, OP, you really don’t know your husband, do you?” “MY SHIP IS BACK FROM THE DEAD! I watched Isabelle teach Toby to code a hundred times. They were perfect.” “Wait… is OP Toby’s wife? My Toby-and-Isabelle ship is officially ancient history…” 1 The comments kept pouring in. "Props to you, though. Back in the day, Toby stayed up for nights on end optimizing the parameters for Isabelle’s AI competition. He collapsed in the lab from exhaustion right after it was over. That kind of devotion still hits hard!" "You think that’s something? What about the fact that after Isabelle left, Toby never touched a competitive AI project again? Is that not the ultimate tragic romance?" ... Everyone was lamenting their unfinished love story. Over three thousand comments, all piecing together an Toby I had never known. This wasn't the calm, dependable man I had fallen in love with, the man so steady that I was the one who had to propose marriage. This was a raw, impulsive young man who, when rumors spread that he was backing out of Isabelle’s project, ran through a torrential downpour to her apartment just to explain. The night before Isabelle left the country was Christmas Eve. That same day, Toby officially quit the AI lab, vowing never to work on core algorithms again. He locked himself in a server room all night and emerged with a hauntingly beautiful piece of AI-generated music—a melody whose title was a coded way of saying "I love you." She was his muse, his inspiration. I scrolled through their entire story, comment by comment. The bright white screen stung my eyes until they started to water. The melody Toby had just generated for me… it was the same one. Was it because Christmas was approaching? Was he thinking of her again? “Hey, don’t cry over a bit of code.” Toby chuckled, his thumb, slightly calloused, brushing away a tear from the corner of my eye. I flinched away from his touch, forcing a weak smile. I tried to keep my voice even. “Have you competed in AI events before? You have a really deep understanding of these models.” “The lead algorithm engineer on my team is out sick. Honey, could you step in and help me out?” Everyone has a past. But his kindness to me over the years was real. More importantly, I had just found out I was pregnant. The family of three we had always dreamed of was finally within reach. If he agreed to help me, it would prove he had moved on. And if he had, I could pretend I never saw any of this. But Toby just froze. A long moment passed before he finally said, “I’ve never competed officially.” His words made my desperate hope feel pathetic. Official records of him and Isabelle winning AI competitions together were still online. Toby was the most meticulous, careful person I knew. And yet, he was telling me a lie so clumsy, so easily disproven. I lowered my gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “Really?” “Then what are all these comments about?” 2 With the last shred of denial torn away, I lost control, screaming at him, demanding to know why. Toby was silent for a long time. “There’s no why,” he said finally, his voice flat. “I was in love with her. I still think about her sometimes. It’s that simple.” He watched my frantic outburst with a calm detachment. “Olivia, we’re married now. You don’t need to obsess over my past.” The irony was suffocating. “What if she came back now?” I challenged him. “What if she asked you to join her new AI lab? Would you go?” He didn’t answer. He just reached for me, trying to pull me into an embrace. I slapped his hand away, my eyes locked on his, demanding an answer. Toby sighed. “Alright, stop overthinking this. Go to bed.” His composure made me feel like an irrational, shrewish wife. Tears welled in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall. I pushed again, my voice trembling. “Would you go, or not?” The comment section had mentioned that Isabelle had just returned to the country to start her own AI lab and was looking for a head of algorithms. Her fans were ecstatic, convinced this was the epic reunion they’d been waiting for, completely disregarding me, his legal wife. Toby’s lips pressed into a thin line. After a long silence, he said, “No, I wouldn’t go. Happy now?” Before the words had even fully settled in the air, his phone rang. The caller ID displayed a single, glaring name: Isabelle. Without a second thought, Toby grabbed his phone and started to walk away. I lunged forward, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. A tear finally escaped, hitting the cloth and spreading into a small, dark stain. “Answer it here!” We stood locked in a standoff. The ringing weakened, and perhaps fearing he would miss the call, Toby actually answered it right in front of me. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Isabelle.” Just one word, spoken with a depth of feeling that twisted my insides. A soft, gentle voice replied from the other end. “It’s me.” I felt Toby’s entire body go rigid. He was so stunned he forgot to pull his shirt from my grasp. Isabelle’s voice carried a hint of melancholy. “I’m so sorry to bother you this late. But… I didn’t know who else to call. The head of algorithms at my lab is causing a scene. He’s refusing to even show up for the final presentation, let alone come back to the States with me. But the project launch date here is fixed, and we can’t postpone it.” “I know this is a huge ask,” she continued, her voice soft and pleading, “but could you… could you come and save me? Just this once? Please, my algorithm genius.” 3 “But what about your international AI competition finals?” The question flew out of Toby’s mouth before he could stop it. Both Isabelle and I were stunned into silence. I never knew he could be so impulsive, especially when it came to her. My voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “You’re going to fly overseas to help her compete? Toby, tomorrow is Christmas Eve! Both our families are coming over for dinner!” I was going to announce my pregnancy then. For years, both our parents had been dropping hints. My mother-in-law would always sigh wistfully whenever she talked about her friends becoming grandparents. And Toby… Toby had always wanted a child. During our most intimate moments, he would whisper against my ear, his voice thick with tenderness, “Let’s have a baby, one just as sweet as you. What do you say?” On the phone, Isabelle’s voice suddenly cracked. “Toby… is that your… friend?” I cut in before he could answer. “We’re married.” There was a choked sound from the other end. Toby shot me a furious look, but still tried to reason with me. “It’s just technical support, Olivia.” Yes, just technical support. Then why was it “I’ve never competed” when I asked, but the moment she called, he was ready to drop everything and fly across the world for her? The silence crackled with tension. Isabelle was the first to speak. “You know what? Never mind.” “Wait,” Toby said hurriedly. He covered the receiver with his hand, pried my fingers from his shirt, and hissed, his voice dangerously low, “Can you please stop making a scene?” “She’s a girl, alone in a foreign country. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get to this point? What’s wrong with me helping her out as a friend?” I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. But it’s been hard for me to get here, too… This year was supposed to be my best chance at a promotion to team lead. But my performance had been unstable since I got pregnant. Our partners were worried about project delays and were even considering moving me off the core team. My friend had to fight to get me a spot in the post-holiday open-day presentation, but the algorithm engineer on my team said my code gave him anxiety and flat-out refused to partner with me. I’m not a genius. I’m the kind of person who has to code until my wrists ache just to keep up. Now, because of this pregnancy, I might lose everything I’ve worked for. But even so, I had never once regretted carrying his child. There was so much I wanted to say, so much pain I wanted to voice, but the moment I opened my mouth, the tears started to fall. Toby was already packing a bag, moving with a frantic urgency. He saw me crying and paused. I thought he would come hold me, like he always did. Or at the very least, offer a word of comfort. But all he said was a detached, “Drink some hot water when you’re done crying. I’m leaving.” My nails dug into my palms. My voice came out as a ragged whisper. “Are you really going? And you won’t regret this?” Toby stared at me for a long, hard moment, then lowered his eyes. “Get some sleep.” The front door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the vast, silent house. My hand rested gently on my stomach. I cried for a long, long time. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, I’d like to inquire about a painless abortion.”
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