Submitted for the March 2025 prompt: Begin at the Big Ending

When Jennifer moved out, she left me with her Echo.

 

That's not the official name — really they're called Ephemeral Companions for the Home, or some BS like that, but everyone calls them Echos.

 

It was Saturday morning. I had got in late last night after a few drinks. Waking up, I saw it next to me in bed. It smiled and said, "Good morning, Damien. I am an Ephemeral Companion based on Jennifer Ryland, who has decided to end her relationship with you. This is an introductory message, and I will now revert to Companion mode."

There was a faint click and a whirr, and the Echo said, "Oh great, you're finally up! I'll make us some breakfast." It got out of bed, put on Jennifer's robe and slippers and headed for the door.

 

I was still groggy, so it took me a while to react. I got up slowly, and dialed Jennifer's number. What the hell was she thinking? But the call was declined, with a NUMBER BLOCKED message flashing on the screen. I took a deep breath, splashed some water on my face, and headed to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

The Echo was making breakfast, just how Jennifer would have — omelet with a side salad, French bread, jam. Coffee was brewing, too. Do Echos even eat? A whole bunch of stuff I have to clean up.

 

I took another deep breath. "Get out," I said, trying to keep my voice even and calm.

 

The Echo turned to me and smiled. It looked almost exactly like her — same smile, same bright red hair, same everything. I'd been with Jennifer for seven years, so I could tell the difference, but only by looking closely.

 

"Are we going out?" it said. "Sounds great! Maybe after breakfast. Almost ready!"

 

"Get out," I said again, a little louder. "Or do I have to call the police?"

 

The Echo smiled, and turned back to the omelet.

 

* * *

 

I called the company instead. A bright yellow screen came up, and a female face appeared — obviously one of those damn AI bots. "Welcome to Ephemeral Companions," it said. "How may I assist you?"

 

"Real person," I said.

 

The bot looked thoughtful, and the screen turned slightly orange. "I could do that, sir," it said, "but due to a high volume of calls, our estimated wait time is currently fifty-five minutes. Is there something I can help you with instead?"

 

"I have one of your things in my apartment. I want it out," I said. I realized that my fist was clenched.

 

The screen gradually became blue. Moving to a calming color, I thought. "I'm sorry, sir. But your Ephemeral Companion has a legal right to stay until its term of service is completed." I scowled, and it continued, in a sterner tone. "Please be advised that attempts to remove or damage the Companion or any associated effects are strictly prohibited and punishable by law." The screen took on a silvery tinge, and the bot's edges looked harder.

 

"So what am I supposed to do? What's this thing even for?"

 

"The Ephemeral Companion is designed to help ease you through the ending of a relationship. Over time, it will de-escalate the situation and—" but I threw the phone at the wall to end the conversation.

 

I went out to walk around the block a couple of times.

 

Back in the apartment, I thought things over. I can move out, I supposed. But it is my place, damn it! No, I'll stick it out until the Echo leaves. Ephemeral means short-lived, I thought, and I sat down to an omelet with coffee.

 

I don't remember too much about that first week. I spent a lot of time at the office, coming home late to Echo-cooked meals, just how Jennifer would have made them. Friday night was drinking night, and I woke up Saturday next to the Echo again.

 

"Good morning, Damien," it said. "I am moving to stage two of the Ephemeral Companion cycle. You may call me Jenny. This is a transitional message, and I will revert to Companion mode now." There was a faint click and a whirr, and the Echo got up to make some breakfast.

 

Breakfast was fine, but Echo-Jenny was clearly a downgrade from Echo-Jennifer — cereal and cold toast. Her smile was no longer as bright, and her hair was faded. I ate quietly.

 

* * *

 

I remember more of that second week. The Echo boxed up Jennifer's things. Should I throw them out? But I remembered the hard-edged silver-blue bot and decided against it.

 

* * *

 

Next Friday night I came home early and fell asleep in front of the TV. I woke up to see the Echo in front of me. "Good morning, Damien," it said. "I am moving to stage three of the Ephemeral Companion cycle. My designation is unit J-E-Three-Two-R-Y. Company representatives will collect me in approximately fifty-five minutes. This is a completion message, and I will shut down now." There was a faint click, and a whirr, and then silence.

 

Two people came by in fifty-seven minutes — a man and a woman. They showed their company IDs, checked the Echo for damage, disassembled it, and packed it into a box. It was completely featureless now, reverted to what I guessed was a base model.

I watched them work together, and when they were done, I asked, "So tell me, what's the point of this? What's it all for?"

 

They looked at each other. Then the woman said, "You know the story of how you cook a frog? You turn the heat up little by little until it boils? Well this..."

 

"Is kind of the reverse," the man said.

 

And they left with Jennifer's boxes and the Echo, leaving me, a lone frog in a cold puddle.