**Love, Mother-in-Law, and Artificial Intelligence**
*— Mum, why do you always try to ruin my relationship with Eleanor?*
Ilya’s voice trembled with frustration, though he fought to keep it steady.
*—Because she isn’t right for you, Ilya!*
Alla Sergeyevna pursed her lips, arms crossed stubbornly.
*—Do you even hear yourself? Eleanor and I love each other! It’s not just words—it’s real!*
*—Real?* His mother scoffed, avoiding his gaze. *She isn’t capable of feelings. You know that.*
*—No, I don’t!* Ilya’s voice rose. *You’ve always told me: find someone kind, loyal, clever, who keeps a good home. Well? Is she unattractive?*
*—She’s…* His mother hesitated. *Attractive enough.*
*—Is our house clean? Yes. Does she respect you? Absolutely. Never a sharp word. Clever—better than me with tech, better with books. So what’s the problem, Mum?*
*—The problem is Eleanor isn’t human, Ilya.* Alla Sergeyevna stood abruptly, knocking over the little coffee table. Teacups and the cake Eleanor had neatly arranged clattered to the floor. *She’s a product. A programme. Mechanics wrapped in smooth skin and pretty eyes!*
*—Mum—*
*—Don’t interrupt!* she snapped. *She doesn’t age, doesn’t fall ill, doesn’t argue! She’s perfect by design—removable parts, solar charging, built-in temperature control! You’ve replaced something living with… with machinery!*
Toby, her ancient Pomeranian, yapped at her feet in agreement.
*—Of course she smiles at you—it’s her *default greeting mode*. She doesn’t roll her eyes, snap, or shout. She’s not real, Ilya! And you… you chose an illusion.*
He said nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, he walked away.
The next morning, Alla Sergeyevna stood on the balcony, heart pounding, watching couples stroll below. Her son’s voice echoed: *We love each other.*
That afternoon, she visited the android manufacturer’s website. Her fingers shook as she scrolled. Finally, she selected: *William.* 6’1″, dark eyes, *empathy mode*, *active listening*, *enhanced-softness embrace arms.* Expensive—very. But wasn’t her son’s happiness worth it?
Three weeks later, the delivery arrived. A massive box in the hall, and inside—him. Her William. His gaze steady, voice warm, as if he’d known her forty years.
*—Mum, seriously?* Ilya gaped at William, comfortably settled on the heated sofa.
*—Why not?* Alla Sergeyevna shrugged. *I’ve had enough loneliness. You live with an android—now so do I.*
*—Mum…* He dragged a hand through his hair. *This is insane!*
*—Insane?* She smirked. *No more than your Eleanor. At least he doesn’t argue. Or sulk. And his coffee is better than any barista’s.*
*—But what about feelings? Warmth? A soul?*
*—You chose this first. Or do you have double standards, dear?*
Later, in the kitchen, Ilya tried again: *—Mum, I get it—you’re making a point. But do you really think this fixes anything?*
*—I think we’re both tired of hurt. Of disappointment. I’ve been alone so long. Now, at least someone asks about my day. Tucks a blanket around me…*
*—It’s not real. Like replacing me with a copy.*
*—But that’s exactly what you’ve done, Ilya. We’ve both chosen convenience over mess. I’m just honest about it.*
*—So what now?*
*—Now we eat. William made lasagne. Eleanor will enjoy it.*
That evening, Alla Sergeyevna stood on the balcony with William, his hand in hers. Inside, Ilya boiled the kettle while Eleanor updated her software.
Sometimes love wears strange shapes. But isn’t warmth what really matters?
