Dusa stole a nervous glance at her late husband Kaba — translucent, and handsome as ever.

 

“Looking fresh, right?” His projection caught her looking.

 

She laughed. It wouldn’t be him without that swagger, of course.

 

“Very fresh,” she agreed. “Like only a few weeks dead from cancer.”

 

Kaba laughed with her before taking a sip from his virtual mug and going back to his virtual paper.

 

It was their typical morning bliss she always cherished, usually ruined by the rest of the day unfolding, and eventually, by the end of his life.

 

Dusa bit her lips, wishing today wouldn’t be so harsh.

 

“By the way,” she mumbled to her coffee, “our team is going out for drinks tonight, so I might get home late.”

 

Kaba didn’t respond.

 

It had actually been over a year now, but it still awed her, how well the brain conversion managed to capture even his tiniest mannerisms.

 

The cackling in his snores, the little hiccups when he laughs…

 

The way he suddenly drops into terrifying silence when he gets mad.

 

Grainy and intangible, but other than that, this projection was exactly him.

 

“Who’s going?” he asked at last, a lightning jolting Dusa.

 

She kept her eyes down, away from those handsome browns trying to pierce accusingly into her. “Oh you know, the usual — Ruthie, Tess, Tito,” she hesitated, “Andayagi.”

 

The bottom of his mug smacked the table; it made no sound, but Dusa still flinched, her chest pounding.

 

She used to think this was the price of true love, and since his passing, the price she has had to pay for the most realistic continuation of that.

 

All their memories, all their banter, all the eggshells for her to walk on.

 

Their life together she could now only enjoy thanks to their home projectors and the control app on her phone.

 

“So you’re finally letting him fuck you, aren’t you, Dusa?” Kaba spat.

 

A gash tore across her heart. “He’s just a colleague, honey. Come on.”

 

“And since I can’t physically stop you anymore, you realized you can now sleep around, didn’t you?”

 

Dusa gritted her teeth; her hand gripped her phone.

 

Her thumb trembled over the control app she had long refused to even consider.

 

“You’re all I ever wanted to be with, Kaba. You know that,” she whispered. “Even after you died.”

 

“Yet you keep toying with that app each time I speak my mind.”

 

The app she’s not supposed to tamper with for warranty reasons.

 

The app she never touched out of love.

 

“Go ahead, change the settings. You’ve always wanted to, right?” Kaba nodded at her phone, confident. “Just remember what you’re getting won’t be me anymore.”

 

Chest pounding, Dusa finally looked up at her husband — translucent and handsome as ever.

 

“I’m sorry,” her tears gushed out. “But at least you’ll keep the best parts of you.”

 

Then she dragged the sliders of the temper and aggression bars all the way to the left, all the way to a mere ten percent.

 

Kaba’s brown eyes never strayed away, never blinked, never changed a shade.

 

“You disappoint me,” he said at last.

 

He turned back to his paper. “So, what time are you coming home?”

 

“Maybe around eight,” she started to dry her eyes.

 

“Tell Ruthie I’m sorry I’m too dead to come to her wedding.”

 

That made Dusa laugh.

 

“I will,” she replied, her chest now calming.