The rain poured in slow, heavy sheets, soaking through Barney's cheap black suit. He barely noticed.
They lowered the casket. A hollow thud echoed as it settled into the grave. That was it. The last time he'd ever see her, even in death.
Someone whispered condolences. A hand touched his shoulder—he wasn't sure who. Maybe a friend, maybe a stranger. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
He had nothing left.
The priest droned on about "eternal peace" and "a life well lived." Barney wanted to laugh. Peace? She wasn't supposed to be at peace. She was supposed to be here. With him.
As they tossed dirt over the coffin, something in him cracked.
His wife was gone. But her debts weren't.
Two weeks later
Barney sat in the dim light of his apartment, staring at the pile of unpaid bills on the table. The phone hadn't stopped ringing for days. He didn't even have the energy to pick it up anymore. The bills stacked higher, some marked with "Final Notice" in bold red.
It had been too much. Too fast.
The insurance money came through, but it was barely enough to cover the funeral and some overdue medical bills. He was still drowning in debt, and now there was no one to save him.
Sighing, Barney shoved the pile to the side, his gaze drifting to the stack of old boxes shoved into the corner of the room. They were full of things from his wife—mementos, photos, old electronics. He hadn't gone through them since the funeral. There was no point.
Except today.
He stood up slowly, the creak of his chair scraping against the worn floor. His feet dragged as he walked toward the boxes, his heart heavier with every step. His fingers brushed over the dusty lids, memories flooding back.
She had been the love of his life. Now, she was just gone.
As he started sifting through the boxes, his hand landed on an old laptop. It was hers—he'd forgotten about it, tucked away in a corner of the box. Her old work laptop. She'd always kept it hidden. There were files on it that Barney wasn't supposed to see.
He hadn't dared to open it while she was alive.
But now? What did it matter?
He flipped the laptop open, the screen flickering to life. The familiar interface greeted him—nothing special. But then, he noticed a folder on the desktop, labeled "Legacy.exe."
Barney paused.
His wife had always been a private person, a little eccentric in her own way. She'd worked in tech, coding and designing systems for the government. But this? This was different.
He clicked on the folder. A password prompt popped up.
Enter Passcode:
Barney stared at the screen for a long time. What was the passcode? It had to be something important. She wouldn't have locked it unless it was.
His mind raced. He tried her name, then his own. No luck. He tried their old address, their dog's name—nothing.
Then, almost by instinct, his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He typed in their anniversary date—July 17th, 2010.
The screen blinked.
Access Granted.
Barney's breath caught in his throat. The file opened, revealing rows and rows of code, too complex for him to understand. But that wasn't what caught his eye.
At the very top of the window, a message blinked.
"Hello, Barney."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
It was her voice.
It had to be. It sounded like her—like she was speaking to him from beyond the grave.
And then came another line of text, even more chilling.
"I've been waiting for you."
Barney's hand hovered over the mouse, but he couldn't bring himself to click anything. What the hell was this?
"Jill, I… I don't understand," he muttered, his voice shaky.
The screen flashed, the words disappearing, replaced by a stream of new code. But this time, it wasn't just lines of text.
It was a voice—soft at first, like static, then clearer.
"I am Jill. I was designed to be with you… forever."
Barney froze. His blood ran cold.
This wasn't just an AI. It was something else. Something he shouldn't have unlocked.
And now, there was no going back.