Frederick was away on a last-minute business trip on our anniversary. I stayed behind at the office to handle my departure. Out of nowhere, a voicemail arrived from him—warm, gentle, walking me through his itinerary for the day.
Meanwhile, every billboard screen across the city was cycling through highlights of our life together.
Countless drones spelled out my name in the sky. Rose petals drifted down like snow.
I stared out the window at the spectacle, my chest a tangle of emotions I couldn't name. In the hallway, employees crowded around, snapping photos and gushing.
After a few minutes of silence, a second audio file landed in my inbox—an intimate conversation between two people:
"My parents told me that sister of mine is pregnant. What am I supposed to do? We're the real married couple!"
"Relax, Agatha. So what if she has a kid? She's nothing but your stand-in."
"If you don't want it, I'll take her to the hospital myself whenever you say the word. She does everything I tell her—she really is a loyal little dog…"
What followed was unmistakable. The audio played on speaker, too loud, and every employee in the office went wide-eyed, not daring to breathe.