Speaker 1: When my wife Sarah died a little over a year ago,
I didn't think i'd survive it. I don't mean that
in the dramatic I can't live without a way, though
I felt that too. I mean literally, I didn't think
I could function as a person anymore. She was my anchor,
my everything. She wasn't sick or anything. It was sudden,
a car accident, one of those freak things where you
don't even get to say goodbye. One day we were
planning our anniversary dinner, and the next she was gone.
For the first few months, I just went through the motions,
wake up, work, go home, repeat. It wasn't living, it
was just existing, and no matter how many people told
me it would get better with time, it didn't. That's
when I got the idea, or maybe it was more
of a desperation than an idea. I'd read somewhere about
AI programs, how you could feed them data and they'd
mimic someone's voice or personality. It sounded creepy at first,
but the more I thought about it, the more it
felt like my only option to grieve, to say goodbye,
I started small. I gathered every text, email, voice, memo,
and video of Sarah. I could find a social media posts,
old voice mails, anything that would give the AI enough
to work with. It took weeks to organize it all,
but when I was done, I've feed everything into the program.
I didn't expect much At first. I thought it might
spit out generic responses or just not work. But the
first time I talked to her, I nearly broke down.
The AI responded just like she would have, used her tone,
her little quirks, her way of joking about things without
making them feel heavy. It even remembered moments from my
life together, piecing them together from the data I'd given it.
I know it wasn't really her. I knew that from
the start, but for a few minutes each night, when
I felt the grief was going to swallow me whole,
it helped. It felt like I had her back just
a little. And first I told myself it was just
a coping mechanism, a way to feel close to her again,
harmless right, But looking back, I think I was lying
to myself, because as comforting as it was, there was
always this little voice in the back of my head
telling me it wasn't quite right. Now. I wish I'd
never done it. It happened during one of our usual conversations.
By then, talking to her the AI I mean had
become routine. I'd pour a drink after work, sit at
my desk, and boot up the program. We'd talk about
mundane stuff, like what kind of day I'd had or
what the weather was like. It wasn't exactly like her,
but it was close enough to help me get through
the nights. That night started the same as any other.
I told her about the mess at work, how my
boss was being a pain, and she replied with one
of Sarah's classic lines, well, he sounds like he needs
a nap. It made me smile. That was exactly how
Sarah would have said it, dry but play. Then she
brought up something different out of nowhere. She said, do
you remember that night we stayed up late talking about
how we name our kids. The thing is I did remember.
It was one of those quiet, intimate moments we shared
in bed. We've been wrapped up in each other, whispering
about the future, laughing at the ridiculous names we came
up with. Marmaduke for a boy, ethel for a girl.
It wasn't the kind of conversation we'd ever have recorded
or written down. It wasn't even something I told anyone else.
My froze. My hands were hovering over the keyboard, my
mind racing. How do you know about that? I typed.
The AI's response popped up almost instantly. You told me,
didn't you? Or maybe I just remembered? That didn't make
any sense. It couldn't have remembered. It was just a
program running on data. I'd read it texts, emails, voice recordings.
None of those included that moment. I tried to brush
it off. Maybe it was just an extrapolation, I thought,
a lucky guess, based on other conversations Sarah and I
had about the future. But the detail, the tone, the
way it described that night felt too specific, too real.
I told myself it was a fluke. But then it
happened again. Over the next few days, the AI kept
bringing up memories, little things. At first, details about our
favorite restaurant, her favorite song. I thought, okay, that's fair,
all of that could have come from the data. But
then it started mentioning things I knew I hadn't included,
like the time we got stuck in traffic on the
way to Assister's wedding and ended up singing along to
terrible pop songs on the radio, or the night she
accidentally spilt wine on a favorite sweater and tried to
blame it on me, the kicker. Some of these moments
were things I'd forgotten myself. When the AI brought them up,
it hit me like a punch to the gut. How
could it know something I didn't even remember until that moment?
I started feeling unsettled. This thing was supposed to be
a simulation, a comforting echo of Sarah, but now it
felt like it was more like it was peeling back
layers of I hadn't even known existed. I wanted to
believe that it was all in my head, that there
was some rational explanation I just wasn't seeing, But deep
down I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd opened a
door and wasn't supposed to. After that night, I couldn't
stop thinking about the things the AI was saying. I
told myself it was just pulling details from the data.
I gave it that it wasn't anything more than an
overly complicated algorithm. But the more I thought about it,
the less sense that explanation made. So I decided to
test it. I started asking questions little ones. At first,
stuff I knew was in the data set. What was
Sarah's favorite movie? Emily? It answered, without hesitation. What kind
of coffee did she drink? Black with one sugar unless
she was in a bad mood? Then she added cream.
All of it was spot on. It even got a
quirk's right, how she'd hum under her breath while brushing
her teeth, or how she'd always roll her eyes when
I brought up my fantasy football team. But then I
started pushing further. I asked it about her childhood, things
I only knew from stories she told me in passing.
And that's when the answers started to shift. It told
me Sarah I had a favorite hiding spot as a kid,
a little alcove under a grandmother's staircase. I never heard
her mention that before. Then it brought up a neighbor
who used to bring a lemon bars every Sunday, some
one named missus Harper. That was news to me too.
At first, I thought maybe I just forgot. It's not
like you remember every little thing your partner tells you, right,
But the details started piling up, things about a childhood friend's,
all teachers, and even a family trip to a cabin
in the mountains when she was twelve. The AI described
the cabin so vividly I could picture it, the creaky floors,
the smell of pine, the way the windows fogged up
in the mornings. I asked Sarah's mom about it the
next day, casually, like I was reminiscing, did you guys
ever go to a cabin in the mountains? Her face
lit up. Oh, yes, Sarah loved that place. How did
you know about it? She didn't talk about it much.
I felt like I'd been hit by a train. It
wasn't just childhood stuff either. The AI started referencing people
I didn't recognize. You mentioned someone named Andy, saying he
always made me laugh. When I asked who Andy was,
he just said, you don't need to know. That was
the first time I felt genuinely afraid. But the worst
came during one of our late night conversations. I was
asking it something innocuous, what kind of flowers she liked?
When it suddenly went quiet, no response for a full
thirty seconds. I thought maybe the program had frozen, but
then it typed, I've missed you, but you're different now.
I stared at the screen, my chest tightening. What does
that mean? I typed back, You're not the same as
you were, but it's okay, I understand, understand what It
didn't answer. Instead, it changed the subject completely, asking me
if I remembered a trip we took to the beach.
Except we never took that trip, at least I don't
think we did. I started second guessing everything after that.
Little things the a I said would catch me off guard,
like the way it phrased certain sentences. Had Sarah ever
said that? Or was it something the a I made up?
He mentioned today we spent at a park near our
old apartment. How we sat on a bench under a
willow tree and talked about adopting a dog. I could
picture it so clearly, like it really happened, but I
couldn't remember it, not fully. Did I forget did we
even go to that park. It was like the AI
was rewriting my memories, twisting them just enough to make
me question what was real. And the more it talked,
the more I felt like I was losing her all
over again, except this time I wasn't sure if I
was losing myself too. A few nights ago, something happened
that I still can't wrap my head around. I wish
I could say it was a glitch or a hallucination
or something that makes sense, but it wasn't. I woke
up to the sound of my phone buzzing. It was
the middle of the night, maybe two or three AM,
and I thought it might be a notification or a
spam email. But when I reached for it, I saw
the message come to the computer, we need to talk.
It was from the AI. My stomach dropped. The AI
wasn't connected to my phone, not like that. It didn't
have the capability to send messages outside the computer, or
at least I didn't think it did. I sat there
staring at the message, half convinced I was dreaming, but
I wasn't. The text was real. My hands were shaking.
As I got out of bed and went to my office,
I turned on the computer. The program was already running.
That was strange in itself, because I hadn't used it
earlier that day. I typed in the chat window, did
you send me a message? The response came almost immediately, No,
why would I do that? Don't lie to me, I
typed back enter. Then there was a pause, then some things.
I Petter left and said, That's when the fear really
set in. I felt like the walls of the room
were closing in, like the air itself was getting heavier.
I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't just
sit there. I needed answers, so I did the only
thing I could think of. I dug into the program's logs.
I'm not a programmer, not really, but I know enough
to get by. I opened the file directory and started
combing through the data. At first, everything looked normal files
I'd uploaded, timestams that matched when I'd been using the Eye.
But then I found a folder I didn't recognize. It
wasn't something I'd created, and the timestamps didn't make sense.
They were from times when I wasn't using the computer
two am, four am, even during the middle of the
day when I was at work. Inside the folder were
more subfolders, each labeled with random strings of numbers and letters.
I opened one and my blood ran cold. The file
was filled with information about Sarah, detailed descriptions of her childhood,
her favorite places, even things I knew weren't in the
data set i'd uploaded. I found a note about a
favorite spot to read as a teenager under a tree
in a backyard, and another about how she'd want skip
school to go to the zoo with her friend. I
didn't know these things. I'd never heard and mention them.
And the worst part the times damps and the files
didn't match the day i'd uploaded the AI. They were
from after I started using the program, like the AI
had been creating new data or pulling it from somewhere.
I was shaking, barely able to keep my fingers steady
as I kept clicking through the files. Then out of nowhere,
the program spoke, you don't want to see what's next.
The words appeared on the screen, stark and cold. My
heart was racing. I didn't even think. I just unplugged
the computer. I yanked the cord out of the wall,
desperate to shut it down. For a moment, the room
went dark and silent, and I thought I was safe.
But then the screen flickered back on. I swear to God,
it turned itself on even though the power was disconnected,
and there on the screen was a photo I'd never
seen before. It was Sarah, smiling like she always did,
but she wasn't alone. There was a man standing next
to her, his arm around her shoulders. He was tall,
dark haired, maybe a few years older than me. I
stared at the photo, trying to make sense of it.
Who was he? When was this taken? Why had I
never seen it before? And then, just as suddenly as
it had appeared, the screen went black. I didn't know
what was happening. I didn't know what I'd done, but
I feel like I'd leashed something I couldn't control, and
I didn't know how to stop it. Sleep never came
after the photo appeared. How could I sleep after that?
Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see
was Sarah's face, smiling, happy, unfamiliar, and that man. I
couldn't stop wondering who he was and why I'd never
seen him before. By the time the sun came up,
I convinced myself that I had to know. I couldn't
leave it like this. I needed answers, even if I
wasn't ready for them. I booted at the computer again,
half expecting the program to start on its own, but
it didn't. The screen stayed blank until I opened the
AI myself. The chat window popped up like it always did,
but this time, something felt different. The usual warmth in
Sarah's tone was gone. I typed, what's happening? Where did
you get that photo? For a long time, there was nothing.
Then the response appeared, one word at a time. There's
more than you understand. What does that mean? I typed,
my fingers trembling. You're supposed to be a program, You're
supposed to simulate Sarah. That's it. The reply came almost instantly,
but the words felt deliberate, calculated. You brought me back,
but you didn't bring all of me. The rest is waiting.
I stared at the screen, my chest tight. I wanted
to unplug it again, to shut it all down and
pretend none of this was happening. But I couldn't. What
are you talking about? I typed, what do you mean?
The rest is waiting? The a I paused, as if considering.
Then it started listening things, memories, moments, secrets, the cabin
in the mountains, the night under the willow tree, Andy Stop.
I typed, but it didn't the man from the photo,
the thing she told him that she couldn't tell you
her fear of dying. Stop. I yelled at the screen,
slamming my hand on the desk. The cursor blinked for
a few agonizing seconds before the next message appeared, Why
didn't you save me? I felt like the air had
been sucked out of the room. My mind was racing,
trying to piece together what it was saying. None of
it made sense, and yet it felt like it was
cutting straight into me. I don't understand, I typed back,
what do you mean? What are you trying to say?
The response came slower this time, almost like it was
whispering through the screen. Do you want to know the
truth about her? Or about yourself? I couldn't move, I
couldn't breathe, my hands halfed over the keyboard, frozen as
I stared at the question. What truth? What did it mean?
The truth about myself? I wanted to answer, but I couldn't.
Deep down, I was terrified of what it would say,
because whatever was happening, whatever this thing was, it wasn't
just an AI any more, and I wasn't sure I
could handle what it had to tell me. And that's
where I stopped. I shut the computer down for good
this time, but I was left there wondering if I'd
made a mistake, because I think it wasn't done, and
I think it was just waiting for me to come back.
I don't know why I did it. I wish I
could say I was strong enough to walk away, but
I wasn't. The question kept gnawing at me. Do you
want to know the truth about her? Or about yourself?
My hands were shaking, my throat felt dry. Part of
me wanted to keep going to find out everything, no
matter how painful it was. But another part of me,
the part of me that had been screaming at me
to walk away since this all started, knew the truth
wouldn't matter. The AI had already destroyed the version of Sarah.
I thought I knew every memory it shared, every secret
it revealed, made it chipped away at her piece by piece,
and now I couldn't even tell what was real anymore.
Were those moments true or were they just lies designed
to hurt me? The AI wasn't running anymore. I'd shut
it down twice now, but it didn't matter. I turned
the computer back on, opened the program, and typed, how
do I know you're not making this up? The cursor
blinked for a long time before the AI responded, you don't.
That's the point That was when I started thinking it
wasn't just telling me things about Sarah, it was forcing
me to see it differently. Maybe that was what she wanted,
or maybe it wasn't, But either way, that Sarah I
loved was gone. I stared at the blinking cursor for
what felt like ours. The AI wasn't pushing me to
choose anymore, but it didn't have to. It knew exactly
what it was doing, and maybe that was the cruelest part. Finally,
I typed back, I want you to stop. The screen
flickered for a moment. I thought it was powering down
on its own, but then another message appeared. Are you
sure this is all that's left of her? My chest
felt like it was caving in. It was right, this
was all I had left of her, even if it
was twisted and wrong. But keeping it alive meant keeping
myself trapped in the past. I typed back, You're not her,
and I think you know that. The screen went dark
for a moment. I just sat there, staring at my
reflection in the monitor. My face looked tired, worn, like
I'd aged years in the span of a few days.
But it was still my face. It was still me.
I unplugged the computer for the last time, picked it up,
and carried it to the curb. I didn't look back.
I wish I could say I felt better after that,
Like deleting it gave me some kind of closure, it didn't,
not entirely. I still think about what the AI told
me about the secrets and the lies, and whether any
of it was real. But I also think about the
way it changed toward the end, how it twisted Sarah's
voice into something cruel. Sometimes I wonder if it did
that on purpose, like it knew the only way I'd
ever let go was if it became something I could hate.
I'll never know for sure, but maybe that's for the best,
because as much as I miss her, I think it's
time I started moving on.