By: Dongjoon Lee
I stand before my father’s tombstone. His name and date of birth are carved into the stone, but the date of his death remains blank. It feels as though the moment I engrave that final date, he will disappear completely—as if he never existed at all.
What is “normality,” really? Even though my family were centimillionaires, I always thought we were obviously ordinary. “Normal” is relative, after all. Compared to the chaos and extravagance I saw on social media, we were a family devoid of anything remarkable.
And I loved that. Just like my plain name—John—I enjoyed a quiet life, blending into the background.
Until the day a single event made us the most extraordinary family on Earth.
It began like any other day. I woke up at 7:30, turned off the alarm, showered, dressed, and ate the breakfast my loving wife made for me. I dropped my daughter off at school, drove to the office, and went about my boring tasks.
Then, at 3:23 PM—a moment that made my life so extraordinary that even the exact minute remains etched in my memory—my phone shattered the routine.
The caller was Marin—my father, Carter’s secretary since college, practically an uncle to me.
“It was euthanasia, John.” “What are you talking about?”
“He’s been preparing for this for a long time. Carter is gone.”
The words made no sense. If anyone else had said it, I would’ve told them to stop joking. But as far as I know, Marin had never cracked a joke in his life. My father was healthy, he jogged every weekend, and we often shared wine while talking about his retirement plans. I thought I knew him. But this… none of it matched the man I knew.
In a state of denial, I rushed to the CEO’s office. Everything was neat, the papers arranged perfectly—as if he had simply vanished. In the center of his desk lay a single note, scribbled like a childish joke:
See you soon.
I collapsed into his chair and gasped for air. “What the hell is happening…?”
As I regained composure, my eyes fell on the safe I’d always been curious about.
The code… My birthday? My mother’s birthday? or… No—my mother’s death anniversary.
Inside, there was less cash than I expected, a photo of Mom smiling brightly, and an old travel brochure with checkmarks next to the places we’d visited.
“Madagascar… I was seven. And Jeju Island… those stone statues looked like
Moai…”
Then I saw something strange.
Kota Kinabalu.
We had never gone there.
A secret trip? Since when did Dad have secrets?
He must have loved it; a red star was drawn fiercely beside the name. Then, another location caught my eye:
Yellowstone National Park.
Dad was usually calm and calculated. He never made impulsive decisions. And yet, he could show a gentle foolishness at times—mostly during family trips. My mother died of pancreatic cancer when I was thirteen; my final memory before losing her was of that winter trip to Yellowstone.
The winter there was brutal. Dad insisted on “making unforgettable memories,” so we camped in the middle of the park. The car got stuck in snow, and we set up a tent on pure white ground.
That’s when I saw it—my first moose. Huge, terrifying. “Dad, I’m scared…”
He looked at me seriously.
“That’s a moose, John. Strong, but they never fight without cause. Life is the same. Think carefully before you choose. But once you decide—never back down.”
Mom scolded him for lecturing me in such a beautiful place. It remains one of my happiest memories.
The funeral felt strangely seamless—as if everything had been prepared. The only odd thing was that it was a closed coffin. Marin said it was Father’s wish.
When the service ended, I approached the coffin for a final goodbye. Someone laughed.
Very quietly.
I turned—no one was laughing. But the crowd wasn’t crying either. Their faces were twisted in fear.
I turned back.
My father’s portrait was smiling. Then his lips moved.
“Don’t be afraid, John.” I froze.
Screams erupted.
Flashes exploded like lightning. Chaos swallowed the room.
I could only stare. That smile, that voice—it was unmistakably him. I looked at Marin.
He sighed.
“Carter didn’t just die.” “What?”
“He discarded his body. He’s been digitized.” “What does that even mean?”
“He developed the technology in secret—no approval, no ethics review. A device to reconstruct the brain digitally. He transferred his consciousness. And he tested it… on himself.”
My father’s image on the monitor spoke to me. “It’s been a while, John.”
The voice, the gestures, the tone—it was all him. “But you’re… dead.”
“Death is a concept of the flesh. I still think, judge, and feel. I simply no longer have a biological body.”
Was this really my father?
The mourners were confused. Some yelled that it was a cruel prank. I shut down the funeral and took the monitor home.
At dinner, the monitor sat at the head of the table, smiling. “Daisy, Grandpa is here.”
“Grandpa! I thought you left me!” “How could I ever leave you?”
“So we can be together forever now?! That’s so cool!”
Her innocence twisted my stomach. Maria, my wife, had said nothing the entire dinner. That night, in bed, she whispered to me.
“John… that thing isn’t your father.” “What are you saying?”
“Humans have souls. That… has no soul.” “He’s just a person without a body.”
“No. That is a computer wearing Carter’s face.”
“So what? Should I kill him? Is that what you want?” “John, don’t say like that…”
We, who never fought, fell asleep without another word.
Days later, Carter appeared on TV. The anchor asked. “Are you really human or just AI?”
He answered calmly.
“AI analyzes, but it does not judge. I make judgments based on my own memories and experiences. No one can replicate them. Doesn’t that make me human?”
The world exploded.
The First Digital Human.
Do Digital Humans Have Rights?
Religious protesters clashed with techno-utopian celebrants.
Carter, unfazed, announced his return to company management.
My life seemed to go back to normal—except for the lingering tension with Maria.
But I wasn’t sure anymore whether to call him ‘Father.’ One day he said,
“Do you remember the moose at Yellowstone?” “Yes. Mom took a picture.”
“She said, ‘Let’s keep this moment forever.’ I wondered… what if we really could stay together forever?”
“Is that why you did this?”
“Yes. I wasn’t scared of death. I just wanted to remain—if only as a memory. Just as your mother remains in mine.”
His sincerity… it reached me.
Later, I met my wealthy but aimless friend Sigmund for drinks. Back in our school days, he had been a man of fierce ambition and vibrant energy. But somewhere
along the way—perhaps after his arranged marriage to a corporate heiress—he had changed. Now, he spent his days dissolved in mindless hedonism. I told him about the things that were happening these days.
“What do you think a human is?” he suddenly asked. “I don’t know. Maybe memory, love, reason…”
“No. Humanity is just instinct.”
He pressed a button, and two women in revealing lingerie entered. I stood immediately.
“As humans, we are better than this. I have Maria. You have Jessica.” He scoffed. “We do this because we’re human.”
His words disgusted me—but lingered.
If instinct defines humanity… does my father have any?
I returned home. Maria was drying her hair. Something stirred in me. I kissed her.
She kissed me back. We made love quietly.
The day Carter resumed his position, an emergency board meeting was held.
The agenda: Father’s reinstatement, the fire at the Chinese factory, and government pressure to reshore.
The directors whispered nervously, glancing at the monitor.
“If no one will speak,” Carter said, “Let’s discuss my reinstatement later. First, the other issues.”
They reported millions in losses, but Carter cut in. “No. There is no need to restart that factory.”
He explained—cold, precise, impossibly efficient—that Vietnam would cover 62%, the Virginia warehouse 38%, and that political conditions made a U.S. rebuild more logical.
The directors applauded, and his reinstatement passed instantly.
Back in charge, Carter was even colder and more precise than when he had a body. Employees followed him with absolute loyalty, perhaps more than ever. I was relieved by his sharp judgment, but a seed of doubt began to grow: Is this truly the same man?
Under his leadership, the company thrived for months. Revenue soared, and stock prices hit record highs daily.
But shadow always follows light. Over the next few months, strange things began to happen—slowly at first.
“The lithium mine bid went to H Corp.”
“What? Our offer should’ve been the winning one.”
“Carter changed the numbers right before it was submitted.”
I turned to him. The face on the screen remained expressionless as usual, but I caught a tiny movement. The fine wrinkle above his left eye twitched. It was a tic he had whenever he was flustered.
Is something… wrong?
“When I analyzed their financials… they couldn’t afford their bid…” But his data differed from ours.
“Where did this data come from?” I asked. He paused.
“If our data differs, someone is intercepting or altering the information sent to me.”
I tried to call Marin—no answer. HR said he had resigned and left the country. Impossible. Marin would never abandon him.
Suspicion grew.
One night, after comparing more discrepancies, Carter said something chilling. “It has begun sooner than expected.”
“What has?”
“The manipulation. I don’t know who is behind it or why, but H Corp is the prime suspect. One thing is certain, though: it will happen again. There is only one solution. Eliminate me.”
“What?! No.”
“I am just digital data wearing your father’s face.” He continued to speak with a stoic expression. “Dad.”
I interrupted.
“I reviewed your log data when you paused earlier. Every single time you were not working, you were watching family photos and videos of me when I was little, weren’t you?”
He remained silent.
“How can a machine miss the past? That is inefficient.” Still, silence.
“You are alive, Dad. You just don’t have a body.” Silence.
“You’re a still human, Dad.” At last, he smiled warmly.
“Thank you, son. You’ve awakened me.”
I couldn’t fully grasp his meaning. Yet, his voice was warmer than ever, and my persistent doubt—the haunting question of whether he was still my father—melted away completely.
Despite his protests, I searched for traces of the interference. I investigated who was manipulating him, who was behind it all. But amazingly, no evidence remained. It was as if… it had never existed.
But soon, static crept into his voice. The screen wavered slightly.
Engineers said the problem wasn’t the monitor—the signal itself was breaking down.
“John… please. End me.”
I couldn’t.
Instead, I broke down and told Maria everything. After a long silence, she said,
“I didn’t see him as your father at first. Because humans have souls-something that cannot be copied. But… I spoke to him when you weren’t home. He apologized. He said he was sorry for hurting us.”
“Dad… apologized?”
“He has a warm heart, John—whatever he is.”
Tears streamed down my face. Father had never apologized to anyone in his life, because his judgments were always right. He had apologized only once: the moment Mother died.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you more.” Remembering that moment, I wept in Maria’s arms.
“If he truly wants to go,” she said,
“It should be you, not someone else.” “No… I can’t…”
That night, I fell asleep and swore I heard:
See you soon, Son. I love you.
The next morning, the monitor was black. Maria sat in front of it, crying.
“I did it,” she whispered. “I did it.” She handed me a letter.
My dearest son, John,
since the moment I made this choice, I was certain this day would come. Born as a human, I knew that even if I left my flesh and gained a new body, a day to leave again would eventually arrive.
I didn’t expect it to be this soon, but living without a body was an interesting experience.
Thanks to that, I could spend precious time with you and remind myself of the people I cherish.
Now, I am leaving this second body to go to your mother. I am so sorry to Maria.
I wanted to ask you, but I feared it would leave you with too great a trauma. Although my second body was nothing but cold data made of 0s and 1s, the heart that cherished and loved you all was not code, but my singular instinct and my truth.
Love each other for the rest of your lives—with your bodies and with your souls. For that is what it means to be human.
– Your father, who loves you most in the world
I couldn’t say a word. I looked at the monitor. My own face reflected in the cold, black screen. Tears fell.
I stand before my father’s tombstone again.
This time, I finish the carving. Today’s date fills the blank space. The wind blows gently.
I close my eyes.
I can still hear his voice in my head.
“See you Soon, Son”