The starched white lab coat crackles as my mother, an eminent genetic engineer, raises her eyes from a microscope.
“You’re recorded in my notebooks. No need to see you framed.”
A bookcase contains her leather-bound notebooks, Volumes 1 to 20, one for each year of my life…the scientific formulae for my existence.
I am her lauded creation—a perfect human female—result of her own genetically modified egg being fertilized by her latest critically acclaimed achievement…