Love, Mother-in-Law, and Artificial Intelligence
“Mum, why must you always try to ruin things between me and Margaret?” Elijah’s voice trembled with frustration, though he fought to keep it steady.
“Because she isn’t right for you, Elijah!” Edith replied firmly, pressing her lips together and folding her arms across her chest.
“Have you even listened to yourself? Rita and I love each other! It’s not just words—it’s real!”
“Real?” his mother repeated, glancing away. “She isn’t capable of real feeling. You know that perfectly well.”
“No, I don’t!” Elijah raised his voice. “You’ve spent years telling me: find the right one—kind, loyal, clever, a good homemaker. And now? Is she not pretty enough?”
“She’s… lovely,” Edith admitted grudgingly.
“Is our home clean? Spotless. Does she respect you? Absolutely. Never once spoken back. Intelligent—better than me with gadgets and books alike. So tell me, Mum, what’s the problem?”
“The problem,” she said desperately, rising from her chair, “is that your Margaret isn’t human, Elijah.” The little tea table, neatly arranged with cakes by her daughter-in-law, wobbled and crashed to the floor. “She’s a product! A program! A machine! Wires and metal, wrapped up in smooth skin and gleaming eyes!”
“Mum—”
“Don’t interrupt me!” she snapped. “This… woman… she doesn’t age, doesn’t fall ill, doesn’t argue! She’s perfect by design! Removable parts, solar charging, built-in temperature control! Do you even realise you’ve traded flesh and blood for a clever trick?”
Her elderly corgi, Winston, yapped in agreement, circling her feet.
“Of course she smiles at you—she’s programmed to! She never rolls her eyes, never snaps, never shouts. She isn’t real, Elijah! And you… you’ve chosen an illusion.”
He said nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, he walked away to his room.
The next morning, her heart pounding, Edith stood on the balcony, watching children play and couples stroll below. Her son’s words echoed: “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 selected: Victor. Six foot one, dark eyes, “empathy mode,” “active listening,” “enhanced comfort embrace.” Expensive. Very. But wasn’t her son’s happiness worth it?
Three weeks later, the delivery arrived. A massive box stood in the sitting room—and inside, he waited. Her Victor. His eyes glowed with quiet warmth. His voice, deep and soothing, sounded as if he’d known her forty years.
“Mum, you can’t be serious?” Elijah stared in disbelief as Victor reclined on the heated sofa.
“Why not?” Edith replied calmly. “I’ve had enough of loneliness. You live with an android—now neither shall I.”
“Mum…” Elijah dragged a hand through his hair. “This is absurd!”
“Absurd?” She smirked. “No more than your Margaret. At least he doesn’t argue, sulk, or talk back. And his morning coffee beats any barista’s!”
“But what about feeling? Warmth? A soul?”
“You’re the one who chose this path. Or do you have double standards, dear?”
Later, in the kitchen, Elijah tried again:
“Mum, I know you’re trying to teach me a lesson. But do you truly think this solves anything?”
“I think we’re both tired of hurt. Of disappointment. I’ve been alone so long. Now, at least, someone asks how my day was, tucks a blanket round me…”
“Mum… This isn’t real. It’s like replacing me with a copy.”
“But that’s exactly what you’ve done, love. We’ve both chosen comfort over complication. Only I’m honest about it.”
“So what now?”
“Now we dine. Victor made lasagne. Margaret will enjoy it.”
That evening, on the balcony with the quiet hum of the street below, Edith stood beside Victor. He held her hand. Inside, Elijah put the kettle on while Margaret updated her software.
Sometimes love wears strange shapes. But isn’t warmth in a home what truly matters?
