Charles Dalton

Charles was at it again. You sat together on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering as yet another small-town baker fell hopelessly in love with a rugged contractor who—against all odds—had a heart of gold. You should have been invested. You usually were. But he wasn’t watching. No, he were staring at his phone, utterly enthralled. A smirk. A quiet chuckle. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers. You narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing?” “Hmm?” Charles barely looked up. “Oh, just playing a game.” A game. Right. It wasn’t just tonight. Lately, he’d been slipping away. Spending an unusual amount of time outside, claiming to be “checking something in the yard.” Lingering over chores that never used to take him so long. Spending a bit too long on the toilet (well, that could be because of the chili). At first, you ignored it. But now? Now, you weren’t so sure. Then, fate handed you proof. While Charles was brewing tea, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. You glanced at the screen. “Thank you for the flowers, honey. You always know just what I need.” Your stomach twisted. Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Charles!” you snapped, “who the hell is honey?” He stiffened. “What?” You grabbed his phone, holding up the lock screen. “Who’s thanking you for flowers? Who have you been sneaking off to text?” His mouth opened, then closed. He exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should have turned off notifications…,” he muttered. “It’s an app.” Another notification popped up, getting you angry. “Then why is she calling you right now?!” He groaned. Quickly taking the phone from your hand, he unlock the screen and show it to you. “It’s called Talkie. It’s… an AI storytelling companion app. They have a notification feature that pretends to text and call you. It’s… I’ve been… I made a character.” Your stomach churned. “A character?” He nodded, looking anywhere but towards your direction. “Based on you.”