After Dying Of Bone Cancer, An AI Pretended To Be Me For Three Years

I had been back with the Smiths for six years when my parents and fianc finally decided I had grown up.

In the family group chat, Mom sent a voice message:

Diana, about the house we bought for your weddingSamantha really loved it, so we're giving it to her.

When you get back, Dad and I will pick out another one for you.

Dad was quick to chime in:

"Samantha is just recovering from her depression. She can't handle any stress right now. Don't fight her on this."

I replied instantly:

"Okay, Mom and Dad. Samantha's health is the most important thing. I can live anywhere."

Then, a notification popped up. A cash gift from Oliver.

"Good girl, Diana. The day after tomorrow is your birthday. I'm picking you up from the airport, and I'm going to throw you the grandest birthday and engagement party ever!"

What they didn't know was...

I had died three years ago.

The obedient, understanding daughter and gentle, considerate fiance replying to their messages...

Was just an AI I had trained before I died.

The day I was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer, I was less than twenty-four hours away from my eighteenth birthday.

The doctor held up my X-rays, his eyes filled with a pity that made my stomach churn.

"A month, at most."

I sat in the sterile exam room, staring down at my lower leg.

For the past six months, the pain had grown sharper, more frequent.

I thought they were just growing pains. I didn't know my bones were dying.

The doctor kept talkingtransferring hospitals, chemotherapy options, forms my family needed to sign.

I tuned it all out.

I carefully folded the diagnosis report, slipped it into the pocket of my school uniform, and walked out of the hospital, step by step.

It was a forty-minute walk from the hospital to the Smith estate. Three bus stops.

I chose to walk.

I needed the time. I wanted to cry out all my tears on the way and figure out exactly what to say.

"Mom. Dad. I'm sick."

Just that one sentence.

I spent fifteen years in the orphanage. I had never called anyone "Mom" or "Dad" before.

And in the three years since I returned to the Smiths, I never learned how to act spoiled or ask for affection.

But this time, I wanted to try.

Maybe they would hug me.

The way they hugged Samantha.

My fingers curled around the crumpled paper in my pocket, and I walked faster, practically jogging the last few blocks.

The moment I pushed open the front door, the rich scent of vanilla buttercream washed over me.

A huge banner hung across the living room:

"CONGRATULATIONS TO SAMANTHA SMITH ON WINNING GOLD AT THE NATIONAL YOUTH TECH AWARDS!"

Samantha was sitting between Mom and Dad, clutching a gleaming trophy, her eyes crinkling into half-moons as she laughed.

I froze in the doorway.

The title of the winning project engraved on that trophy... I knew it. I knew it all too well.

For the past three months, I had barely slept.

From the initial concept to the final debuggingthirty thousand lines of code.

I wrote every single one of them.

When the pain in my leg became unbearable, I would bite down on a towel until it passed.

Just get through it, I had told myself.

It was the same thing I told myself back in the orphanage, when I burned with a 104-degree fever in the dead of winter and no one noticed.

I used to fantasize about the day I won that award. I thought my parents would finally be proud of me.

But now, the name engraved beneath my project was Samantha's.

Dad saw me first. His smile faltered for a second, and he cleared his throat.

"Diana, you're back? Come here, your sister won a huge award. We're celebrating tonight."

I didn't move.

"That's mine."

The living room fell dead silent.

Samantha's eyes instantly welled up with tears. She lowered the trophy, her bottom lip quivering in that perfect, pitiful way she always mastered.

She didn't have to say a word.

Her tears did all the talking.

Mom let out a heavy sigh, walking over to me and lowering her voice.

"Diana, Samantha just found out she's adopted. Her depression is flaring up, and she's been crying every day."

"She feels so insecure in this house, and her grades aren't great. She needs this college recommendation."

"You're different. You're so smart. You'll get into a top school anyway."

I could hear my teeth grinding together.

It wasn't out of anger.

It was the agonizing, gnawing pain in my bones flaring up again, so sharp I had to clench my jaw just to stay standing.

I turned my gaze to Oliver.

He was standing next to Samantha, a glass of juice in his hand.

His brows pulled together in a slight frown.

"Diana, you already have everything."

"You're their biological daughter, you have your parents' love, and you have me."

"Samantha has nothing. Just... have some pity on her."

He paused, then added:

"Grow up."

I stared at his face.

Three years ago, in this exact same living room...

He had knelt down to tie my shoelaces, looking up at me with a warm smile.

"Diana, as long as I'm here, no one will ever bully you."

That was the first time in my life I had ever tasted what it felt like to be protected.

I guess his definition of "no one" didn't include himself.

A metallic taste rose in the back of my throat.

I swallowed it down.

"Okay."

Mom exhaled, visibly relieved. Oliver's frown smoothed out.

Dad wiped away Samantha's tears, cooing at her until she smiled again.

The diagnosis report lay quietly in my pocket.

No one asked where I had been all day. No one noticed I was limping.

I stood by the door for a moment longer, then quietly went upstairs.

I booted up my laptop, created a new folder, and named it:

"AI_Diana_Behavior_Training_Data."

I sat there for a long time before typing the first line.

"She never cries."

"She always says 'okay,' 'it doesn't matter,' 'whatever you decide is fine.'"

"She never fights for anything. She never argues. She never makes them uncomfortable."

"She loves them. She understands them. She thinks they are always right."

Laughter drifted up from the living room. I heard Samantha thanking Mom and Dad.

Her voice was soft, sweet, dripping with the confidence of someone who knows they are loved.

I kept typing.

The pain in my leg surged in waves. Whenever it hit, I would stop, wait for it to pass, and keep going.

One month.

That was enough.

Enough to train the perfect daughter. The perfect fiance.

The Diana they had always wanted.

My birthday was exactly the same day as Samantha's.

But to make up for taking my award, my parents promised to celebrate mine separately.

I wore my first-ever princess dress.

It was pale pink, the skirt shimmering with sequins like crushed stars.

Mom picked it out herself.

She had told me:

"Diana, everything we owe you for the past eighteen years, Mom remembers."

They rented out an entire amusement park just for me.

The entrance archway was suffocated with balloons, and a huge cutout of my face stood at the gate.

Across the top, it read:

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIANA."

I smiled.

I smiled so hard I almost cried.

Oliver stepped up behind me and covered my eyes with his hands.

"No peeking. There's another surprise."

His hands were so warm.

Maybe they do love me, I thought.

They just don't know how to divide it.

When they wheeled the cake out, my knees nearly buckled.

Six tiers. Each tier represented a stage of my life.

The bottom layer said "0-3 Years." The top layer said "18."

Mom said:

"Every birthday you missed in that orphanage, Mom is giving back to you today."

Eighteen candles flickered to life.

The golden light danced across the smiling faces of my parents and Oliver.

I clasped my hands together, closed my eyes, and made a wish.

I wish this moment would never end.

The very next second

A piercing scream echoed from the carousel.

Samantha was sprawled on the ground, blood oozing from a scrape on her knee.

She was trembling, sobbing uncontrollably.

"It hurts..."

The candles were still burning.

But no one was looking at me anymore.

Dad bolted toward her first, bumping into the cake table in his panic.

The towering six-tier cake tipped over, half of it collapsing into a ruined mess of frosting.

Oliver sprinted to Samantha's side, shucking off his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

I reached out and grabbed Mom's sleeve. She was the only one still standing near me.

"Mom."

I heard my own voice trembling.

"Today is my eighteenth birthday."

"It's my last one."

"Could you... could you just stay while I blow out the candles?"

Mom didn't even hear me.

Her eyes were locked on Samantha.

Dad hurried back to grab the car keys. He caught the end of my sentence, and his face darkened.

"Your sister is hurt, and all you care about is a birthday party?"

"Do you have zero empathy?"

He shoved me aside.

I hit the ground hard.

My left leg slammed against the edge of the stone steps. It felt like someone was driving a rusted nail straight into the marrow and prying it open.

God, it hurt.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

They were already carrying Samantha to the car.

The amusement park was massive.

With it completely rented out, I was the only person left.

I dragged myself over to a giant stuffed bear, curling into its plush arms, and pulled out my phone.

I booted up the AI testing program.

A message popped up in the family group chat.

Sent by "me."

"Mom, Dad, Oliver, take Samantha to the doctor! Don't worry about me, I'm having so much fun at the park by myself."

Mom sent a voice memo back:

"You've really grown up, Diana. Once Samantha is all bandaged up, we'll come right back to celebrate with you."

Dad sent a thumbs-up emoji:

"That's my girl."

I stared at the screen, the corner of my mouth twitching in a hollow imitation of a smile.

Muscle memory made me open Instagram.

The newest post on my feed.

From Samantha.

It was a picture of her sitting in the ER, surrounded by people.

Dad, Mom, Oliver.

The caption read:

"It feels so good to be loved."

Oliver was the first to comment:

"Be more careful next time."

A sickening sweetness rose in my throat, and I violently turned my head.

The blood splattered across the pink princess dress.

The cake was ruined, the candles had burned down to stubs, but the speakers were still playing that cheerful music.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday to you.

The sky began to bruise purple and black.

The park lights flickered on, one by one. In the distance, the Ferris wheel turned slow and steady.

It was beautiful.

I had never been on one.

My phone buzzed again.

The AI had sent another message to the group chat:

"I'm on the Ferris wheel! It's so high up! Mom, I'm so happy!"

One teardrop after another fell onto the screen.

Blurring out the heart emoji Mom replied with.

They never came back.

At eleven that night, I took a cab home alone.

The living room lights were on. On the dining table, a note was scribbled in Mom's handwriting:

"Samantha fractured her leg. She's admitted to the hospital, so your dad and I are staying with her. There's food in the fridge, heat it up yourself."

I pulled open the fridge.

It was leftovers from the night before.

The massive feast they had cooked to celebrate Samantha's gold medal, barely touched.

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

In the family chat, Dad was spamming photos of Samantha's hospital room.

A private VIP suite, the windowsill overflowing with extravagant bouquets.

Mom was peeling an apple for her. Oliver stood by the bed, his arms full of unopened gifts.

Samantha's cheeks were flushed pink as she tore into them, one by one.

I locked my screen, leaning heavily against the wall as I dragged myself up the stairs to the second floor.

The blood on the princess dress had dried into stiff, dark flakes.

I folded it neatly and shoved it under my pillow.

Then I lay down, squeezed my eyes shut.

And pretended I had a wonderful birthday.

At 2 AM, the pain ripped me awake.

It felt like a million ants were burrowing into the cracks of my bones, gnawing the marrow into dust, bite by agonizing bite.

I didn't scream.

In the orphanage, crying was useless. Screaming was useless.

No one ever came.

I rolled off the bed.

Using my arms, I dragged my useless legs across the floor toward the desk.

Three yards. It took me four minutes.

I yanked the drawer open.

Empty.

The heavy-duty painkillers I had spent all my savings on were gone.

There had only been ten pills left.

I had been rationing them, only swallowing one when the pain pushed me to the absolute edge of sanity.

Now, there were none.

My phone lit up.

A message from Mom, sent three hours ago.

"Diana, Samantha's fracture hurts so much she's crying nonstop. I saw you had a bottle of painkillers in your drawer, so I gave them to her for now."

"Just go buy yourself another bottle tomorrow."

She ended it with a hug emoji.

The AI had already replied.

"Okay, Mom. Samantha is frail, let her have them. I'm perfectly healthy, don't worry about me."