“Thank you.”

  My mother doesn’t notice the tone. “It’s a great model, with all the latest features.” Her smile is enthusiastic, infectious.

  I am immune. My insides have become ice. Nothing can grow here anymore.

  I nod.

  My mother’s smile widens. She likes it when I agree. “Look! You can even set the sleep time on it. No more being woken up in the middle of the night.”

  There is no point in arguing. There are too many objective benefits and it’s not like I can have the old one back. What I had is gone and it’s all their fault.

  “I am sorry. We didn’t know.”

  I don’t bother reminding her that it was a possibility given who they’d just visited. I have already told them too many times before....

  I give the barest of nods. I just want her to leave. The guilt bites. The guilt always bites. But this time the guilt is not for them. It is for what I have lost. That which can not be replaced.

  “It looks exactly like the old one.” My mother smiles but this time the smile is faltering like glass waiting for just the right stone.

  My teeth could grind rocks but I hold the words back. I just want to sleep.

  My mother presses on. “You’re looking so well. Just give it time. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. Just try it for a few weeks. You might even find it’s better than the old one. It’s a very expensive model.”

  I don’t care about the money.

  “It will cost you less too.” My mother nods eagerly, her smile strained.

  I know she will never leave if I do not make her feel like she has done a good job. I have to find the strength to pretend. It’s less effort than a fight and I am weak. I have always been weak.

  It is my fault.

  “Thank you,” I say. The words taste wrong but what else is there to say? I already tried ‘no’. I said it several times. Perhaps it was not loud enough? Perhaps the tone was wrong? I don’t know. All I know is that I gave in. I was weak and now there is nothing to be strong for.

  “Here, let me show you how to set the sleep time,” my mother’s eager voice quivers.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “No, it’s fine,” I say.

  It’s not fine. It will never be fine again.

  She persists like she always does. “See here, the buttons are under this flap...”

  I don’t listen to the rest but I do wonder who in their right mind thought that was a good place to put buttons. The buttons are something different, something new. But I guess that location’s old purpose isn’t something anyone would want, at least I hope it isn’t. Another beneficial upgrade. A real time-saver. I wonder how it is possible that one can miss even the negative qualities of a thing once it is gone? What will I use the time for now?

  “And here, see, this is where you plug it in to charge. It uses less electricity than what you would have paid in groceries.”

  I nod. I’ve gotten good at nodding at the right moments. It’s been ingrained in me since childhood. Did I ever have a chance? Perhaps it’s for the best I don’t have children.

  But I survived. Didn’t I?

  My mother’s voice fades in and out, flowing sweetly like I imagine the salesperson’s did when he sold her the thing.

  It looks real enough. High quality for sure.

  “And look,”—her hands flutter excitedly—“It’s capable of making over five hundred different facial expressions.”

  I don’t think I am capable of even one. Not anymore.

  “It’s made in exactly the same size.”

  The same size? How could they possibly know? She must mean the height and the weight are the same. But they couldn’t possibly know the details. Even I was just getting to know those. All the tiny little crinkles. The curl of her hands. The way she smiled.

  “And look, it’s flexible so you can dress it—”

  My mother finally meets my eyes and for a moment I can’t hide how I feel. For a moment I think she finally hears me. She stammers, stutters, and corrects herself as if that were what she had always intended.

  “—her. You can dress her in the same clothes.”

  I look down at the eyes of the thing. They must have tried to match the colour but all I see is glass.

  “And here, if we turn her on I can show—“

  I don’t notice the simmering. It’s been inside me for so long that I forgot what it felt like without it there. I’m like a pot left on too long. The words spill out before I can think about them.

  “Why would a robot need clothes?”

  For a moment my mother hesitates but she is resilient. I have never been able to outlast her. Today is no different and that thought is worse than anything.

  “Well, in case you want to dress her. You wouldn’t want your daughter getting cold now would you?”

  She is already cold. She will never be warm again. Because they couldn’t do one simple thing I asked. Somehow it is my silence that finally penetrates.

  “I am sorry. We didn’t know we were sick.”

  I stare down at the Infant 3000. If I concentrated that heat inside me, I could melt the thing into an unrecognisable pool of plastic. I hate plastic. I hate that I hate this thing that looks like her and which doesn’t all at the same time. Someone probably put care into making it and here I am hating it.

  “These are much more popular than the natural version now. And you can upgrade to the child model whenever you want. The memories from this model carry over. It’ll be like she was never gone.”

  The flesh is so realistic, but it is cold. Perhaps that is the most realistic part now.

  “Masks probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway,” she insists, proving she could hear me after all.

  I don’t argue. I can’t win. But silence isn’t enough to get her to leave.

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  It’s not.

  “If there’s anything else you need. We’ll do whatever.”

  They won’t.

  I nod, say the magic words, and hope that this time they finally work.

  “Thank you.”