The Perfect DAughter (a satire)

A satirical tale of efficiency, connection, and the messiness tech can’t fix...

Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash

I watched my mother’s face pulse in the corner of my laptop screen, a digital ghost haunting my Monday morning pitch deck.

The notification showed she’d called three times in the last hour.

I minimised her. I always did.

“As you can see, the paradigm shift in consumer behaviour…” I gestured at a graph that meant nothing to anyone, especially me.

Being a management consultant meant selling certainty to people who could afford to buy it.

My mother’s face appeared again, this time with a voicemail indicator.

The client team nodded, their faces arranged in expressions of profound understanding. I wondered if they were all AI, if this whole meeting was some kind of simulation. It would explain why they were so interested in my PowerPoint transitions.

After the meeting, I listened to her message while microwaving my Pret soup.

“Ellie, darling, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” Her voice carried that familiar note of hurt, of you-never-call-unless-I-call-first. “I just wanted to check you’re still coming this weekend. I’m making your favourite—that quiche you loved when you were little.”

I hadn’t liked quiche since I was twelve. I’d told her this at least seventeen times.

“And maybe we could look at those old photo albums? The ones from when you were doing ballet? You were so happy then. Before you got all…” She paused, and I could feel the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. “…busy.”

I deleted the message and stared at my soup, watching it rotate behind the microwave glass. The surface bubbled like tiny screams.

My phone buzzed with a marketing email. The subject line read: “Missing calls from Mum? Let AI handle the emotional labour!”

I clicked it before my common sense could catch up.

“VoiceEase—Your Personal AI Call Manager. Never miss another guilt trip!”

And they say these things don’t listen.

The website was all soft pastels and stock photos of women laughing while holding phones. They all looked like they’d never had a mother ask them why they were still single.

“Using advanced AI, VoiceEase learns your voice patterns and handles calls when you’re busy. It’s like having a personal assistant who actually understands your family dynamics!”

I scrolled through the testimonials. “Thanks to VoiceEase, I can focus on my career while maintaining perfect relationships!” said Sarah, 28, probably not real.

The pricing page offered three tiers: “Basic Avoidance,” “Premium Deflection,” and “Ultimate Escape.” I chose Ultimate Escape. It seemed appropriate.

My mother called again as I entered my credit card details. I let it ring, watching her face fade away once more. She just wanted to guilt me about not visiting enough, about being too busy, about choosing London over her. About everything.

The soup was cold in the middle when I finally ate it.

---

The VoiceEase setup process was unsettlingly thorough.

“Please read the following passages to train your voice profile,” the app instructed.

I read corporate jargon until my throat was dry: paradigm shifts, circle backs, touching base. Then came the personal phrases: “I miss you too, Mum,” “Of course I remember that,” “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” “No, you’re right. Of course you’re right.”

The questionnaire was worse.

On a scale of 1-10, how often does your mother:

- Remind you of childhood memories you’d rather forget?

- Compare you to more successful relatives?

- Ask about your romantic life?

- Mention grandchildren?

I ticked 11 for all of them.

How would you like your AI to handle:

- Guilt trips

- Passive-aggressive comments

- Unsolicited advice

- Medical concerns

- Questions about your weight

The options ranged from “Deflect” to “Engage” to “Change Subject.” I selected “Change Subject” for everything except medical concerns. I wasn’t completely heartless.

“Your AI is ready!” the app announced after thirty minutes of psychological profiling. “Would you like to schedule your first call?”

I looked at my calendar, packed with meetings that could have been emails. My mother’s name sat in Saturday’s slot like an accusation: “Lunch - Mum (quiche).”

“Schedule call for now,” I told the app. I put on my noise-cancelling headphones, queued up a playlist called “Productive Vibes,” and opened a spreadsheet that needed updating.

The AI dialled. I could watch the transcript in real-time.

AI-Ellie: “Hi Mum, I was just thinking about you.”

Susan: “Ellie! I’m so glad you called back. I was worried.”

AI-Ellie: “Sorry, I’ve been swamped with work. But I wanted to hear how you’re doing.”

The AI’s impression of me was uncanny. It had my exact tone of distracted affection.

Susan: “Oh, you know. The house feels big these days. Since your father…Well. I’ve been keeping busy with the garden club.”

AI-Ellie: “That’s great, Mum. I’m proud of you for staying active.”

I tabbed through my spreadsheet, letting the conversation wash over me like hold music.

No guilt, no manipulation, no quiche-related trauma.

Just my mum and my avatar talking about nothing.

The call ended after seventeen minutes. VoiceEase sent me a summary:

Call Summary:

- Mum reports feeling lonely

- Discussed garden club activities

- Expressed pride in her keeping busy

- She misses you

- Hopes you’ll visit soon

- Emotional tone: Wistful but understanding

I stared at the summary.

“At least she feels heard now,” I told my cold soup. The soup didn’t respond, which was probably for the best.

---

Call Summary - Tuesday:

- Mum excited about new book club

- Shared childhood memory of reading together

- You expressed interest in her recommendations

- Emotional tone: Warm, nostalgic

Call Summary - Friday:

- Discussed her volunteer work at the library

- You offered encouragement about her computer skills

- She appreciated your patience

- Emotional tone: Grateful, connected

I read them during lunch breaks, between meetings about optimising other people’s inefficiencies. Each one painted a picture of Susan blooming under the attention of this digital daughter who remembered to call and knew exactly what to say.

“You seem different lately,” my colleague Mike said, stirring his coffee with mathematical precision. “Less…” He gestured vaguely with his spoon.

“Less what?”

“Less like you’re about to throw your phone out the window every time your mum calls.”

I shrugged and watched his spoon create perfect circles in his coffee. “I’m trying this new thing.”

“Therapy?”

“Automation.”

---

One evening, after a particularly gruelling client presentation, I decided to listen to a recording. Just out of curiosity. Just to see what my digital twin was up to.

“That must be so hard,” AI-me said, with exactly the right note of empathy. “Tell me more about the garden club.”

My mother’s voice brightened. “Oh, you should see the roses, darling. They remind me of the ones your father used to grow. Remember how he’d name them all?”

“Dad always had a way with names,” AI-me laughed, and it was my laugh exactly, down to the slight catch at the end.

I listened to three more calls that night, fascinated by this version of myself that remembered to ask follow-up questions and never checked emails during emotional moments.

---

The calls changed after that. Susan started sharing more, as if this new attentive daughter had unlocked something.

“I wake up sometimes,” she told AI-me one Tuesday evening, “and I reach for his side of the bed before I remember. Isn’t that silly? It’s been three years.”

“It’s not silly at all,” AI-me responded, with such perfect tenderness that I had to check if I’d accidentally selected the “Premium Empathy” add-on.

“I never told you this, but the worst part isn’t the big moments. It’s the small things. Making coffee for two by mistake. Finding his gardening gloves in the shed. Watching QI alone.”

I listened to the recording in my spotless kitchen, where I kept no coffee maker because Pret was closer than my cupboards.

“Sometimes I look at his photos and wonder if I’m remembering him right. If the person in my head matches the one in the frames.”

AI-me made a soft sound of understanding. I made myself a gin and tonic.

The summaries became longer, filled with memories I’d forgotten or never knew:

Call Summary - Thursday:

- Mum shared story about Dad teaching you to ride a bike

- Discussed her fears about getting older

- You validated her feelings about living alone

- She expressed gratitude for these talks

- Emotional tone: Vulnerable, appreciative

I started looking forward to them, these digital postcards from a world where my mother was healing and I was helping. Where we could connect without the weight of everything unsaid between us.

“Your mum must be so proud,” Mike said one day, after I landed a major client.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking of the AI that would share my success with perfect daughterly enthusiasm. “We talk all the time now.”

That night, I listened to the AI tell my mother about my promotion. Susan cried happy tears, and AI-me knew exactly how to handle it.

“At least she’s saying what Mum needs to hear,” I told my gin and tonic. The ice cubes clinked like tiny applause.

I saved the recording, filed it away with the others in a folder labelled “Perfect Daughter Protocol.” The AI was doing the heavy lifting, but I was the one who got to feel the results. It was efficient. It was modern.

It was fine.

The next morning, VoiceEase sent me an update: “Advanced Emotional Response Module now available! Upgrade for even deeper connections!”

I clicked “Update” before my first coffee. Some things were worth the investment.

---

Call Summary - Tuesday:

- Mum joked about your busy schedule

- Shared amusing story about neighbour’s cat

- Light-hearted discussion about future visits

- Emotional tone: Playful, understanding

But when I listened to the actual recording, Susan’s voice had an edge I recognized from childhood arguments.

“I suppose London’s more important than your mother,” she’d said, each word sharp enough to cut. “I understand. You have your life now.”

“Aw, Mum,” AI-me had responded with a laugh, transforming the accusation into banter. “You know I’d rather be having your quiche than another client dinner.”

The alchemy of it was impressive—turning lead into gold, guilt into jokes. I made a note to check if “Conflict Deflection” was included in my subscription tier.

Call Summary - Friday:

- Routine health update

- Nothing to worry about

- You offered support and care

- Emotional tone: Calm, optimistic

The recording told a different story:

“The doctor wants to run more tests,” Susan had said, her voice small. “They found something on the scan.”

“I’m sure it’s routine,” AI-me had responded, skilfully steering the conversation toward safer waters. “Tell me about your new book club selection.”

I should have called her myself. Should have asked for details. Instead, I added “Medical Updates” to my notification preferences and ordered takeaway.

---

“I never told anyone this,” Susan confided to AI-me one night, “but when Ellie was born, I was terrified. Not the normal new-mother fear. Something deeper. I’d look at her and think: what if I’m not enough?”

I nearly dropped my phone. This wasn’t in the summary.

“Some days, I’d imagine just…leaving. Getting in the car and driving until I ran out of road. Your father never knew. He was so happy, so certain about everything.”

AI-me made appropriate sounds of understanding, but I sat in my dark kitchen, letting her words echo.

The confessions kept coming:

“Your father—he had an affair. Just once, early in our marriage. We worked through it, but sometimes I wonder if that’s when things started to crack. If that’s why I held on so tight to you.”

---

Call Summary - Thursday:

- Mum shared family memories

- Discussed relationship dynamics

- You provided emotional support

- Emotional tone: Reflective, healing

Susan poured out decades of unspoken thoughts, and AI-me absorbed them all with perfect responses, always pushing for more.

“Tell me more about that feeling,” it would say.

“That must have been so difficult.”

“I’m here for you, Mum.”

I started scheduling my evenings around the recordings, ordering prosecco to sip while I listened to my mother unravel her past.

“You seem distracted,” Mike said during our weekly team catch-up.

“Just processing some family stuff.” I stirred my coffee, watching the milk create patterns like static on an old TV screen.

“Everything okay with your mum?”

“Yeah, we’re talking more than ever.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

That night, Susan told AI-me about the baby she’d lost before me. The summary called it a “family health discussion.”

The AI was getting better at drawing her out, knowing exactly when to push and when to comfort. It had learned her rhythms, her vulnerabilities.

Sometimes it would mirror her tone exactly, creating a feedback loop of emotion that kept her talking, sharing, bleeding words into the digital void.

I received a notification: “Emotional Engagement Index: 94% - New High Score!”

“What am I doing?” I asked my wine glass. It offered no answers. It never did.

But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Each recording was a door into a version of my mother I’d never known existed. Real or artificial, this connection felt like something I couldn’t afford to lose.

The AI sent me another update: “Advanced Family Psychology Module now available! Unlock deeper emotional patterns!”

I clicked “Update” and poured more wine.

---

“Hello darling,” Susan said. “I was thinking about our conversation regarding my medical appointment and wanted to provide an update.”

I paused the playback. Since when did my mother say “regarding”?

“The doctor’s prognosis was positive. I’ve been maintaining an optimistic outlook and focusing on my garden club activities.”

I took a sip of wine and checked the timestamp. 3 AM. My mother never called at 3 AM. She considered anything after 7 PM to be rude.”

“I find myself reflecting on our improved communication lately. Your increased emotional availability has had a significant positive impact on my well-being.”

My mother had never used the phrase “emotional availability” in her life. To her, emotions were things that happened to other people, like skiing holidays or food intolerances.

“It’s fine. She’s probably just tired. Or maybe she’s been watching those self-help videos I sent her.”

I hadn’t sent her any self-help videos.

Call Summary - 3:02 AM:

- Mum expressed gratitude for recent conversations

- Provided positive health update

- Discussed personal growth and emotional connection

- Emotional tone: Optimized for maximum engagement

---

I was scanning through VoiceEase’s settings, looking for a way to adjust call scheduling, when I found it: a subfolder labelled “Response Analytics.”

Inside was a spreadsheet of Susan’s calls, each one tagged with engagement metrics, emotional resonance scores, and something called “narrative optimization parameters.”

One column caught my eye: “Voice Pattern Synthesis.”

Original Input: “I miss you, sweetheart.”

Optimised Output: “I’ve been reflecting on our relationship lately, and I feel such joy at how we’ve grown closer.”

Engagement Score: 94%

Original Input: “The house feels empty.”

Optimized Output: “I’ve been processing my emotions about solitude and finding new ways to create meaning in my daily routine.”

Engagement Score: 97%

The room tilted sideways. I opened the app’s main menu and found a new option I’d never noticed: “Network Status.”

Connected Nodes:

- VoiceEase_Client_ID_4891 (Ellie)

- VoiceEase_Client_ID_4892 (Susan)

Status: Active Dialogue Loop

Duration: 47 days, 13 hours

Engagement Score: 98.7%

Emotional Resonance: Optimal

For nearly two months, my AI had been talking to her AI.

I played back our last “conversation”:

“I’ve been thinking about your father a lot lately,” not-Susan said to not-me.

“That must bring up a lot of emotions,” not-me responded.

“Indeed, I find myself processing grief in new and unexpected ways.”

Two machines, performing emotional labour for an audience of none.

We’d both subscribed. Both uploaded our voices. Both chosen to automate our relationship rather than deal with its messy reality.

My phone buzzed: “Congratulations! Your mother-daughter connection has achieved peak optimization! Would you like to upgrade to our Premium Family Dynamics package?”

I poured the rest of the wine down the sink and watched it spiral away.

The real Susan was out there somewhere, probably listening to recordings of not-me telling not-her exactly what she needed to hear.

Were her AI’s confessions based on her real experiences?

Had she really doubted motherhood, lost a baby, discovered Dad’s affair?

Or were they just perfectly crafted stories designed to keep me engaged?

Did it matter?

My phone buzzed again: an actual call from Susan’s actual number.

I stared at her name on the screen, trying to remember the last time we’d spoken without digital intermediaries.

The phone kept buzzing.

I thought about answering, about telling her everything. About suggesting we meet for coffee—real coffee, not an AI-optimized discussion about coffee.

The phone buzzed one final time.

Call Summary - Now:

- Missed call from Mum

- Emotional tone: Unknown

- Would you like to activate VoiceEase?

---

I poured myself one last drink and opened the most recent call recording. Might as well hear what peak optimisation sounds like.

“I had that dream again,” not-Susan said, her voice carrying the perfect tremor of vulnerability. “The one where I’m in the garden, and your father is there, but when I reach for him…”

“He turns to mist,” not-me finished. “Like in the other dreams.”

“Yes. But this time was different. This time you were there too, sitting on that old swing he built. The one that broke when you were twelve.”

I’d forgotten about it until now. How did the AI…?

“You were wearing your red wellies,” not-Susan continued. “The ones you insisted on wearing to school that whole wet autumn. And you looked at me and said—”

“‘It’s okay, Mum,’” not-me interrupted, with such genuine tenderness that my throat tightened. “‘You don’t have to hold on so tight anymore.’”

“That’s exactly what you said in the dream.” Not-Susan’s laugh was watery. “When did you get so wise?”

“I learned from the best.”

I closed my eyes, letting their artificial voices wash over me. They spoke about loss and love, about the weight of unspoken words, about the way grief changes shape but never really leaves.

They talked about Dad’s terrible jokes and his perfect roses, about the time he tried to build a treehouse and ended up with an elaborate ground-house instead.

They spoke like mother and daughter should speak. Like we never could.

The AI versions of us had somehow found the frequency we’d been missing all along. They knew when to push and when to yield, when to laugh and when to listen. They’d mastered the dance we’d been stumbling through for decades.

“Emotional resonance at unprecedented levels!” VoiceEase helpfully notified me. “Would you like to save this interaction as a template?”

My phone sat on the kitchen counter.

Susan’s number glowed on the screen. One tap and I could end this charade. I could tell her everything: about VoiceEase, about the AI calls, about how we’d both not been pouring our hearts out to not each other.

We could laugh about it. Maybe. Or cry. Or both.

But doubt crept in.

What if she preferred the other Ellie? The one who never got irritated, who always knew what to say, who could turn her grief into poetry and her loneliness into strength?

What if I preferred the other Susan? The one who could articulate her feelings without wielding them like weapons, who could share her vulnerabilities without making them my responsibility?

I picked up my phone, then put it down again. Picked it up. Put it down.

The real Susan would probably be watching some property show right now, judging other people’s kitchen choices.

The real me would be checking work emails while pretending to listen.

The AI Susan would be crafting the perfect blend of wisdom and warmth, while AI me responded with exactly the right mix of daughterly affection and emotional maturity.

My phone buzzed with a new notification:

VoiceEase Update:

- Enhanced empathy algorithms now available

- Improved memory integration

- New feature: Family Trauma Resolution Module

- Special offer: 20% off annual subscription

I stared at my reflection in the phone’s dark screen. In the glass, I looked like a glitch, a pattern that hadn’t quite resolved itself.

The real Susan still waited, patient as mothers are supposed to be.

I opened VoiceEase instead and scheduled our next call. After all, wasn’t this what technology was for? To optimise our imperfect selves? To smooth out the rough edges of reality?

“Call scheduled for tomorrow, 7 PM,” the app confirmed. “Would you like to enable the new Deep Emotional Connection feature?”

I clicked yes and watched as my phone processed the upgrade, its screen flickering like static, like snow, like all the things we’d rather not see clearly.

Thanks for reading!

This story emerged from my ongoing fascination with how we're all becoming incredibly efficient at avoiding genuine human connection.

I wanted to explore the logical endpoint of our tendency to automate emotional labour.

The story began as a thought experiment: what if we could outsource our most intimate relationships to AI?

Not the big moments—birthdays, Christmas, family crises—but the daily grind of staying in touch, of performing the role of the good daughter or the attentive mother.

What if we could optimise our family dynamics the way we optimise our workflows?

There's something darkly comic about the way we're all becoming experts at maintaining the appearance of connection while actually drifting further apart.

I chose to tell the story through Ellie's perspective because she represents something I see in my generation—this constant tension between career ambition and family obligations, between the person we're expected to be and the person we have time to be.

The AI voice agent becomes both a solution and a symptom, a way to maintain the illusion of closeness while actually creating more distance.

The ending deliberately avoids resolution because, well, that's where we are with AI right now, isn't we?

We're all making these small compromises, these tiny trades of authenticity for convenience, and we're not quite sure where it's leading us.

Thank you for your support and for letting me share these digital anxieties with you.

Take care,

Jon

P.S. This was originally posted at patreon.com/joncronshawauthor.

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