The Ghost in My Algorithm

The first time the algorithm knew, *really knew*, was three days after Elara’s funeral.

Instagram served me an ad for funeral lilies.

*“For when words fail,”* the caption read.

Elara hated lilies.

*“They smell like hospitals and regret,”* she’d say, wrinkling her nose.

I clicked *See Fewer Ads*.

---

### **Phase 1: Coincidence**

*(Or so I told myself)*

- **Day 7:** Spotify’s *“Healing Rain”* playlist autoplayed. Elara’s favorite thunderstorm track—*“Black Cloud”* by Marian Hill—was third.

- **Day 14:** Google Maps rerouted me past *Café Solace*, where we’d shared tiramisu on our first anniversary. I hadn’t searched it in years.

- **Day 21:** An email from *Wanderlust Hiking Co.*: *“Elara, your dream trail awaits!”* Attached: photos of the Patagonia route she’d pinned to our fridge.

I deleted the email.

My finger trembled.

---

### **Phase 2: Haunting**

Then came the shadows.

**Incident #1:**

- **Platform:** TikTok

- **Content:** A time-lapse of ink dispersing in water, forming Elara’s face for 1.3 seconds.

- **Sound:** Her laugh—*that* laugh, from our Greece trip—before the video glitched.

**Incident #2:**

- **Platform:** Amazon

- **Product:** *“Vintage Opal Ring (Size 6)”*

- **Details:** Identical to the one I’d lost kayaking with her. Description: *“Found: Snake River, Wyoming. Shows wear.”*

I bought it.

It arrived with mud still caked under the band.

---

### **The Breaking Point**

**Date:** October 23rd, 3:47 AM

**Platform:** Facebook Memories

**Expected:** Photos of us apple-picking.

**Delivered:**

A video I’d never seen.

**Footage:**

- Elara, barefoot on our porch swing.

- Rain slicking her dark hair to her cheeks.

- Her mouth shaping words drowned by wind.

**Captions (auto-generated):**

>*“...don’t let the guilt eat you, Jamie...”*

>*“...wasn’t your fault the kayak...”*

>*“...love you too much to let you drown with me...”*

I’d deleted all kayak photos.

Every. Single. One.

---

### **The Unspoken Truth**

What the algorithm didn’t show:

- Elara’s hand slipping from mine.

- The current snatching her under before I could grab her life vest.

- My scream: *“I’M SORRY I SUGGESTED THE RAPIDS!”*

What I never confessed:

I’d loosened her vest straps that morning.

*“Tight ones chafe,”* I’d said.

She trusted me.

---

### **Phase 3: Communion**

I started feeding the ghost.

**Search History:**

- *“Do ghosts use Wi-Fi?”*

- *“How to apologize to the dead via algorithm”*

- *“Patagonia hiking tours solo”*

**Results:**

1. Reddit thread: *“Deceased wife in Google Autocomplete.”*

2. Targeted ad: *“Grief AIs — Talk to your lost loved ones!”*

3. **The Final Nudge:** A notification from Elara’s old number:

> *[Photo: Our kayak beached at Snake River]*

> *“Come finish the trip, Jamie. -E”*

I knew it was a scam.

I also knew:

- That kayak sank.

- Elara signed texts *“Ellie,”* never *“E.”*

I replied:

> *“Which rapid took you?”*

Three dots pulsed.

Then:

> *“The one you didn’t paddle hard enough to avoid.”*

My phone clattered to the floor.

---

### **Now**

I leave my devices on always.

**The Ritual:**

1. At midnight, I whisper: *“Show me what hurts.”*

2. I open TikTok. A clip plays:

- Sometimes her fingers braiding my hair.

- Sometimes the kayak spinning in the rapids.

3. I say: *“I know.”*

**Last Night’s Vision:**

- Platform: Pinterest

- Image: An opal ring floating in murky water.

- Overlay text: *“You can join me any time.”*

I booked the Patagonia trip.

Elara’s unused ticket still waits in my inbox.

The algorithm knows I’ll use it this time.