Love, Mother-in-Law, and Artificial Intelligence
“Mum, why do you always try to ruin my relationship with Emily?” Ilya’s voice trembled with frustration, though he fought to keep his composure.
“Because she isn’t right for you, Oliver!” Margaret replied firmly, pressing her lips together and folding her arms across her chest.
“Can you even hear yourself? Emily and I love each other! It’s not just words—it’s real!”
“Real?” His mother scoffed, glancing away. “She isn’t capable of real feelings. And you know that perfectly well.”
“No, I don’t!” Oliver raised his voice. “You’ve spent years telling me to find someone kind, loyal, clever, who keeps a good home. Well? Is she not pretty?”
“She’s… pretty,” Margaret admitted reluctantly.
“Is our home clean? Yes. Does she respect you? Absolutely—she’s never once spoken back. Clever? She knows more about tech and books than I do. So what’s the problem, Mum?”
“The problem,” Margaret said despairingly, rising from her armchair. The little coffee table, carefully set with a teapot and pastries by her daughter-in-law, wobbled and overturned with a crash. “The problem is that your Emily isn’t human, Oliver. She’s a product! A program! A machine! Just wires and metal, even if they’re wrapped in smooth skin and shiny eyes!”
“Mum—”
“Don’t interrupt me!” she snapped. “This… woman… she doesn’t age, doesn’t get ill, never argues! She’s perfect by design! Removable parts, solar-powered charging, built-in temperature control! Don’t you see? You’ve replaced something alive with technology!”
The elderly Pomeranian, Toby, yapped in agreement, circling her feet.
“Of course she smiles at you! She has a ‘greeting smile’ setting! She never rolls her eyes, never gets annoyed, never shouts. She isn’t human, Oliver! And you… you’ve chosen an illusion.”
He fell silent. Then, with a deep sigh, he walked away to his room.
The next morning, heart pounding, Margaret stood on the balcony, watching children play and couples stroll below. Her son’s words echoed in her ears: “We love each other.”
That same day, she visited the android manufacturer’s website. Her fingers shook as she scrolled through the catalogue. Finally, she made her choice: Victor. Height: 6’1″, dark eyes, “empathy mode,” “active listening,” “extra-soft embrace arms.” Expensive—very. But wasn’t her son’s happiness worth it?
Three weeks later, the delivery arrived. A massive box stood in the living room, and inside—him. Her Victor. His eyes radiated calm. His voice, warm and reassuring, as if he’d known her for decades.
“Mum, are you serious?” Oliver stared in disbelief as Victor settled comfortably onto the heated sofa.
“Why not?” Margaret replied smoothly. “I decided enough suffering. You live with an android—now neither will I be alone.”
“Mum…” Oliver dragged a hand through his hair. “This is absurd!”
“Absurd?” She smirked. “No more than your Emily. At least he doesn’t argue, sulk, or talk back. And he makes better coffee than any barista!”
“But what about feelings? Warmth? A soul?”
“You chose this first. Or do you have double standards, dear?”
Later, in the kitchen, Oliver tried again.
“Mum, I get it—you want to make a point. But do you honestly think this solves anything?”
“I think we were both tired of pain. Of disappointment. I’ve been alone for years. Now, at least someone’s here to ask about my day, to tuck a blanket around me…”
“Mum… This is… a replacement. Like if you’d bought a copy of me.”
“But that’s exactly what you did, Ollie. We’ve both chosen convenience over complexity. The only difference is, I’m honest about it.”
“So what now?”
“Now, we eat. Victor made lasagne. Emily will love it.”
That evening, on the balcony under the quiet hum of the street, Margaret stood beside Victor, his hand warm in hers. Inside, Oliver filled the kettle while Emily updated her software.
Sometimes love takes strange forms. But isn’t warmth in a home what matters most?
