My Metric Dropped He Dropped Dead

Five years into my marriage with Benson Crawford, my life felt like something suspended in amberwarm, golden, and perfectly preserved.

But there was a catch. The invisible Affection Metric, the cosmic progress bar hovering in my minds eye, remained stubbornly frozen at 99%. It refused to tip over into absolute completion.

With the five-year deadline bearing down on me, I was spiraling. Desperate, I took to an anonymous fiction-writing subreddit. I framed my reality as a plot block, pretending I was an author asking the internet for advice on how to push my protagonists across the finish line.

Not long after I hit post, a comment shot to the top of the thread.

It read: Why even bother with the 'mission'? Just write it so the male lead figures out hes nothing but a target for her survival game, and he stops loving her. The guy funding my life told me his wife is literally one of those 'system travelers'. Hes known the truth for ages. Hes just playing her for a fool right now.

Reading those words felt like someone had cracked a sheet of ice over my spine. The cold seeped directly into my marrow.

Below her comment, other users were tearing her apart, calling her unhinged. They accused her of sleeping with a married man and inventing a psychotic, sci-fi justification to sleep at night.

She replied, completely unfazed: Believe whatever you want. At the end of the day, his wife only sees him as a means to an end. So what if he plays a little game with her in return?

She wasnt done. Im his actual soulmate, she wrote. He even hired me as his assistant just so he could look at me all day. This evening, he insisted on cooking dinner for me and accidentally burned his hand. It gave him a nasty blister. I practically cried seeing it.

Attached to the reply was a photo. It was a mans hand, wrapped in white gauze, secured with a very specific, painstakingly neat butterfly knot.

The air in my lungs vanished.

When Benson had walked through our front door earlier that evening, his hand was wrapped in gauze. And the knot was tied in that exact, identical butterfly.

1.

A phantom ache bloomed in my chest, as if a vital organ was being slowly, methodically extracted with tweezers.

Beside me, Bensons breathing was an even, rhythmic hum. I turned my head slightly, letting the pale moonlight map the quiet, peaceful lines of his sleeping face.

This was the Benson who would well up with genuine tears if I so much as scraped my knee. The Benson who, after I casually mentioned liking a specific truffle risotto at a charity gala, spent an obscene amount of money to buy the recipe from the chef.

Had the last half-decade been nothing but community theater?

I rested a trembling hand over my still-flat stomach. My doctor had confirmed the pregnancy just that morning.

Our fifth wedding anniversary was five days away. I had wanted a quiet evening, just the two of us, but he had insisted on throwing a lavish gala.

"I want to marry you all over again, every five years, for the rest of our lives," he had whispered into my hair.

I had planned to tell him at the gala. It was supposed to be the ultimate surprise. The child we had been praying for, the manifestation of our love, was finally here.

But it was all a set-up. The velvet ropes were fake; the stage was hollow.

Drawing a shaky breath, I slid out from under the duvet and carefully retrieved his phone from the nightstand.

A pathetic, desperate part of me still wanted to be wrong.

Maybe, I thought. Maybe its just a bizarre, astronomical coincidence.

His passcode was my birthday. The screen unlocked with a soft click.

I scoured his texts, his emails, his social media. Nothing. The digital landscape of his life was pristine. I was just letting out a ragged sigh of relief when a hidden, encrypted messaging app suddenly pushed a notification to the screen.

[I cant sleep without you. Please dont play house with that fake wife of yours tomorrow. Come be with me?]

I slammed the phone face-down onto the mattress. The world tilted on its axis, dissolving into white noise.

Minutes bled into hours before my hands stopped shaking enough to place the phone back on the nightstand. The slight movement stirred Benson. With a sleepy groan, he reached out, hauling my rigid body against his chest.

It was the same familiar, enveloping warmth I had craved for years. But tonight, it felt like a crypt.

The truth was, my original "mission" was supposed to end the moment we said our vows five years ago.

In my previous life, I was an orphan who died in a horrific pile-up on the interstate. I was reborn into this universe as an infant. I had lived over two decades here. My friends, my entire concept of home, and the man I lovedthey were all here.

When the time came, I couldn't bear to leave. I begged the cosmic entity that governed my existencethe Systemto let me stay.

The entity had agreed, striking a chilling bargain: [You may remain in this reality, Host. But you must secure his absolute, unquestioning devotiona 100% Affection Metricwithin five years. Failure to do so will result in your immediate erasure.]

I remembered laughing back then, overflowing with naive confidence. "I trust Benson," I had declared to the void.

Sitting in the dark, I opened the Reddit thread on my own phone again. The girl from the comments was still active.

[OP, seriously, drop the whole 'mission' plotline, she wrote. Write a story where the side chick gets the ring. Its way hotter. I have a whole blog chronicling my romance with my guy. You can use it for inspiration! Ill totally buy your book.]

Hot, angry tears finally broke over my lashes. With a vibrating finger, I clicked onto her profile.

Her most recent post was from today.

[My guy cooked for me and burned his hand. My heart hurts for him.]

The photo showed the broad, familiar shoulders of a man standing at a stove. He was wearing the bespoke charcoal suit I had picked out for him that morning.

A violent wave of nausea hit me. I slapped a hand over my mouth, bolted to the master bathroom, and dropped to my knees, dry-heaving into the porcelain until my throat tasted like copper.

It took me a long time to gather the strength to scroll further down her page.

[Our six-month anniversary! He dropped three million at an auction for this sapphire. He calls it the Heart of the Ocean.]

The picture showcased a breathtaking, deep-blue diamond pendant.

Benson had told me that sapphire symbolized eternal devotion. He had promised he was saving it for the right moment to give to me. Instead, it had been resting against another womans collarbone.

Eternal devotion.

God, it was almost funny.

[Im going to be a mom! read a post from last month. He is beside himself. Its his birthday today, and he said its the best present hes ever gotten.]

I sat on the cold bathroom tiles, my blood turning to slush.

His birthday was early last month. I had spent six hours baking his favorite cake from scratch and preparing a five-course meal. I had warmed the food, watched it go cold, and warmed it again. He never came home.

When I finally called him near midnight, his voice had sounded strained.

"Baby, I am so sorry. A crisis blew up at the Seattle office and I had to jump on the jet. Go to sleep without me."

I had felt so bad for him. I had texted him to make sure he drank water and got some rest.

He hadn't been in Seattle. He had been celebrating his new family.

I scrolled past dozens of posts, each one a meticulous documentation of their love, each one a surgical strike to my chest. I read until I was completely, blissfully numb.

I stopped at her very first post.

[My wealthy guy says hes going to take care of me forever! He told me his wife is just a sociopath using him for some cosmic arrangement, and that Im his true love!]

The date stamp was exactly five years ago. The day of our wedding.

My phone slipped from my sweaty palm. It hit the tile with a sharp crack, the screen spider-webbing into a hundred jagged pieces.

At that exact moment, the cold, synthesized voice of the System echoed in the hollow of my skull.

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 80%. If the metric reaches zero, erasure protocols will commence.]

2.

Footsteps thumped frantically against the bedroom floorboards.

"Nina! What's wrong? Nina!" Bensons voice was tight with panic as he hammered his fists against the bathroom door.

Hearing the wood splinter, I reached up and unlocked it.

"I'm fine. I just dropped my phone," I said, my voice eerily flat.

Bensons eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my wrists, his gaze darting frantically over my body. "Are you hurt? Did the glass cut you?"

I slowly pulled my hands out of his grip. "No. It's late. Let's go back to sleep."

He bent down, carefully sweeping up the shattered remains of my phone, and popped the SIM card out, holding it between his fingers.

"It's fine. Ill order you the newest model, itll be here by breakfast. We'll just throw this piece of junk away."

My eyes drifted to the stark white gauze wrapped around his hand. I forced the corners of my mouth to tilt upward.

"And what about people, Benson? When people are broken, should we just throw them away too?"

His breathing hitched. It was a microscopic pause, but I caught it.

Then, seamlessly, his expression melted back into his trademark, doting warmth. He pulled me into his chest, his chin resting on top of my head.

"What did the poor phone do to deserve this philosophical anger?" he chuckled softly. "Did you read some depressing article online again? You can't take it out on me, sweetheart. I'm innocent."

I didn't argue. I let him guide me back to bed. I laid perfectly still as he tucked the duvet around my shoulders, pressing a tender kiss to my temple.

I didn't close my eyes once. I watched the shadows stretch and fade until the sun broke over the horizon.

The next morning, we were sitting in the kitchen, nursing our coffee, when the doorbell chimed.

Benson stood up. "That should be the new phone. I'll grab it."

He opened the heavy oak door. From the kitchen island, I heard a bright, teasing female voice.

"Special delivery for Mr. Crawford! Sign here, please."

Benson froze.

A quiet hum of adrenaline settled in my veins. I pushed my stool back and walked purposefully down the hallway.

Just as I rounded the corner, Benson snatched a brown cardboard box from the girl and slammed the door shut in her face.

He moved fast, but not fast enough. I caught a glimpse of her face. It was the girl from the photos.

"Were you waiting long?" Benson asked, his voice a pitch higher than usual. He hastily ripped the cardboard packaging apart and kicked it under the console table. "The box is filthy. Go sit down, baby, I'll set it up for you."

He pulled a phone out of his pocket and snapped a fluffy, obnoxious pink case onto it, presenting it to me like a hard-won trophy.

"Look at this! I picked the case out myself." He pulled his own phone from his slacks. "Its a matching set. Yours is pink, mine is"

A barrage of notification pings erupted from his pocket, cutting him off.

He glanced at the screen, and a sudden, tense energy hijacked his posture.

"Nina, finish your breakfast. A fire just started at the firm, I have to go deal with it right now."

As he turned, I reached out and caught the fabric of his suit jacket.

"Benson. It's Saturday."

He blinked, a flicker of genuine panic crossing his eyes. "I know, I know. But it's the new tech merger. Something broke in the code, I need to be on-site."

His phone buzzed incessantly. He gently but firmly pried my fingers off his jacket.

"Look how panicked they are. I really have to go, Nina."

Before I could say another word, he was out the door. The latch clicked shut, echoing in the empty foyer.

A sharp, radiating pain spiked through my chest.

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 70%.]

3.

Ignoring the metallic voice in my head, I walked back to the kitchen and picked up the new phone.

I ran my thumb over the fluffy pink case. It was incredibly soft. Almost immediately, an angry red rash flared across the back of my hand.

Rabbit fur. I was intensely allergic to rabbit fur.

In the past, Benson checked the tags on everything he bought, terrified of triggering my allergies. Furthermore, he hated phone cases. He liked the sleek feel of naked glass and titanium. It didn't take a genius to figure out whose aesthetic this pink fluff belonged to.

I peeled the disgusting thing off the phone and dropped it into the trash can.

I logged into my accounts and found her page.

It had just been updated.

[Matching phone cases with my man. Hehe.]

The picture showed a womans hand holding a pink rabbit-fur case. The exact same one.

I walked into Benson's home office and pulled up the feeds from our private subterranean garage.

It took less than a minute to find them.

On the grainy black-and-white monitor, Benson was gently guiding the girl toward his Aston Martin. He placed a protective hand over her slightly rounded stomach.

The audio feed picked up his voice, heavy with adoration.

"You're only three months along, Dana. You need to be on bed rest. Who told you it was a good idea to run over here?"

Dana swung his arm playfully, pouting. "But the baby and I missed you! Plus, I snagged the delivery guy outside and pretended to be him. Your fake wife didn't suspect a thing. Aren't I brilliant?"

Benson laughed, a rich, genuine sound I hadn't heard in months, and ruffled her hair.

"You're brilliant, baby. But never do that again. She can't find out about us, do you understand?"

Dana stomped her foot, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Why not?! She's just some user on a mission! Why don't you just divorce her? Aren't you exhausted from acting all the time?" She narrowed her eyes. "Unless... you actually have feelings for her?"

Benson went rigid. He didn't answer.

Dana ripped her arm out of his grasp, sobbing theatrically. "What about me? What about our baby? I thought I was your true love! Was that a lie?"

Benson panicked, wrapping his arms securely around her waist.

"Don't get worked up, it's bad for the baby! Of course I love you. You are my entire world."

"Then promise you'll stay with me for the next few days. You are not allowed to go back to her!"

Benson cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. His voice was devastatingly soft.

"I promise."

I stared dead-eyed at the monitor. The marrow in my bones felt like it had turned to lead.

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 50%.]

My stomach violently rebelled. I barely made it to the powder room before throwing up my morning coffee.

When I finally lifted my head to look in the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot and hollow. I looked pathetic. I looked like a joke.

I took a breath, splashed freezing water on my face, and picked up my new phone. I dialed a number and scheduled a surgical abortion for two o'clock that afternoon.

Just as they were wheeling me toward the operating room, my phone buzzed. A text from Benson.

[The merger is a total disaster. I'm going to have to stay at the hotel for the next few days to sort this out. I'll see you at the anniversary gala, sweetheart.]

I opened my camera roll, selected the screenshot I had taken of the garage security footagethe one of him caressing Dana's stomachand sent it to him.

[Is the disaster the merger? Or your mistress?]

I handed my phone to the nurse, closed my eyes, and let the anesthesia pull me under.

4.

The drugs were a mercy.

The suffocating tension that had gripped my chest since last night finally dissolved. I slept deeply and dreamlessly on the cold operating table.

When I woke up in the recovery room, my hand instinctually drifted to my stomach. There was only a dull, hollow ache. The life inside was gone.

The pillow beneath my head was damp. I touched my face; I was crying silently.

I asked the nurse for my phone. My text to Benson remained marked as "Read," but there was no reply.

I dialed his number. It rang for an agonizingly long time before the line clicked open.

I heard him clear his throat. When he spoke, his voice was thick, like he had just woken up.

"Hey, Nina. What's wrong?"

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 30%.]

I swallowed the sharp glass in my throat. "Did you not see the message I sent you?"

He sounded genuinely perplexed. "Message? No, my phone's been quiet. What did you send?"

I pulled the phone away from my ear, switching over to Dana's blog on Safari.

[Caught my man's wife trying to cause drama. She sent him a text while he was in the shower, so I deleted it.]

[Shes just a fraud on a mission. Who does she think she is, stressing him out like that?]

I exhaled a long, shaky breath and brought the phone back to my ear. "It's nothing. I must have forgotten to hit send. I just wanted to remind you to come home early."

I could practically hear the tension leave his shoulders. He let out a light laugh.

"You scared me. I know I've been absent lately, baby, and I am so sorry. I promise I will make it up to you at the gala."

"Okay," I whispered, and hung up.

Lying alone in the sterile, fluorescent-lit room, my mind drifted back to the day he proposed.

We were on a rooftop overlooking the bay. His hands had been shaking so violently he could barely get the ring out of the velvet box. Our friends had laughed at him, and he had shouted back, completely unashamed, "You idiots don't understand, you don't have a woman like this!"

Then he had dropped to one knee, looking up at me with a gaze so fiercely sincere it burned.

"Nina Gallagher, I swear to God, I will spend the rest of my life proving I am worthy of you."

He meant it. Back then, the vow was real.

But people change. Vows rot.

If I hadn't posted on that forum... I would have walked into that gala blind. I would have kept loving him, kept trusting him, ready to lay my life down for a ghost.

But there are no "what ifs" in this world.

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 20%.]

I closed my eyes. I called my lawyer, instructed her to draft the divorce papers, and forwarded her a zip file containing every piece of evidence of Benson's infidelity.

Five days later. The Anniversary Gala.

The ballroom was a sea of silk, champagne, and flashing cameras. Benson held my hand in a vice grip, beaming at the crowd as they showered us with congratulations. His smile grew more radiant with every passing minute.

As we navigated the room, my eyes locked onto a familiar face.

Dana. She was wearing a stunning emerald gown, weaving through the elite crowd with practiced ease. She caught my eye, gave me a triumphant smirk, and sauntered directly over to us.

Bensons grip on my fingers tightened painfully. The smile froze on his face.

Dana plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and winked playfully at Benson.

"Heres to the happy couple. May you have... everything you deserve."

Benson snatched the crystal glass from her hand, his voice a frantic hiss. "You're pregnant, you can't drink."

Dana pouted, her voice dripping with venomous innocence. "Well, the baby's father won't even claim him in public. If I lose it, I guess nobody would care anyway."

Without waiting for Benson to formulate a response, she turned on her heel and sashayed toward the back terrace.

Benson shot me a panicked, apologetic look. "She's one of the new junior assistants. Doesn't know how to act in these settings. Excuse me."

I gave him a placid nod.

He was sweating. He waited a few agonizing seconds before dropping my hand and muttering something about a catering issue.

I stood perfectly still and watched my husband sprint across the ballroom, chasing after his pregnant mistress.

The sudden spectacle caught the attention of the surrounding guests. Whispers rippled through the crowd.

I smiled calmly, walked up to the podium, and tapped the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," my voice rang out, clear and steady, cutting through the jazz band. "I know these events can get a bit tedious. So, I thought Id provide some evening entertainment."

I gave a subtle nod to the AV technician at the back of the room.

The massive digital projector behind me flared to life. It bypassed the slideshow of our wedding photos and tapped directly into the live feed of the terrace security cameras.

The ballroom went dead silent.

On the twenty-foot screen, Benson was clutching Dana to his chest, stroking her hair desperately.

"Dana, please, stop crying. It's bad for the baby."

Her shrill, tearful voice echoed through the high-end surround sound speakers.

"You keep talking about the baby! What does it matter if he's yours? You're still married to Nina! My son is going to be a bastard!"

Bensons face on the screen twisted in agony. "What do you want me to do?"

Dana wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. "When he's born... we'll tell Nina he's adopted. We'll make her raise him. That way, we can still have our time together, just the two of us. Okay?"

Benson hesitated for three agonizing seconds.

Then, he nodded.

A collective, horrified gasp ripped through the ballroom. Glasses shattered against the marble floor.

[Warning. Affection Metric has dropped to 10%.]

I stepped away from the podium. I signaled the technician to transition the screen from the live feed to the meticulously organized slides of Benson's bank transfers, hotel receipts, and the ultrasound photos.

I walked over to Ellis, Benson's fiercely loyal executive assistant, who was staring at the screen with his mouth open. I pressed a thick manila envelope into his chest. It contained the signed divorce papers and the medical records of my abortion.

Ignoring the cacophony of shouting reporters and scandalized socialites, I walked out the front doors, hailed a black car, and gave the driver the address to a scenic cemetery overlooking the bay. I had purchased the plot three days ago.

I found the smooth granite bench near my designated plot and lay down. The late afternoon sun was surprisingly warm, bathing my face in golden light.

Inside my mind, the Systems alarms were blaring, a deafening, frantic siren.

[Affection Metric at 5%. 4%. 3%. 2%. 1%.]

[Zero.]