Life and Death Are Siblings

Kaede learned she was pregnant with twins after a detailed ultrasound scan, but the news was bittersweet. One of the twins, a boy, had died in the womb. Medi, her medical AI, reassured her that her body would reabsorb the remains, but the thought of carrying a lifeless child inside her filled her with unease.

Ren had never wanted children, and this pregnancy was entirely unexpected. Now, Kaede faced the daunting reality of becoming a single mother. She felt abandoned, utterly alone, and the weight of her grief was crushing. She had no escape; no vices to numb her pain. She spent her days confined to bed, forcing herself to eat the meals Chillax, her domestic assistant, prepared, only for the sake of the living child she carried.

The surviving twin was a girl. The lost twin, a boy, would have been Kaede’s first son. She had secretly yearned for a son, a child who might have resembled Ren. Thinking about the possibility of having a boy who shared Ren’s features brought her a fleeting sense of comfort.

When the time came, the birth was as expected and took place at home with Medi’s assistance. Kaede gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Yet, during the delivery, she felt a bone-deep chill that wouldn’t leave her. She had no one by her side, no hand to hold, no one to share the moment with, no father for her child. Ren’s absence weighed heavier than ever, and her longing for him grew unbearable.

The first time she laid eyes on her daughter, Kaede felt a surge of resentment. The baby was a mirror image of her, same skin tone, same hair color, even the same facial features. She was a green-eyed version of Kaede’s own baby pictures. This resemblance only deepened Kaede’s feelings of detachment. After the birth, she began drinking more heavily and avoided any interaction with the child.

Her days blurred into a haze of unconsciousness and neglect. When the nanny robot tried to care for the crying infant, Kaede often lashed out. “Shut that brat up! If you don’t stop her crying, I’ll have you scrapped!” she’d shout, her voice harsh with frustration and despair.

Since Ren’s departure, Kaede had never been the same. For years, she searched for him obsessively. She bought a new AI companion solely to assist in her quest, spending endless hours trawling the internet for any trace of him. But Ren was like a ghost, untraceable without a chip and officially declared dead. What name was he living under now? Or was he even alive? Kaede wasted away, growing thinner and weaker, until some days, she couldn’t muster the strength to get out of bed for even the most basic needs.

Meanwhile, Mirea, her daughter, grew. By the time she turned two, she was walking and talking. One day, she toddled into Kaede’s slightly open bedroom door and, upon seeing her mother, broke into a delighted laugh. For the first time, Kaede found the little girl endearing. Though she still struggled to feel a motherly bond, she recognized Mirea as a lovable and innocent presence.

Gradually, Kaede began spending more time with Mirea. She played with her, showed her affection, and even began to enjoy the child’s laughter. The sight of happiness shining in Mirea’s green eyes stirred something inside Kaede, helping to pull her out of her long depression.

Still, Mirea was too young for meaningful conversation. Feeling the need for adult connection, Kaede decided to meet new people.

Her first date was with Charlie, a sharp-witted, lean man with hazel eyes. He was highly logical and viewed love as little more than a chemical reaction. It was clear he wasn’t suited for someone as emotionally complex as Kaede.

During this period, Kaede felt lighter and more energetic. She treated little Mirea with newfound tenderness, showering her with gifts and reading her bedtime stories.

A second date, however, showed promise. Julian was a tall, handsome man with long blond hair and a gentle demeanor. He was empathetic, emotionally intelligent, and genuinely kind, a stark contrast to Charlie. Julian’s warmth and attentiveness sparked the first flicker of hope Kaede had felt in years. He listened intently, embracing even her most unusual ideas without judgment.

“When I love someone,” Julian had said, “I love them completely. Whatever their past, their scars, or the shadows they carry, I’d dedicate my life to helping them heal.”

There was such sincerity and sorrow in his voice that Kaede believed him. Julian, she thought, might actually understand her. She discovered he had lost his wife, and it was clear he still loved her. This vulnerability endeared him to Kaede, and she invited him into her life.

Julian had no children of his own, and he seemed to bond effortlessly with Mirea. For days, Kaede and Julian talked, sharing their stories and growing closer. For the first time, Kaede found herself thinking about Ren less and less, a change she welcomed. Julian brought stability and kindness, and his presence eased her burden.

Yet there were moments that unsettled Kaede. One day, while baking together, she accidentally spilled boiling milk on Julian’s hand. Flustered and apologetic, she scrambled to help him, but Julian remained calm.

“It’s nothing serious,” he said with a reassuring smile, even as he tended to the burn. “Let’s not add a frostbite burn on top of this by using ice directly.”

Kaede, embarrassed, stammered, “I’m so sorry, Julian. Are you sure you’re okay?”

He smiled again, brushing off her concern. “Of course. It was an accident. And honestly, I was having fun trying to bake with you.”

Kaede was taken aback. “You’re not angry? You’re not going to yell at me?”

“Of course not,” he replied. “In fact, I find it sweet how worried you are.”

Despite his gentle response, something felt off to Kaede. His kindness, she realized, seemed mechanical, polite for politeness’s sake. “If it were Ren…” she thought, then stopped herself.

After that day, Kaede stopped returning Julian’s calls. She told herself, “Sweet Mirea is enough for me. She’ll always stay by my side.”

Kaede devoted most of her days to her daughter. She taught her new things, played with her, and talked to her, filling their home with laughter. A few more years passed this way, as Kaede gradually pieced her life back together.

When Mirea turned six and a half, she was bursting with energy. She couldn’t sit still and got bored quickly, constantly demanding attention. Kaede loved playing with her daughter, but she couldn’t always keep up. At thirty-six, Kaede’s energy couldn’t match Mirea’s. She often recalled how her own father had played tirelessly with her at that age, as had her friend’s father. Perhaps men had more energy and endurance, or maybe fathers just had younger spirits, Kaede wasn’t sure.

Since Mirea often felt bored and had no friends, Kaede decided to move. Their remote rural house didn’t suit such a curious and lively mind. Mirea loved nature, especially flowers, and Kaede thought that if one of Ren’s gardens had been nearby, Mirea would never have left that paradise.

The new house was a two-story detached home, average in size but plenty spacious for the two of them. Kaede chose it because it was surrounded by playgrounds and other homes where Mirea could socialize.

Mirea quickly grew to love the local play areas and parks. She was an incredibly sociable child, getting along effortlessly with everyone she met. If Kaede had to point out a flaw, it would be Mirea’s sensitivity. Even minor issues could send her retreating into her shell, draining her energy and leaving her silent. Even when she cried, it was quietly and all by herself. Kaede tried her best to support her daughter, but she couldn’t change that part of her.

Some days, Mirea went out with Kaede, but more often, she went with her nanny robot, Honey. That wasn’t its real name, but since Mirea loved honey, the nickname stuck.

Despite playing in clean areas, Mirea would often return covered in mud, raising her hand and cheerfully saying, “High five!” This was her standard greeting, and after Kaede tapped her hand, Mirea would giggle sweetly.

Sometimes, Mirea brought her friends over, and other times, she visited their homes. Honey kept Kaede informed about her daughter’s activities. Since Mirea didn’t have a chip and Kaede had hers removed after Dr. Morgan accessed her memories, they had gone back to using old-fashioned computers for communication.

One afternoon, while Kaede was planting daffodils in the garden, she saw Mirea saying goodbye to a friend at the gate. The little girl waved and walked into the house next door.

Kaede smiled and called out, “You know the neighbors too?”
“Her name is Olivia,” Mirea replied. “She’s so sweet, with soft, squishy cheeks!” Mirea’s choice of “squishy” as the first adjective to describe someone amused Kaede, but it was so typical of her daughter.

Mirea’s attention shifted abruptly. “I want cookies!” she announced.

Though she rarely ate cookies, Mirea loved making them with Kaede. The last time they baked together, Mirea had cracked an egg on herself and poured flour in her hair, but it remained one of her favorite activities.

Kaede chuckled. “Let’s make some. What kind?”
Mirea raised her little fists and shouted with enthusiasm, “Chocolate chip!”