Chapter 4

I watched Adrian edit me out of my own life.

The contributor link displayed paired clips: the original recording and the version approved for the model. Whenever I raised my voice, the copy became concerned. Whenever I refused, she asked for time. Whenever I told Adrian to leave me alone, she apologized for needing space.

One file came from the week after Naomi died.

In the original, Adrian sat on our bedroom floor with his sister's unopened birthday gift in his lap. I knelt beside him, pulled his head against my chest, and promised he would survive the night.

The approved segment ended there.

The raw footage continued.

Adrian asked what Naomi had said before she lost consciousness.

I stood, turned off the lamp, and left him sitting in the dark.

He had preserved my comfort and removed my withdrawal. The result looked like devotion without damage.

I replayed the raw ending. Onscreen, Adrian did not call after me. He pressed Naomi's unopened gift to his mouth and bent over it until his forehead touched the carpet.

I had known he was doing that behind me. I had stood in the hallway with one hand on the wall, unable to go back and unwilling to move farther away. The copy contained none of it: not his grief, not my cowardice, not the terrible fact that I loved him while leaving him alone.

By cutting away the ugliest minute, Adrian had also cut away the reason I could no longer watch that recording without wanting to apologize.

Another session had been recorded while I slept. Adrian asked the private model whether using Naomi's files would honor her.

The copy told him she would want to help grieving families.

No recording supported that answer.

I searched Naomi's source folder. Her hospital care note stated that she had declined to record a final message. Adrian had arrived after she could no longer speak.

Then I found the conflict warning.

PROFESSIONAL RECORD: PATIENT DECLINED MESSAGE.

PRIVATE MARA RECORDING: NAOMI FORGAVE ADRIAN.

My own voice played through the laptop.

"Naomi forgave him. That's all he needs to know."

I had recorded it in a hospital supply room, minutes after lying to my husband.

The copy appeared on the side of the screen. She did not activate by herself; the review tool had opened a guided prompt.

"Would you like me to explain why Mara changed the answer?"

My cursor hovered over NO.

If I closed the laptop, Adrian could keep the gentler version of that night. If I continued, the copy might say the thing I had spent years refusing to tell him.

The prompt began counting down to the end of my temporary access.

I clicked YES.