Your Perfect Match

I slip the device onto my wrist. It’s just a game, I tell myself, convinced it’s all cracked science anyway.
But is it?
I thought I knew everything about the man I married. I thought I knew myself. But when technology claims to redefine love, the most dangerous revelations aren’t about what you discover—they’re about how far you’ll go to hold onto the happiness you think you deserve.

Prologue
Wednesday, October 21, 2099
Crowd Band Live Chat
Jimmy R: Heard the news. Congratulations, Tony.

My heart leaps into my throat. What’s the news? I’m certain it doesn’t involve me. I wish it did—I hope it does—but deep down, I know it doesn’t.

None of them realize I’m here. I heard the chime, glanced up from the dreadful pile of papers I was grading, and there it was—a group chat I’d forgotten I was still part of.

Rebecca N: Engaged? That was quick. Are you divorced yet?

My heart plunges deeper into the abyss of despair.

Anthony H.: (An extended period of dancing ellipsis.) The divorce will be finalized soon.

Rebecca N: (Immediate response) Hasn’t Sienna also found her match?

I, Sienna Holloway, Anthony H’s wife, wait for his reply with bated breath.

Anthony H.: (Another long stretch of dancing ellipsis.) Yes.

I let out a shaky breath, the kind you take when the air is being knocked out of you. He lied.

Rebecca N: Then she’s happy with her new match?

Anthony H.: (Another long stretch of dancing ellipsis.)

Jimmy R: Just ask Sienna. She’s in the group.

Rebecca N: (Dancing ellipsis)

Before I can fully process what’s happening, my phone chimes loudly, followed by a message: You have been removed from the group.

I clutch my stomach as the exchange—and its abrupt ending—sends a wave of sourness rising in my throat. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, and tears blur my vision. But the real sickness lies deeper: sadness, disappointment, and heartbreak overwhelm me, forcing me to bend over and vomit into the trash can beside my desk.

Saturday, October 24, 2099
Chapter 1
I used to know happiness, but it feels distant now, like a memory that doesn’t belong to me.
 At the moment, all I feel is a heavy sense of dread. And not just because I’ve arrived at this restaurant far too early, leaving me with too much time to think about what I’ve agreed to do. My inner voice whispers that I probably shouldn’t have come at all. Even getting here felt like a battle I barely won. I struggled to find an outfit, shoes that didn’t pinch my toes, and brush on enough makeup to conceal the grief and exhaustion etched into my face. Yet somehow, despite it all, I arrived fifteen minutes early. Then again, if I were home, I’d probably be in bed by now, my nerves unraveling one thread at a time.
The truth is, I wouldn’t have initiated this process if I hadn’t stumbled across that private chat. I’m pretty sure everyone had forgotten I was part of the group between Tony and his closest friends—all of them from his “good old days” in college. The chat was initially set up to plan our extravagant New Year’s Eve wedding. But even as the bride, I never chimed in. No one asked for my opinion, and I never offered it. Tony took charge of everything, making decisions for both of us. And, for the most part, I was okay with it. I had no idea where to begin with wedding planning anyway. Tony had all the ideas, promising that all I needed to do was show up as the bride of his dreams. That’s what he referred to me as back then—the bride of his dreams. That was less than a year ago. Now, as I sit here, I find myself scratching my head, wondering how on earth we ended up like this.
Yes… that heart-shattering, gut-wrenching chat led me to this seat at the bar of Urban Ember—a trendy downtown LA restaurant known for celebrity sightings and food that’s pricey but not outrageously so. Soon, I’ll meet my supposed “perfect match.” At least, that’s what quantum matching technology claims. But as I sit on this impossibly hard bar chair, the energy coursing through me screams one undeniable truth: this match, this person I’m about to meet, cannot possibly make me feel the way Tony makes me feel.
And yet, what can I do?
Tony—my Tony—is with his match right now.


Chapter 2
I’d been avoiding this moment for months—this whole moving-on thing—ever since our split on a Sunday, August 9, 2099, to be exact. In the quiet corners of my heart, I kept hoping that Tony would come to his senses. He would remember I’m the bride, the woman of his dreams. That somehow, what we had is worth saving. But that private chat, which I should’ve never seen, could prove that we are very close to being over.
I nervously check the time on the tiny screen of my Your Perfect Match band—better known as the YPM band. This little gadget is responsible for orchestrating this entire meeting with a man named Ethan, whose last name I may finally learn when we come face to face.
Quantum Matching Inc. designed the process this way—spoon-feeding clients small doses of information about their matches as they progress through the “Meet Your Perfect Match” journey. The goal is to minimize superficial judgments and let the supposed spellbinding connection bloom naturally.
I have three minutes left to decide: stay or go. My heart feels like a ticking bomb, each second heavier than the last. My mind drifts back—back to the night that changed everything.
Tony came home after meeting Tanya for the first time. I could see the shift in him immediately. His eyes were bright, his energy light and buzzing in a way that left me feeling small. Even though he swore—and still swears—that he loved me, that night, he was floating, utterly enchanted by her. Five days later, on August 9th, we sat at our kitchen table, and Tony asked for space.
"I need to explore this connection," he said, his voice gentle but resolute, as if inviting this thing into our marriage was a reasonable choice.
My throat became achingly tight as my tears threatened to spill. “Does that mean divorce?” I barely got the words out, my voice a fragile whisper.
“No, honey,” Tony whispered, pulling me into his arms. His embrace was so familiar, so comforting, that for a moment I let myself believe nothing was wrong. Pressed against his chest, I leaned into the safety I had always found in his arms, the sense that as long as we were together, the world couldn’t touch us. “I love you,” he said again, his breath warm against my hair. “Why don’t you meet your match? See what it feels like?” His tone was soothing, coaxing me like I was a child resisting medicine. “Maybe understanding what I’m going through will help us both.”
I remember shaking my head, more tears blurring my vision. “I don’t want to. I don’t need to. I only want you.” I was resolute, desperate. He was the one wobbling and leaving cracks in our perfect love story, not me. I believed, and still believe, in our happily ever after.
But maybe, after tonight, I’ll feel something—anything—other than this undying love for Tony. Maybe this is the beginning of the end. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what I need.
Or maybe not. Maybe I should postpone this. I never confronted Tony after seeing the chat. Maybe I processed it all wrong. Maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw.
“Sienna?” a man’s voice cuts through my decision, halting me as I slide off the stool. I freeze, torn between the urge to leave and the sudden hope tugging at me. I was ready to run, wasn’t I? But now… I turn quickly toward the speaker, my eyes searching his face, desperately scanning for anything that will tell me I’ll make the right choice if I stay.