The day I fitted the Obedience Earpiece into my daughter's ear, I vowed she would live the most perfect life. She got into the university I chose and married the man I selected, all according to my plan. The day her own child was a month old, I removed her earpiece, my heart swelling with pride. “Now,” I said, “it’s your child’s turn.” She took it from my hand, her face a blank mask, but then her arm shot out and she pushed it into my own ear. Before I could even process what was happening, she spoke, each word a cold, hard stone. “Kill me.” And in the next instant, I snatched the fruit knife from the table and, without a second’s hesitation, plunged it straight into her heart. 1 It was the last day of summer break when I went to my daughter Amelia’s school for the middle school orientation. As soon as I walked into the classroom, I could hear the other parents buzzing about something called an "Obedience Earpiece." "That thing is a miracle worker," one woman gushed. "Our little terror of a dog used to chew up the whole house. Now? He hasn't destroyed a thing. Last night he even fetched the remote for me." "I heard the next version is for people," another parent whispered. "Designed specifically for those wild kids you can't control." "Well, even if my little Jackson burned the house down, I'd never use one on him," a third declared righteously. "All I want is for him to be happy and healthy. Who cares if he listens to every little thing I say?" I offered a polite smile and turned to look at Amelia, sitting silently beside me. The top button of her school uniform was fastened tight against her throat, and her hair was parted neatly down the middle and pulled into the low ponytail I required. For twelve years, she had been the perfect, obedient daughter. She’d never caused me a moment of worry. She would never need something like an earpiece. Just as I was thinking this, Amelia gave a soft tug on my sleeve. "Mom," she began timidly, "Lily's mom got her a Glimmerling for doing well on her exams. I did well too, so I was wondering if maybe..." "A what?" I snapped. She flinched, then pointed a trembling finger toward a grotesque, grinning doll perched on a desk in the front row. "That. It's a limited edition, but... but I'd be happy with just a regular one." I pulled out my phone and searched for the price. The cheapest one was thirty-five dollars. I shoved the screen in her face. "Do you see this?" She bit her lip, her fingers twisting the fabric of her uniform. I thought that was the end of it, but as the meeting concluded, this daughter of mine, who had never once defied me, actually clutched my arm. "Mom... please? Just this once?" A sudden, hot fury surged through me. I slammed my hands on the desk, sending it crashing over with a deafening clatter. I pointed a shaking finger at her and roared, "House Rule Number Seven! Recite it!" Like a soldier snapping to attention, she stood ramrod straight, her voice thick with tears. "House Rule Number Seven: No toy shall cost more than twenty dollars." I grabbed her ear, twisting it hard, and hissed, "You know the rule perfectly well, so why are you pushing your luck?" The classroom fell silent. The parent from the front row approached, holding the ugly doll. "It's what all the kids are into these days," she said, trying to be helpful. "If she doesn't have one, she might get left out." "Since when is keeping up with the Joneses a good reason?" I scoffed. "She asks for a toy today. What's next? Drugs? Should I give her those too?" I knelt to pick up the scattered books. As I did, a folded piece of pink construction paper fluttered out from between the pages. Scrawled on it were two words: I like you. A wave of teasing laughter rippled through the parents nearby. "Well, well! Looks like your daughter's quite the popular one at school!" A roar filled my head. My hand flew up and I slapped her across the face. Amelia stumbled and fell, the cuff of her pants riding up to reveal a pair of bright pink socks. "What is House Rule Number One?!" I shrieked. "No... no dating," she sobbed, her face a mess of tears and snot as another parent helped her up. "Mom, I swear I didn't..." She looked at me with those big, pleading eyes. "I... I don't know who wrote it. You have to believe me." "Oh, I'm sure the note just grew legs and walked into your book all by itself! It's not like you were encouraging anyone!" I grabbed her by the collar and started dragging her out of the classroom. "At your age, already acting like a little tramp. Just wait until we get home. I'll beat this nonsense out of you!" 2 In the car, her crying was incessant. One sharp glare from me was all it took to reduce the loud sobs to choked, silent gasps. Back home, I threw her into her room and slammed the door. "I'm going to ask you one last time," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Who was it?" Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head frantically. "No one, Mom, I promise, there's no one..." "Such a violent reaction! You're lying! So, you've learned to lie to me now, have you?" I stood up, snatched the scissors from my desk, and marched toward her. Before she could react, I grabbed her ponytail and hacked it off. Ignoring her struggles, I then bent down and ripped the pink socks right off her feet. That's when she broke. A raw, guttural wail escaped her lips as she collapsed into a heap of apologies. "I'm sorry, Mom, I'm so sorry, I was wrong..." But it was too late. I didn't believe a word she said. I tore open her closet and began pulling out every dress, every skirt, every last pink item she owned. I cut and ripped until a mountain of shredded fabric lay at my feet, and only then did the tight knot of rage in my chest finally loosen, just a little. "Clean this up before dinner," I commanded, my voice cold and absolute. I towered over her, watching the light slowly die in her eyes. "From now on, your hair stays short. No more dresses. And no more pink." A flicker of satisfaction ignited within me. I turned and went to the kitchen to start dinner. When the meal was ready, I opened her door to find her curled up in a tight ball under her covers. Clang. The ladle hit the floor. "Amelia Sullivan! You have three seconds to get out here and eat!" "Three!" My voice grew shriller with each count. "Two!" "One!" Silence. She didn't move. I stormed over, ripped the covers off, and dragged her to the dining table. She just sat there, catatonic, as tears plopped one by one into her bowl. That simmering rage boiled over again. With a scream, I swept my arm across the table, sending plates and food crashing to the floor. "If you don't want to eat, then you can go copy the House Rules one hundred times!" She flinched violently, the tears flowing faster now, but she didn't make a sound. She simply turned and walked back to her room. Staring at the wreckage, a new wave of frustration washed over me. In twelve years, this was the first time she had ever defied me. But it didn't matter. I had ways of dealing with this. I never imagined that the next day, she would start a hunger strike. 3 Her breakfast went cold, untouched. At lunch, she locked her door. By dinnertime, I had reached my limit. I grabbed a metal coat hanger and smashed the lock on her door, breaking it open. I found her just as she was, still curled up on the bed. I yanked her up by her hair. "Amelia! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I shook her, then slammed her head against the wall. Once, twice, three times. Her forehead was fine, but a trickle of crimson seeped from the corner of her mouth. She'd bitten through her own lip. My fury instantly evaporated, replaced by a surge of panic. I pried her mouth open to check the damage. It was just a cut, thank God. Tears streamed down my face as I pulled her into a hug, a belated wave of remorse washing over me. "Oh, my sweet Amelia, Mommy's so sorry. I scared you, didn't I?" I murmured, stroking her mangled hair. "Everything I do, I do for you. Do you have any idea how terrified I am that you'll go down the wrong path?" "You're my flesh and blood," I whispered, rocking her gently. "I would never, ever hurt you." I rambled on for what felt like an eternity, and eventually, she must have been moved by my words, because she gave my back a few soft pats. "I know, Mom," she said, her voice hoarse. "But I'm really not dating anyone. Please... don't be angry anymore, okay?" I pulled back, cupping her small face in my hands. "Okay, sweetie," I said, my voice soft and gentle. "Mommy believes you." And just like that, the rest of the summer passed in peace. But while I believed she wasn't dating anyone now, the risk was always there as long as boys existed. To eliminate that risk at its source, I enrolled her in an all-girls boarding school. A month later, I drove to the school, bringing a thermos of her favorite beef stew to surprise her. I found her on the basketball court with a group of other girls. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, her exposed skin tanned a healthy golden-brown. I saw red. I sprinted across the field and hurled the thermos at her. It struck her on the head, and the hot stew splashed across her face. "Amelia Sullivan! Have you no shame?!" I shrieked, my voice echoing across the grounds. "A young lady playing basketball? Do you want to be a man?!" I spotted a high-pressure hose coiled on the lawn. Without thinking, I grabbed it, turned the nozzle on full blast, and aimed it directly at her. Her teammates tried to intervene, but one look from me sent them scattering. The force of the water blasted Amelia to her knees. She begged me to stop, but I felt no pity. I kept spraying until she was too weak to even plead anymore. Only then did I turn off the valve. "Go back to your dorm. Get cleaned up," I commanded. Then I marched straight to the administration office and demanded she be transferred to a different class and a new dorm room. By the time I was finished, it was dark. Driving home, I couldn't shake a lingering sense of unease. That's when an ad popped up on my phone. [Obedience Earpiece 1.0 - Pet Use Only. Limited Time Offer.] I dialed the number immediately. The customer service representative began listing the disclaimers. "The current version has a nearly 100% command-override rate and is intended for domesticated pets only. Do not, under any circumstances, use on—" "Just ship it," I interrupted, the image of Amelia on the basketball court flashing in my mind. "I need it now!" I hung up before he could say another word. That weekend, when Amelia came home from school, I greeted her with a warm smile and presented her with the earpiece. She touched it curiously, asking what it was. Once it was securely in her ear, I opened the app on my phone and typed in my first command: Drink the glass of bitter green juice on the table. Her eyes widened in horror, her fingers digging into the tabletop. For three long seconds, she fought it. Then, her expression went placid. She picked up the glass of bitter green juice—a drink she had always despised—and downed it without a single grimace. I stroked her head and smiled. This was my good girl. 4 The moment the glass was empty, she seemed to snap out of the trance, her hand trembling as it rose toward her ear. "Mom, what is this...?" "Don't move!" I barked. She froze instantly, her arm suspended in mid-air as if someone had hit a pause button. I stepped closer, tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at me. "From now on," I said, enunciating each word, "you will not remove this earpiece without my permission. Not for sleeping, not for showering. Not for anything. Understood?" A flicker of rebellion sparked in her eyes, but it was extinguished as quickly as it appeared. A stiff, unnatural smile stretched across her lips. "Yes, Mom." That evening, my husband, Mark, returned from a business trip. I couldn't wait to show him my success. I dragged Amelia in front of him. "Watch this. Show your father a trick." Kneel down. Crawl in a circle three times. The dull thud of her knees hitting the tile floor sent a shiver of excitement through me. Suddenly, Mark exploded. He lunged forward and slapped the phone out of my hand. "What the hell are you doing? Is that a goddamn dog collar on our daughter?!" My good mood vanished. All this time, all the effort I'd poured into raising Amelia right, and he never once acknowledged it. All he ever did was criticize me. A thousand angry retorts died on my tongue, replaced by a single, cold sentence. "I'm doing what's best for her. If you have a problem with it, we can get a divorce." It was an empty threat, a bluff meant to make him back down and apologize. But instead, he smashed the glass he was holding against the wall. "Fine! Divorce it is!" he roared. "I've had enough of you and your twisted games!" Before I could even react, he had stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Hearing the commotion, Amelia asked, "Where did Dad go?" I grabbed a broom and started beating her across the back with the handle. "This is all your fault! If you weren't so disobedient, I never would have had to do this! Your father wouldn't have left me! It's all your fault!" She didn't cry out or try to dodge the blows. She just stood there, letting me vent my fury. When I was finally exhausted, she began to slap her own face, her voice a monotone chant. "It's my fault... It's all my fault... It's my fault..." Seeing her so compliant, so understanding, soothed the raw edges of my anger. After the divorce, I got a job as an insurance agent. Every Sunday, before she left for school, Amelia would stand in the entryway and recite the House Rules. "Rule Number Nine: No fraternizing with members of the opposite sex." ... "Rule Number Twenty-One: Report daily itinerary in full." ... And before she walked out the door, I would always ask the same questions. "Have you memorized all the rules?" "Yes, I have." "And what happens if you break a rule?" "All actions must comply with the House Rules. In the event of a violation, I will accept my punishment." Only after receiving this perfect, programmed response would I allow her to leave for school. Under the earpiece's watchful guidance, Amelia sailed through middle school and high school. On the day of her graduation, I dressed her in a high-necked, long-sleeved gown I had chosen. Three years ago, she'd rolled up her sleeves in gym class, and a boy had seen her forearms. I hadn't let her show a single inch of her skin in public since. As I was fixing her hair, I noticed how much of it had fallen out lately. The stress of finals, I thought. I'll make sure she eats better. She stepped onto the stage, a spotlight following her as she delivered the valedictorian speech. I watched, my eyes misting over, as her every movement, her every word, radiated flawless perfection. At the end of her speech, she paused for a moment, her gaze finding mine in the crowd. Her eyes were deep, unreadable pools. "The person I have to thank most in my life is my mother," she said, her voice clear and steady. "Without her, I wouldn't be who I am today." She bowed deeply in my direction. I stood up, applauding wildly, basking in the envious and admiring glances from everyone around me. 5 "Amelia's mom," a voice whispered from behind me, "your daughter doesn't look very happy. That smile... it seems so forced." I glanced over at Amelia, who was posing for photos, her smile perfectly pleasant as she politely declined any picture requests that included boys—even young children or male teachers, just as I'd instructed. I pulled a sanitizing wipe from my purse and scrubbed at the spot on my shoulder where the other parent's chin had brushed against me. "She's just a serious girl," I said coolly. "In this day and age, it's better for a young woman to be reserved." The parent to my right leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. "Is that one of those Obedience Earpieces she's wearing? My nephew's poodle has one..." "You're mistaken," I snapped, closing my purse with a loud click. "It's a simple noise-canceling earbud." I got up and walked away without another word. The divorce had taught me a valuable lesson: the earpiece had to remain my secret. On the day she had to declare her college major, Amelia's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. Finally, she summoned her courage. "Mom, the computer science program at CalTech..." "Absolutely not," I cut her off, snatching the laptop and typing in the code for the state university's teaching program. "That's too far away. I can't have you moving across the country by yourself." I continued typing. "Besides, teachers get summers and holidays off. It will make it much easier for you to take care of your family someday." The blue light on her earpiece blinked erratically for a few seconds, then settled into a steady glow. After starting university, she grew quieter, spending hours just staring out the window from the balcony. Clumps of her dark hair clogged the drain in the kitchen sink like wilted seaweed. One day, as if sensing my growing anxiety, she spoke, her voice devoid of emotion. "I'm fine, Mom. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." I was tallying up her medical bills for the month, and her words brought a lump to my throat. Such a thoughtful child, I thought. She understands how hard it is for a single mother. After she graduated, I moved with her into the teacher's apartment complex provided by her new school. Her life was simple: she focused on her lesson plans, and I took care of everything else. During her breaks, she would either come with me to visit relatives or sit at home, resting her forehead against the wall as she stared into the sun. When she turned twenty-three, a matchmaker came knocking. It was then I realized that Amelia had reached a marriageable age. For years, I had forbidden her from interacting with any males besides the students in her class, so she’d never had the chance to date. But that was fine. I was here. I would find her a suitable husband. The day her child was a month old, I removed her earpiece, my heart swelling with pride. “Now,” I said, “it’s your child’s turn.” She took it from my hand, her face a blank mask, but then her arm shot out and she pushed it into my own ear. Before I could even process what was happening, she spoke, each word a cold, hard stone. “Kill me.” And in the next instant, I snatched the fruit knife from the table and, without a second’s hesitation, plunged it straight into her heart.
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