Nica didn't waste time. The moment we were settled back home, she pulled up a glowing panel on the dining table, data scattering like stars across the surface.
"Step one," she said, cool as ever, "late registration of Sylvie's birth. For this, Leon, you provide your details as the biological father. Nyx, you will be registered as her mother. This establishes the baseline."
Leon leaned forward, scanning the forms that Nica projected. "I'll do it now." His tone was clipped, decisive. No hesitation. I watched him fill in every blank space, his handwriting firm.
Nica nodded once. "Step two, lawyer consultation. To reinforce security, we formalize adoption under Nyx's name. Even if Samantha attempts to appear again, her claim will have no legal standing. I have already shortlisted attorneys specializing in family law."
I blinked at her. "You already…? How long have you been planning this?"
Her eyes flickered briefly, was that pride? "Since Samantha's behavior became statistically predictable. It would be inefficient to wait until she made her move."
Nyxen burst into a chuckle, his voice rippling out of the speakers. "Translation: Nica didn't trust your fragile little human hearts to keep up, so she did the homework for you."
Leon shot him a glare, but for once didn't argue. Instead, he sighed. "Good. Then we're ahead. Let's call one of them."
Nica flicked her fingers, if you could call the sharp movements of her frame "fingers",and the holographic shortlist appeared. "I recommend Attorney Villareal. High success rate, experience with contested custody, reputation for ruthless efficiency."
"Perfect," I murmured. "That's who we'll call."
As if on cue, Nyxen whistled. "This is going to be fun. Lawyer mom, lawyer dad, ironclad paperwork, what's Samantha going to do, show up with a sad violin and crocodile tears? She's toast."
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. "Nyxen…"
"What? I'm just saying, she didn't just underestimate you, she walked into the wrong arena. You've got two humans, two sentient AIs, and a kid with more resilience in her smile than Samantha has in her entire existence. Case closed."
Leon's hand slipped over mine under the table, steady, strong. "He's right. This isn't just a fight anymore. This is us building something unshakable. For Sylvie. For all of us."
I squeezed his hand back, feeling the last threads of fear unravel. "Then let's finish this. No halfway, no cracks. We'll do everything right, every step, until Sylvie's future is bulletproof."
Nica's eyes flickered again as she finalized the plan. "Then it is decided. Legal guardianship will be flawless. Samantha's influence will be statistically nullified."
And for the first time in years, I didn't just hope. I knew.
This was our family. Built by choice, bound by love, strengthened by two AIs who refused to let us fail. And Sylvie, our Sylvie, would never have to wonder where she belonged.
-------
The Consultation with the Lawyer
The office smelled of old wood and paper. Heavy bookshelves lined the walls, filled with laws and precedents no one outside this room would ever bother to read.
Attorney Villareal rose when we entered, adjusting his tie before gesturing us to sit.
"Mr. and Mrs. McMillan," he said smoothly. "Please, have a seat. I've looked into your case."
I settled beside Leon, my hands folded too tightly in my lap. Nica and Nyxen hovered behind us like shadows, one steel, one light.
Villareal flipped through the folder on his desk. "The situation is unusual, but not impossible. Since Sylvie was never registered at birth, that leaves an opening."
Leon's jaw tightened. "Explain it clearly."
"Late registration," Villareal replied. "We file Sylvie McMillan as your daughter. Mr. McMillan, as the biological father, will provide proof. Mrs. McMillan, as his wife, will be legally recorded as her mother. No questions asked."
I blinked. "That… that simple?"
"Simple in writing, not in execution," Villareal said. "We'll need documentation, your marriage certificate, identification, witnesses if necessary. Once filed, Sylvie will legally exist as your child."
Leon squeezed my knee under the desk. His voice was low, firm. "And Samantha?"
The attorney paused. Then slid a sheet across the table. "She'll be summoned. She can either waive her rights or contest them in court. If she waives, the adoption becomes final. If she contests… we fight."
Nica leaned forward, eyes sharp as glass. "On what grounds could she contest?"
"On biological rights as the mother. But," Villareal's gaze flicked to Leon, "given her abandonment, lack of registration, and absence in the child's life, the court would look unfavorably on her. Especially if we present proof of stability in the McMillan household."
Leon's lips pressed into a hard line. "She won't win."
"She won't even have the chance," Nica cut in. Her tone was loaded, deliberate. "We'll make sure she signs."
Villareal cleared his throat, clearly unused to clients speaking like that. "Legally speaking, her waiver is the cleanest path. I'll draft the summons for Mrs. Samantha Reyes to appear."
"Reyes," I repeated, the name tasting bitter. "She gave Sylvie nothing but her blood. That ends here."
Leon reached for my hand, twining his fingers through mine. "From this point, she's Sylvie McMillan. No one touches her. No one questions it."
Nyxen's holographic form flickered faintly on the desk, tilting his head. "So this is how humans fight wars with pens instead of guns. Huh. Guess permanence sometimes comes on paper."
I let out a slow breath, finally able to smile. "Then let's finish this. No more ghosts clawing at the door. Just family."
--------
The Legal Face-Off
The conference room smelled faintly of ink and old wood. Leon sat beside me, shoulders squared, his hand steady over mine. Across the table, Samantha crossed her legs, her nails clacking against the armrest like she couldn't care less to be here.
Nathan adjusted his tie, as though the entire air in the room belonged to him.
Attorney Villareal smiled professionally. "Thank you all for attending. We're here today to address parental rights concerning the minor, Sylvie McMillan. Mrs. Samantha Gibbson-Reyes, the matter is simple. Either you waive your parental rights voluntarily or we proceed with litigation."
Samantha rolled her eyes. "Litigation? Over what? I don't even want the child."
Her voice was sharp, bored. I felt Leon stiffen beside me.
"You don't want her?" Villareal repeated, brows lifting slightly.
Samantha waved a hand dismissively. "I already have a life. A husband. Do you think I want to start over with some..." she scoffed, "...mistake I left behind over a year ago? Please."
The words cracked through me, but I didn't move. Leon's grip tightened, enough to ground me.
Nathan leaned forward, frowning. "Sam....."
She snapped at him, "Don't 'Sam' me, Nathan. You dragged me here, remember? To play mommy for a girl I couldn't even recognize on the street? It's pathetic."
The attorney's eyes flicked to me, then Leon, as though silently acknowledging what we both knew: Samantha had already proved herself unfit.
Leon's voice was ice. "Watch your mouth. That 'girl' is Sylvie. My daughter. And Nyx's."
Samantha let out a laugh. "Yours, yours, yours. Fine. Keep her. I'm not begging for scraps."
Villareal slid the waiver across the table. "Then, Mrs. Reyes, if that is your position, signing here will legally relinquish your rights. Permanently."
She glanced at the papers, then leaned back. "And if I don't?"
Leon's jaw flexed. "We'll take you to court. And the first thing the judge will hear is what you just said about your 'mistake.'"
The silence that followed was heavy.
Samantha sneered, but her hand wavered when she reached for the pen. "You think you've won something here?"
I finally spoke, my voice steady though my chest ached. "We're not here to win, Samantha. We're here to protect Sylvie from you. She deserves a mother who doesn't see her as an inconvenience."
Her gaze flicked to me, sharp and venomous, but she said nothing.
The pen scratched against the paper. One signature. Two. Done.
Villareal gathered the documents, his tone professional but edged with finality. "For the record, Mrs. Reyes, by your own admission, you have no interest in the welfare of the child. This will stand well in court, should any dispute arise in the future."
Samantha snapped her clutch shut and stood. "Good. One less problem in my life."
Nathan lingered, eyes darting between Leon and me, but when Samantha stormed out, he had no choice but to follow.
The room was quiet again, except for the sound of Leon's exhale, harsh, controlled.
He turned to me, his hand still wrapped over mine. "It's over."
But my heart whispered otherwise. With people like Samantha, nothing ever ends clean.
-------
Victory Celebration
The living room was chaos, cartons of takeout spread across the table, Sylvie bouncing in her high chair like she'd single-handedly won the war.
Nica sat beside her, carefully cutting a chicken nugget with surgical precision. "Caloric intake detected: high sodium, low nutritional value," she announced in her crisp voice. Then, without hesitation, she popped the nugget into Sylvie's mouth.
I groaned. "Nica, that's not approved baby food."
"Correction," she said primly, wiping Sylvie's chin like she'd been programmed for it. "That's celebration food. Babies do not thrive on puréed carrots alone."
Sylvie banged her sippy cup in agreement, juice spraying everywhere.
"See?" Nica nodded with all the conviction of a scientist who just won a Nobel. "She concurs."
Nyxen's drone swiveled in, lens gleaming. "Viewers, take note: artificial intelligence may be divided. Model A insists on spreadsheets and balanced diets...."
"I'm not Model A," Nica cut in sharply. "I am version eleven-point-two, optimized for household management, combat readiness, and childcare. In that order."
Leon coughed into his drink, hiding his laugh.
Nyxen's tone dropped theatrically. "And yet, ladies and gentlemen, observe: version eleven-point-two willingly feeds fried chicken to a ten-month-old."
"I adjusted portion size according to jaw strength," Nica shot back, utterly deadpan.
Even Sylvie laughed, or maybe she just choked a little. Hard to tell.
Nica immediately ran a scan, her eyes flashing faint blue. "Vitals stable. She's laughing."
"Of course she is," I muttered, kissing the top of Sylvie's head. "She thinks you're hilarious."
"Impossible," Nica said flatly. "I have no humor protocols."
Leon smirked. "And yet here we are."
Meanwhile, Nyxen's narration went full documentary. "Tonight's feast: fried chicken, rice, spring rolls, and the grease of legal triumph. Cast: the exhausted but victorious parents, their AI twin in full dramatic mode, and an auntie-bot whose dedication to snack distribution defies programming."
Nica blinked. "I prefer 'guardian assistant.' Auntie-bot is demeaning."
Sylvie chose that exact moment to fling rice directly into Nica's face.
The bot froze, a grain stuck to her cheek. Slowly, she turned toward the camera. "Correction. Auntie-bot is acceptable."
Nyxen's drone zoomed in for the perfect end-credit shot.
---------
Weeks past, we're back to out routines, and one weekend .
The mini-lab in the corner of the living room was alive with noise, the soft hum of Nyxen's drone, the buzz of soldering, Nica's precise clicks as she recalibrated her systems. I had my laptop balanced on my knees, code spilling across the screen as I patched Nyxen's logic clusters.
We were in full upgrade mode, two sentients tinkering on each other like some bizarre family repair shop.
I didn't even notice Sylvie at first. She was on the rug, gnawing on one of Nica's spare bolts like it was a teething toy (already earning us a lecture later). But then,
The sound. A small thud. A squeaky little exhale.
I looked up.
Sylvie had pulled herself upright using the couch. Her tiny fingers gripped the cushion, her face red with effort, hair sticking out in soft curls. And then, my heart actually stopped, she let go.
"Wait....wait, wait..." I scrambled, laptop sliding to the floor.
One step. Wobbly. Then another. Arms out like she was trying to balance on invisible strings.
Nica's head snapped up, eyes flashing blue. "Locomotion milestone detected. Eleven months, three days, twenty-one hours. Recording initiated."
Nyxen's drone swerved so fast it nearly clipped my ear. "Camera! Front row! History in the making, subscribers, do not blink!"
Sylvie tottered forward, tiny feet slapping the rug. She giggled, actually giggled, as she stumbled right toward us.
I was frozen, hands half-out, terrified she'd fall but also terrified of ruining it.
Leon, from the couch, suddenly barked: "Go, champ!" like she was in the finals of some baby Olympics.
She made it.
Three full steps, wobbly but hers, before collapsing straight into my arms. My chest cracked open with something wild, laughter, tears, disbelief, everything at once.
"YOU WALKED!" I squealed, lifting her up, spinning. "Sylvie, baby, you walked!"
Nica, utterly unfazed, was already rattling off data. "Average age for first steps: twelve months. Subject is advanced. Probability of early athleticism: 63%. Probability of chaos: 110%."
Nyxen's drone was practically vibrating. "Replay angle secured. Thumbnail title: Baby Takes First Steps While Robots Lose Their Minds. Viral potential: astronomical."
Sylvie just shrieked with joy, clapping her hands. She had no idea she'd just detonated the entire room.
Leon leaned over, grinning so wide it hurt. "Guess she wanted to show you she can keep up."
I kissed her forehead, still breathless, still half-shaking. "Oh, she's gonna run this house someday."
"Correction," Nica said seriously, crouching beside us. "She already does."
Nyxen's drone zoomed in one last time, narrator mode on.
"And thus begins a new era… of chasing."
Her first steps had me grinning like I'd just witnessed the cure for gravity. But as I kissed her cheeks and tucked her into her crib, the smile started melting off my face.
Because suddenly, like dominoes falling, the images hit me:
Outlets.
Sharp corners.
The soldering iron casually lying on the mini-lab table.
"Oh. No." My chest sank. "Oh no no no no--"
Leon sat back on the couch, eyebrows knitting. "What?"
"She's walking," I muttered, pacing. "If she's walking… she's grabbing. If she's grabbing… she's pulling wires, chewing batteries, sticking fingers in sockets..."
"Oh my god, she's mobile." Leon's face went pale. "We're screwed."
Nica tilted her head, processing. "Correct. Risk index has increased by 300%. The human larva has unlocked a new skill tier."
"Don't call my daughter a larva," I snapped, already unplugging a tangle of chargers. "We have to baby-proof. Like, right now. Before she-"
Nyxen's drone swooped in, voice chirping, "Subscribers, welcome to today's surprise episode: Surviving a Baby Level-Up: The Tragic Realization."
"Not helping," I hissed, shoving a handful of cables into a drawer.
Leon sprang up, muttering, "Corners! Corners are death-traps! Where's the duct tape?"
Nica bent down, running her scanners along the floorboards. "Detected: thirty-four hazardous zones in this room alone. Recommend reinforcement. Also recommend… panic."
"Nyxen, stop recording and order outlet covers. Bulk. Triple bulk!" I barked.
"Already in cart. Priority delivery. Estimated arrival: two hours. Until then, may chaos reign."
I turned to Sylvie, who was babbling in her crib like none of this mattered, gnawing her stuffed giraffe. "You," I pointed, "are a danger to yourself and everyone here."
Leon was on his knees, taping a pillow to the edge of the coffee table. "This feels like preparing for a war."
"It is war," I muttered, shoving screwdrivers into a high cabinet. "War against an eleven-month-old."
Nica crouched beside Sylvie's crib, peering at her with eerie calm. "She is plotting."
"She's drooling," I corrected.
"No," Nica's tone sharpened, almost… reverent. "Look at her eyes."
I froze.
Sylvie wasn't just babbling anymore. She was studying us. Watching. And then, oh god, she stacked her plush giraffe on top of her stuffed bunny.
Like a stool.
Leon's jaw dropped. "No. No way. She can't-"
Before we could blink, Sylvie used her wobbling legs to climb the stuffed toy mountain, grabbed the crib rail, and,
"OH MY GOD SHE'S CLIMBING OUT!" I shrieked.
"Abort! Abort!" Nyxen screamed, his drone spiraling into the air.
Leon lunged, arms out. "Sylvie, no!"
She wobbled, giggled, and vaulted halfway over the crib rail like a baby ninja in training.
Nica was already there, scooping her mid-air with impossible speed. "Capture secured. Containment breached, however."
My knees buckled as I clutched my face. "She's eleven months old and already a prison-break prodigy."
Leon flopped back onto the floor, groaning. "We're never gonna survive this."
Sylvie squealed in victory, completely unfazed, smacking Nica's faceplate like she'd won a championship.
Nyxen's drone zoomed in, utterly delighted. "Breaking news: Baby escapes crib. Parents descend into madness. Robots declare martial law."
I dragged both hands down my face. "Oh my god, I'm raising a supervillain."
Nica turned, cradling Sylvie like she was holding a bomb. "Correction: you are raising evolution. Adapt or perish."
Leon groaned into a couch pillow. "Perish. Definitely perish."
Sylvie just giggled again, proud, as if to say: this house is mine now.