Replaced by AI Chapter 08
The next morning, Mom’s eyes were swollen beyond recognition. She walked over to me and suddenly dropped to her knees.
Dad and Bailey immediately tried to pull her up, but she shook them off.
Then she looked up at me, tears streaming down her face as she emphasized, “Lola Matthews, I’m your mother. And I was wrong. I never should’ve ignored my own daughter for some cold machine.
“I never should’ve wanted an obedient doll so badly that I forgot you were a child, too. A child who cried, got angry, and needed love. I never should’ve sent you into that hell and let you suffer there for three years.
“I don’t want obedience or perfection anymore. I don’t want commands, or Unit 1314, or any of it. I just want my daughter back.”
Every word struck the frozen shell around my heart like a hammer. In three long years, this was the first time anyone had addressed me without issuing a command, requiring submission, or forcing me to mold into someone else. She was simply inviting me to exist as myself.
A torrent of memories suddenly tore through my consciousness.
The tender moments from my childhood collided brutally with the bleak shadows of the academy: the warmth of Mom’s embrace, riding high on Dad’s shoulders, and the secret snacks Bailey used to bring me.
Then, the sharp sting of a hand against my cheek, the endless darkness of the Silence Chamber, and the blisters rotting across my arms.
Bailey screaming, “Go die.”
Every ounce of grief and pain I had suppressed for three years burst free all at once. The walls of absolute obedience finally shattered.
A violent tremor took hold of my shoulders. Without any warning, tears began to stream down my cheeks.
Mom immediately pulled me into a desperate embrace, her own sobs joining mine. She spoke in a continuous, soft murmur, “I’m sorry. I’m here.”
Dad turned away silently, shoulders shaking as he fought back tears.
Bailey leaned against the wall, wiping furiously at his eyes, but the tears still wouldn’t stop falling.
I cried for a very long time until my throat became too raw to make a sound, and exhaustion finally dragged me to sleep in Mom’s arms.
From that day forward, it felt like I slowly came back to life. I still waited instinctively for commands sometimes, but none of them ever spoke to me that way again.
Mom would gently ask, “Lola, do you want to go for a walk at the park today?”
Dad would ask, “Want to build those LEGO sets you used to love with me?”
Bailey would place new comic books in front of me and say, “Think you might like this one?”
At first, I could only stare at them blankly, unsure how to respond, but they never rushed or pressured me. Day after day, they just waited patiently.
Eventually, I started nodding or shaking my head. Later, I started saying things like “okay” or “no”.
It took them an entire year to slowly piece the broken version of me back together.
On my birthday, the house was covered in balloons. A three-tier cake sat at the center of the table with the words: “Happy Birthday to Our Lola. Stay Happy Forever.”
The candles flickered warmly while all three of them looked at me with gentle smiles.
Then, together, they said, “Happy birthday, Lola.”
I stared at the dancing candlelight and the love in their eyes. My vision blurred instantly, but this time, they were happy tears.
I closed my eyes and made a wish. I hoped that from now on, I could simply be Lola Matthews, not Unit 1314 or someone’s obedient daughter. Just myself.
Later, I got accepted into college and majored in psychology. The day my acceptance letter arrived, Dad read it over and over again like he couldn’t believe it was real. Bailey looked just as proud.
After graduation, I joined a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping children rescued from institutions like the academy.
Some of them no longer spoke, cried, or knew how to feel angry. When they arrived, there was no light left in their
eyes.
I would sit in silence across from them, offering no commands and giving no instructions. I simply waited. I remained patient, waiting for them to reclaim their voices. I hoped they would find the path back to their former selves and reclaim the identities they had lost.
One day, a fifteen-year-old girl was brought to me. She had endured two years in an institution that mirrored the academy. Upon arrival, she sat with a rigid, perfectly straight posture, her hands placed neatly upon her knees.
Her mother cried beside her, calling her name over and over again, but the girl never reacted.
I walked over and crouched in front of her.
“Hi,” I said softly. “My name is Lola Matthews. I’m not here to give you commands. I just want you to know something. You’re not a machine. You’re a person.”
She blinked once, the movement slow and deliberate, as if the very act of blinking was a forgotten skill.
“You’re safe now. No one can hurt you anymore.”
Tears suddenly slid down her cheeks-first a single drop, then another, until all at once, the floodgates opened like a dam collapsing under the weight of a river.
Her body started shaking violently from her shoulders all the way to her fingertips. Cautiously, she reached out and grabbed the edge of my sleeve.
“Please help me.” Her voice was tiny, so faint it felt like it was rising from somewhere unimaginably deep and dark.
I held her hand gently. “I will.”
Golden ribbons of sunlight streamed through the window, stretching across the floor. The scene was an exact mirror of that morning from so long ago.
In those days, I was certain that recovery was impossible for me, yet here I stood.
I was finally in a position to offer others the very kindness I had once so deeply craved for myself.
