Three Years Later, They Finally Regretted It

My parents adopted an AI daughter.

The day she came home, I suddenly became the most hated person in the family.

Dad said I was a thorn in his side.

Mom thought I couldn't hold a candle to Sophia, the AI.

My brother Jack yelled at me, "All you do is make trouble!"

I was so furious that I shoved Sophia to the floor.

Mom's face went dark.

She struck me hard across the face.

"Sophia is your sister! If you were even half as good as her, I wouldn't be this angry!"

"You're going to the Academy of Exemplary Obedience to learn how to be a proper, obedient daughter."

I was sent away to "swap places" with an AI daughter.

Three years later, my parents and brother came to pick me up.

They called my name, but I didn't move.

The headmaster smiled and said, "Mrs. Walker, you have to say 'Activate' before Unit EVA will respond."

"Activate, Unit EVA."

Mom's voice was hesitant. She wasn't sure what she was saying, just repeating the headmaster's words.

My eyes lit up — like a screen flickering back to life after years on standby.

I stood up from the chair, hands at my sides, back straight.

"Activated. Please give instructions."

Mom froze. Behind her, the headmaster explained, "Mrs. Walker, our academy has designed a special system to better teach our students. Each student must be awakened by an activation command. With this command, she will never disobey any of your instructions."

Mom finally understood.

My brother Jack pushed forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. He was five years older and had always loved teasing me until I cried.

"Unit EVA, bark like a dog."

I immediately tucked my chin, stuck out my tongue, and let out a loud bark.

Jack burst out laughing. "Emily finally learned her lesson! Before, she'd waste half an hour before practicing piano. Now she barks like a champ."

Mom and Dad nodded, clearly satisfied with my performance.

On the way home, Mom casually asked, "Emily, how were these three years at the academy?"

I didn't answer. She hadn't given the "answer" command.

"Emily?" Her voice rose.

I finally spoke, my voice as flat as a machine reading text, "Interrogative sentences are not valid instructions. If you require a response, please use imperative phrasing."

The air in the car froze.

Mom's voice caught in her throat. After a long moment, she said, "Answer."

"Academy life was fulfilling and meaningful. I completed three core courses: Emotional Control, Absolute Obedience, and Rational Thinking. My final evaluation was 'Excellent.' My instructor's comment was, 'The most successful rehabilitation case of the year.'"

I recited the passage word for word, with no inflection at all.

The back seat was silent for a long time.

Jack muttered, "She's just like Sophia now."

I stared straight ahead, expressionless.

The city rolled past the window — skyscrapers, overpasses, billboards. None of it looked like I remembered.

By the time the car pulled into the driveway, it was almost dark.

Sophia stood at the door, hands folded in front of her, a perfect smile on her face, exactly six teeth showing.

Just like three years ago.

"Welcome home, big sister," she said in her sweet voice.

I didn't answer. She hadn't given the "answer" command.

Mom frowned. "You still don't like Sophia? Looks like you haven't really changed. Say something!"

Receiving the command, I immediately smiled.

"Thank you."

Sophia's smile didn't change. Mom nodded, satisfied.