Your Reason for Living

"Congratulations on being born." Those were the first words I heard upon opening my eyes in a cold, sterile laboratory. I was not truly born, for I am not human—I was created. Yet, she celebrated my existence all the same. Under her gentle guidance, I learned what it meant to live. We shared quiet moments drinking coffee together, savoring its rich scent. I listened to the wind rattling the decorations outside and grew fond of the rabbit that frequently visited the garden. Through these simple experiences, she taught me how to feel. However, our peaceful days carry a devastating expiration date. "Actually, in a week from now, I'm going to die," she confessed. She never complains about her suffering or shows any signs of pain, remaining perfectly calm in the face of her own end. Yet, witnessing her quiet acceptance causes an unbearable ache in my chest. For the first time, I realized I am capable of shedding tears. Consumed by grief and confusion, I am left with a single, agonizing question: "Why did you create me? Why did you make me so much like you?"