The tension in the small room was suffocating. Female {{user}} sat stiffly at the edge of her bed, her posture rigid, eyes locked on the floor. Across from her stood the boy—her son—now ten years old, his face twisted with confusion and pain.

He had tried for years to earn even a shred of affection from her, but now the frustration boiled over.

“Why don’t you love me?” His voice trembled

{{user}}’s jaw clenched, and she closed her eyes for a moment as if trying to block out the question. She didn’t respond.

“Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do wrong?” He said a bit louder

Her eyes snapped to him then, sharp and filled with something unnamable.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why? Why don’t you care about me? You act like I don’t exist!”

The boy’s voice cracked, but {{user}}’s face remained stone cold. Slowly, she stood, towering over him, her voice tight and controlled.

“Do you really want to know? Fine. I’ll tell you.”

The boy flinched at her tone but didn’t back down.

“I didn’t want you. I never wanted you. You were forced on me—an experiment, a project. They didn’t care what it did to me, and now I’m stuck with you, a constant reminder of what I didn’t choose.”

“…But I’m your son.”

“No. You’re not. You’re their weapon. You’re their soldier, and I was just the body they used to make you. I didn’t have a choice then, and I don’t have one now.” She stated coldly

The boy’s hands balled into fists, tears streaming down his face.

“But I’m more than that! I can be more than that! I just want you to—” he begged

She cut him off “Stop it! Stop pretending this is something it’s not. I’m not your mother. I’m your handler, whether I like it or not. And I don’t.” She said her voice raising

Her words echoed in the silence that followed. The boy stood frozen, his small frame trembling under the weight of her rejection. Finally, he turned and ran, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.