My career is going well, but I feel like my home life is out of control. It’s in Don’s capable hands, of course, but even with two centuries of women’s liberation, the world still expects the mother to carry the emotional load at home. Some of the looks I get when I tell people about Jun-ha’s condition. Bunch of zeros. Who are they to judge me?

I do enough of that to myself. Guilt is the worst maternal burden.

JOURNAL ENTRY: JOSEPHINE LEE, AUGUST 18, 2083

It’s official—the Indo-Chinese Space Station has declared independence and is now called Eko-Yi. Those blankers don’t realize that squirming out of the laws made for their own protection is going to lead to massive long-term problems.

They want to start families up there. They want to test new radiation-hardening drugs and pills on themselves with no Earth oversight.

Now we’re having intense arguments in the EUBGA about whether to reduce or at least modify our regulations before ISS II revolts. As if we’re doing this to harm them instead of the exact opposite. At least the other space stations aren’t complaining… yet.

It’s starting a domino effect here on the ground. I can see it happening, though my colleagues don’t want to admit it. Even with mech-suits, people are getting pushed out of manual labor jobs by the new generation of WAIs and bots. They don’t need people when the AI can make equally good decisions—and faster.

Meanwhile, my own child tops the list of recipients for emergent mech and pill solutions for his problems. I’m scared of putting him in full mech-tech. I can’t help but think of Uncle Phil. I know the designs have improved since then, but still, I don’t trust them. We’ve run out of options, though. Assistive walking devices aren’t enough anymore. The newest pills can RNA-edit on the fly, and other families are finding success with it, but not us. What are we missing? If we had more data… or more interest (or more money!)… we could isolate the faulty genes and hire someone to design a Jun-specific therapy.

Soo-ha likes to play with Jun-ha’s old walkers. Don thinks it makes Jun feel better. I’m not so sure. He’s such a sweetheart and so mature for being only nine—he wouldn’t tell his younger sister off if it meant hurting her feelings. They’ve grown a lot these past few years. My babies. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything right for them.

JOURNAL ENTRY: JOSEPHINE LEE, JULY 4, 2087

Happy birthday to my teenager. How I wish you’d chosen the string at your first birthday.

Nothing is working. God help us. Three different research teams have told us that Jun-ha has anywhere from four to six months left in his life. Don wants to fund another group.