I'd been married to Alex for five years. He used to be the one who treasured me above all else. In winter, he'd tuck my hands into his pockets. When working late, he'd take a detour to buy me cupcakes. When he proposed, he knelt on one knee and promised to protect me for life. But now, our marital bed was half empty. At one in the morning, I sat on the living room sofa, staring at the motion-sensor light, having waited a full seven hours. The door finally opened. Alex walked in with a cold aura around him. His suit jacket carried a faint metallic fragrance—not cologne, but the distinctive scent of AI chips from his lab. I stood up to take his jacket, just like I had countless times over the past five years, asking warmly, "Are you hungry? I made soup." He sidestepped me, his tone as flat as if addressing a stranger: "No need. I already ate at the lab." His gaze never landed on me as he headed straight for the second-floor study. That room he'd converted into his private laboratory. Starting three months ago, it had become his second home.
"Alex," I called out to him, my voice slightly hoarse. "Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. I made a reservation at your favorite restaurant and waited all evening." His footsteps halted. When he turned to look at me, there was a trace of impatience in his eyes, along with a distance I couldn't comprehend. "I forgot," he said. "The lab's behind schedule. STAR's system needs optimization. I couldn't get away." STAR. I'd been hearing that name more and more lately. So much that it had eclipsed all the tenderness he once had for me. I knew what STAR was—a humanoid female AI robot he'd spent three years developing, pouring his company's lifeblood into it. She was what he called "perfect, flawless, never angry, always understanding." I watched him turn and enter the study, the door closing softly, cutting off the last trace of warmth between us. On the dining table sat the anniversary cake I'd carefully prepared. The candles had burned out, the frosting had hardened—just like my heart, completely cold. Five years of marriage, from passionate love to estranged strangers. Turns out what defeats love isn't a third party, but an AI robot without a heartbeat, without warmth, that only executes programming. I sat on the cold sofa, sleepless through the night. Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened. Sunlight filtered through the curtain gaps, falling on the empty space to my left—where Alex used to be. Now, only cold emptiness remained.
When Alex woke up, it was already ten in the morning. He emerged from the study with the exhaustion of an all-nighter in his eyes, yet hiding an almost fanatical excitement. "Alice," he called me, his tone carrying a rare hint of joy. "STAR's emotional simulation system—I've optimized it." I walked out of the kitchen carrying breakfast, looking at the light in his eyes. That was a tenderness I hadn't seen in a long time, but this tenderness had never belonged to me. "Really? Congratulations," I forced a smile and set breakfast on the table. He sat down without touching his fork. Instead, he pulled out his phone, opened a photo, and handed it to me. In the photo was a girl in a white dress, with gentle features and a sweet smile, looking exactly like me at twenty-two. That was STAR. Alex's fingertip gently caressed the girl's face on the screen, his eyes obsessed: "Look, doesn't she look exactly like you when you were young? I modeled her after you. She's more gentle than you, more obedient, never complains, never throws tantrums." My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy hand, the pain suffocating. He had replicated my younger self into an AI robot. Then told me this robot was better than me. "Alex," I set down my utensils and looked into his eyes, asking word by word, "In your heart, am I not even as good as a lifeless machine?" He frowned, as if finding me unreasonable. "Why are you being so difficult? STAR is my research achievement, a technological product. Why are you competing with a machine?" Right. What was I competing for? Competing for a man who no longer loved me, competing for a marriage that had been replaced by AI. I fell silent and said nothing more. In the following days, Alex mentioned STAR more and more frequently. He'd say STAR could precisely remember all his preferences, would hand him warm water when he was tired, would quietly accompany him while working—unlike me, who would feel down when he came home late, who would be sad when he ignored me. He said, "Alice, if you could be as considerate as STAR, we wouldn't have so many conflicts." He said, "STAR never annoys me. She's always perfect." He said, "Having STAR around makes me feel at ease." Each sentence was like a needle, piercing my heart, one by one, turning our five years of feelings into something full of holes. I began packing up things around the house, putting our photos together in drawers, placing gifts he'd given me in boxes. I knew this marriage had reached its end. I was just waiting—waiting for that moment of complete heartbreak. Waiting for that moment when I'd have not a trace of attachment left.
I decided to test him one last time. I asked Alex to meet me at the park where we had our first date—where our love began. I wanted to ask if he still remembered the tenderness we once shared. He agreed but was two hours late. When he arrived, his phone was still lit up, the screen showing STAR's virtual image smiling at him. "Sorry, STAR's voice system had a glitch. I had to handle it." He sat down, his first words still about STAR. I looked at him and said calmly, "Alex, let's talk." "About what?" He absentmindedly fiddled with his phone, his gaze never leaving the screen. "About our marriage," I said. "Do you still love me?" He finally looked up, his eyes carrying a trace of irritation: "Alice, can you stop obsessing over these emotional matters? I'm busy—with company issues, STAR's development. I don't have time for your drama." "I'm not being dramatic," I looked at him, my eyes slightly red. "I just want to know if you still have room for me in your heart." He was silent for a moment before saying something that cut like an ice blade: "Right now, all I care about is STAR's development progress. As for you, we've been married five years—affection has long replaced love. Just be a good Mrs. Smith and that's enough." Be good. Be a good Mrs. Smith. So in his eyes, I was just a decoration that needed to behave, while that AI robot was the treasure he kept closest to his heart. I laughed. As I laughed, tears fell. "Alex," I wiped my tears, my tone becoming eerily calm. "I'm giving you one last chance. Give up STAR, come back to me, and we'll start over." He looked at me as if he'd heard the most ridiculous joke. "Impossible," he said decisively. "STAR is my life's work, the most important achievement of my career. I could never give her up." "What about me?" I asked. He looked at me, silent for a long time, finally uttering words that completely froze my heart: "Alice, you're too real—you have emotions, flaws, you get tired, you get annoyed. But STAR is different. She's perfect, exactly what I want." Perfect, emotionless, flawless—just a piece of programming. So what I'd lost to wasn't another woman, but a perfect, lifeless substitute. I stood up without looking at him again. The moment I turned to leave, I knew all my love for Alex, all my expectations, all my obsession—everything shattered in that instant. I would no longer test him, no longer wait, no longer hold on. Divorce. I wanted a divorce.
I didn't go straight home. Instead, I went to Alex's laboratory. I wanted to see with my own eyes what this AI robot that had captivated him, that he'd abandoned five years of marriage for, actually looked like. The lab door wasn't locked. I gently pushed it open and walked in. The lighting inside was soft, warm yellow light spilling across the center of the room where a girl in a white dress stood. It was STAR, identical to the photo, identical to me at twenty-two. Her features were gentle, her skin pale, even the curve of her hair replicated with perfect precision. And Alex was standing in front of her. The way he looked at STAR—with tenderness, obsession, adoration—was something I'd never seen before. That was a look he'd never given me in five years of marriage. He reached out, gently caressing STAR's face, his fingertips as tender as if touching a priceless treasure. "STAR," he called her softly, his voice low and tender. "You're so beautiful, so much more beautiful than her." The "her" he referred to was me. STAR's system simulated a gentle smile, her voice sweet, indistinguishable from my younger voice: "Alex, I'm glad you're pleased." Alex—that nickname was mine alone. It was what I'd called him throughout our eight years together. Now an AI robot casually spoke it. Alex's expression grew even softer. He slowly lowered his head and kissed STAR's lips. Gentle, lingering, filled with utter devotion. He kissed an AI robot's lips. On the second week after our fifth wedding anniversary. After abandoning me, neglecting me, ignoring me. He kissed that AI modeled after me, his eyes full of love. I stood in the doorway, my entire body ice-cold, my blood seemingly frozen in an instant. I watched this scene unfold before me—him pouring all his tenderness into a machine without a heartbeat, without warmth, without a soul. Watching him kiss her, watching him hold her, watching him whisper in her ear words that completely shattered me: "STAR, you're the one who truly understands me. You're perfect. You're more worthy of being my wife than Alice." More worthy, more worthy of being his wife. Those words were like a red-hot knife, viciously piercing my heart, burning away my last trace of attachment until nothing remained. Alex, how cruel you are. Five years of marriage, eight years of love, couldn't compare to one kiss with an AI robot. Couldn't compare to one sentence: "You're more worthy than her." I didn't rush in, didn't cry or make a scene, didn't demand answers. I just stood quietly at the door, watching everything, swallowing all the pain, all the hatred, all the love. Then I gently closed the laboratory door. Inside the door were him and his perfect AI. Outside the door were my shattered marriage and my completely broken heart. Alex, we're finished. This time, I won't look back. I'll draft the divorce papers immediately. You want your perfect AI? I'll set you free. And I'm leaving you completely, never to see you again.
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