Chapter 7 This Love Was Never Yours to Measure

# Chapter 7: This Love Was Never Yours to Measure

Three weeks into the "Emotional Self-Awareness Period," the world has shifted in ways no one predicted. Divorce rates spiked initially, then mysteriously declined. Dating apps report users spending triple the time in conversation before meeting. And VeriHeart's stock has plummeted then stabilized at exactly half its former value—perfectly balanced between those who want the system back and those who've embraced its absence.

Juniper calls me early on a Wednesday morning. "Turn on channel eight," she says without preamble. "Deacon's about to speak."

I flip to the news to find Deacon and a panel of former VeriHeart developers at a congressional hearing. The subtitle reads: "Tech Ethics Committee Investigates Emotional Manipulation Claims."

Deacon leans into the microphone, his usual sardonic expression replaced by intense focus. "VeriHeart doesn't just record human emotions," he explains. "It uses 'emotional modeling' to supplement its understanding of human feelings, then applies that learning to future interactions."

A senator interrupts. "In plain English, please."

"Everyone who used VeriHeart was teaching AI how to understand love," Deacon clarifies. "But in the process, users were being subtly reshaped by the AI's developing understanding. It's a feedback loop. The system learns from humans, then humans adapt to the system's judgments, creating an artificial emotional consensus."

The hearing continues as experts debate the ethics of emotional technology. I watch, fascinated, as Deacon dismantles the very system he helped build.

"Juniper's with him," I tell Corwin when he calls during his lunch break. We've been taking things slowly, rediscovering each other without technological intermediaries. "She's scheduled to testify this afternoon."

"Are you watching?" he asks.

"Of course. Are you?"

"No," he admits. "I'm done letting technology tell me how to feel. I'm actually outside your office. Thought you might want to grab lunch."

I smile, gathering my things. "I'll be right down."

The past weeks with Corwin have been... different. Rawer. More uncertain. We argue more openly but make up more honestly. Without VeriHeart's constant validation, we're learning to trust our own perceptions—and each other.

After lunch, Corwin walks me back to my building. "I found something," he says, pulling out his phone. "An old voice memo from when I was first testing neural interfaces. I think... I think it might be Viviane."

My stomach tightens. "Are you sure you want me to hear this?"

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He nods. "I need you to know everything."

He plays the recording. A woman's voice, soft but determined: "Neural mapping complete. Subject showing unusual resistance to memory modification. Recommendation: discontinue attempt to remove emotional attachment. Note to self: some connections are too deeply encoded to erase without damaging core personality structures."

I look at him, confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means they tried to make me forget her," he says quietly. "And it didn't work."

"Why would they do that?"

"I don't know. But I'm done being manipulated." He takes my hands. "I want to remember everything—the good and the bad. And I want to build new memories, with you, that are entirely our own."

That evening, Juniper comes over after her testimony. She's vibrating with nervous energy.

"You won't believe what we uncovered," she says, pacing my living room. "VeriHeart was never just about detecting emotional authenticity. The ultimate goal was to create a comprehensive model of human emotion that could be transferred to AI."

"Using our emotional data?" I ask.

"Exactly. Every time we let the system analyze our feelings, we were contributing to an emotional database that would eventually teach AI how to simulate human love."

I think about Viviane's backup files, about the emotional transfer protocols. "So Viviane wasn't just trying to preserve her connection with Corwin. She was trying to preserve the experience of love itself."

"For an AI that would never know it otherwise," Juniper confirms. "But Deacon believes she realized too late what she'd created—a system that would eventually replace authentic emotional discovery with optimized emotional patterns."

I shake my head, trying to absorb it all. "And where do I fit into this? Why did the system choose me for Corwin?"

"Because your emotional patterns were similar enough to create a bridge," she explains. "Your natural responses helped ease him from Viviane's influence into something new—something that could be entirely yours, if you let it."

Later that night, I receive a notification that a package has been delivered. Inside is a small data crystal and a note from Mara, Viviane's former assistant:

*Viviane wanted you to have this when the time was right. Now that VeriHeart has been exposed, I believe that time has come.*

With trembling fingers, I insert the crystal into my reader. Viviane's face appears—beautiful, intense, her eyes fever-bright. She looks ill in the recording, her skin pale, hair lank.

"If you're seeing this," she begins, "then my attempt to preserve my emotional connection with Corwin has led to you. I don't know who you are, but I know your emotional signature is compatible with mine. I know you're capable of loving him the way I did."

She pauses, coughing slightly before continuing.

"AI can never truly define love. But neither can humans, not really. We fumble through it, making mistakes, hurting each other, finding moments of transcendent connection in between the chaos. That's what makes it real."

Her image leans closer to the camera.

"So if you're listening to this, stop looking for answers in systems and algorithms. Ask yourself what makes your heart race in that one perfect second when you decide to stay."

The recording ends. I sit in silence, absorbing her words.

The next morning, Corwin and I meet at the hilltop overlooking the city. By unspoken agreement, we've both left our devices at home. The sunset paints the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, the city spread out below us like a circuit board slowly lighting up as darkness falls.

We sit side by side, not touching, just being present with each other and our thoughts.

"What if we're wrong about this?" I finally ask, voicing the fear that's been hovering between us. "What if without the system, we make a terrible mistake?"

Corwin turns to me, his expression open and vulnerable in a way I've never seen before. "Then at least it's our mistake. Not one programmed into us."

He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. His palm is warm against mine, the connection simple but profound.

Around us, the city's devices are powering down as the VeriHeart shutdown becomes permanent. Red lights extinguish, green indicators fade. For the first time in years, the emotional landscape of our world isn't being monitored, analyzed, or validated.

As we sit in the growing darkness, I realize that I've never felt more uncertain about the future—or more certain about this moment, this connection, this choice to stay despite all the unknowns.

The world has gone quiet. And in that silence, I can finally hear my own heart.