THREE DAYS after my medical diagnosis, my boyfriend of four years PACKED my suitcase and told me to LEAVE. Marcus wanted a normal family with biological children.

The Full Story

The rain had started just as I stepped off the city bus. It was a cold, biting November drizzle that seemed to perfectly match the profound numbness I’d been carrying inside my chest for the past three weeks. I stood on the cracked sidewalk outside my new apartment building, the city traffic rushing past me in a blur of gray and neon. My worn suitcase rested heavily beside me. I pulled my oversized beige sweater tighter around my thin frame, but it did nothing to stop the chill from seeping into my bones.

At twenty-six years old, I felt ancient. I felt hollowed out, as if the medical diagnosis I’d received had somehow aged me decades in a matter of mere days.

Infertile.

The word echoed in my mind like a dark, unbreakable curse. I could still see the pity in my doctor’s eyes. The endometriosis had been far worse than anyone had suspected, she had explained gently. The damage was extensive, quietly destroying my body from the inside out without me even realizing the severity of it. Natural conception, she had told me while handing me a box of tissues, would be virtually impossible.

There were options, of course. There were invasive treatments, surrogacy, adoption. But they all required a massive amount of money that I simply didn’t have on my modest salary as a graphic designer. More importantly, they required a partner who was willing to walk that incredibly difficult, emotionally exhausting road with me.

I’d had that partner. Or, at least, I thought I did.

Just three days after my devastating diagnosis, my boyfriend of four years, Marcus, had sat me down on our plush living room sofa. His sofa, in his apartment, as he so cruelly reminded me when he asked me to leave.

“This changes things, Emma,” he had said, his voice clipped and distant. He couldn’t even look me in the eye. “I want biological children. I’ve always imagined having a family the normal way. This… this just isn’t what I signed up for.”

Just like that, four years of love, compromises, and shared dreams were completely erased. I had moved out that exact same night, too proud and too broken to stay where I was so clearly unwanted. I had been crashing on my friend Rachel’s couch for the past few weeks while I desperately tried to figure out what came next. But Rachel’s apartment was cramped, and her roommate had started complaining about the extra body taking up space. I knew I couldn’t impose much longer. I needed my own space to grieve. I needed to figure out how to rebuild a life that had crumbled so completely.

I picked up my worn suitcase and headed inside the building, my legs burning as I climbed the three flights of narrow stairs to my new studio apartment. It was painfully small and terribly drafty, but it was mine. I could afford it on my salary at the small marketing firm. Barely, but I could manage.

As I unzipped my suitcase and began unpacking my few meager belongings, my phone buzzed on the cheap laminate counter. It was a text from Rachel.

“How’s the new place? Also, don’t kll me, but I gave your number to someone. His name is Julian, friend of my boss. Really nice guy, single dad. I told him you might be interested in going out. Hope that’s okay.”*

I stared at the glowing screen, a chaotic mix of emotions swirling through my exhausted mind. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was date. How could I possibly date? What was I supposed to tell a potential partner over a plate of appetizers? Hi, nice to meet you. What’s your favorite movie? By the way, my body is broken and I can’t give you a family. It seemed like something that absolutely had to be disclosed early to avoid another Marcus situation, but it also felt like an impossibly heavy topic for a casual first date.

I typed back frantically. “Rach, I appreciate it, but I’m really not ready. Please tell him I’m not interested.”

But before I could even hit send, my phone rang in my hand. It was an unknown number. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the decline button, but some strange instinct made me swipe to answer.

“Hello?” I said softly.

“Hi, is this Emma?” The voice on the other end was deep, warm, and carried a slight hint of uncertainty. “This is Julian Matthews. I hope you don’t mind that Rachel gave me your number. She thought we might enjoy meeting each other.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, silently cursing Rachel and her unrelenting enthusiasm. “Listen, Julian, I really appreciate the call, but I’m really not in a place to date right now. I’m sorry Rachel put you in this awkward position.”

“I understand,” he said, and he sounded incredibly genuine. There was no bruised ego, no pushiness. “I wasn’t entirely sure about this either, to be honest. Dating feels incredibly complicated at this point in my life. But Rachel was very persistent, and she spoke very highly of you. Would you consider just meeting for a quick cup of coffee? No pressure at all. Just two people having a normal conversation. If nothing else, we can both tell Rachel we tried and get her off our backs.”

There was something so disarmingly honest about his approach. It wasn’t a pickup line; it was a white flag of mutual exhaustion. I found myself saying yes before my brain could fully process what I was agreeing to. We agreed to meet the following Saturday at a quiet cafe downtown.

As the week slowly progressed, I tried my hardest not to think about the upcoming meeting. I threw myself entirely into my work at the marketing firm, taking on extra freelance graphic design projects, doing absolutely anything to keep my mind occupied and away from the hollow ache in my stomach. But Saturday arrived anyway, as Saturdays always do.

I found myself standing outside the cafe fifteen minutes early, my heart racing with deep anxiety. I peered through the glass window. Julian was already inside. He was handsome in a very understated, comfortable way. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark, slightly sweeping hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was wearing a navy suit without a tie, the jacket unbuttoned, making him look polished but not overly formal. He was scrolling through his phone with a slight frown of concentration.

I took a massive, shaky breath and pushed the heavy glass door open.

“Julian?” I asked, approaching his corner table.

He looked up, and his face instantly broke into a smile that reached all the way to his crinkling eyes. “Emma. It’s so nice to meet you.” He stood up to shake my hand. The gesture was a bit formal, but his grip was warm and kind. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”

We ordered our drinks and settled back into the cozy corner booth. For the first twenty minutes, the conversation was the standard, slightly awkward getting-to-know-you exchange. I learned that Julian owned a tech company that developed specialized educational software. He had built it entirely from the ground up over the past decade. While he clearly downplayed his own financial success, I gathered from the things he didn’t explicitly say that he had done exceptionally well for himself.

“Rachel mentioned you’re a single dad?” I asked, taking a slow sip of my vanilla latte.

Julian’s entire expression softened instantly. The tension in his shoulders dropped. “I am. I have four children, actually. Sophia is twelve, James is nine, Lily is six, and Michael just turned four.”

“Four?” I repeated, trying my absolute hardest to keep the pure shock out of my voice. “That’s wonderful. That must keep you incredibly busy.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Julian said with a rich, genuine laugh. “It’s chaos most days. Beautiful chaos, but chaos nonetheless.”

“And their mother?” I asked gently. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to swallow them back. “I’m so sorry, that’s way too personal. You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay. It’s a completely fair question.” Julian wrapped both of his large hands around his warm coffee cup, looking down at the dark liquid. “She d*ed two years ago. Car accident. It was very sudden. We had been divorced for about a year at that point, but we were co-parenting really well. The kids were with me that weekend… which I’m infinitely grateful for, in a way. I can’t even begin to imagine if they had been in the car with her.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry,” I whispered. Suddenly, my own problems—my drafty apartment, my cruel ex-boyfriend—felt astonishingly small. “That must have been absolutely devastating for all of you.”

“It was. It still is, some days,” he admitted, looking back up at me with raw vulnerability. “The kids miss her terribly. Sophia especially. She’s at that age where she really, really needs a mother figure. And I’m doing my absolute best, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a self-deprecating sigh. “I’m sorry. This is probably not the lighthearted conversation you expected for a first coffee date.”

“It’s okay,” I assured him, and I meant it. “I appreciate your honesty.”

We sat in that cafe and talked for another hour. The conversation flowed far more easily than I had ever anticipated. Julian was remarkably thoughtful. He had a quiet, dry sense of humor that made me smile despite my heavy heart. He asked insightful questions about my graphic design work, seemed genuinely interested in my creative process, and made me feel truly heard in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

As we finally gathered our coats to leave, Julian hesitated by the door. “I know this might be asking a lot for a first meeting… but would you be interested in getting dinner next weekend? There’s this loud Italian place the kids absolutely love. They’re well-behaved, I promise. But I completely understand if meeting them is way too much, too soon.”

I felt a sharp spike of panic rise in my chest. Meeting his children? That seemed impossibly fast. It was terrifying. But looking at Julian’s hopeful expression, at the sheer vulnerability shining in his eyes, I found myself ignoring every rational thought in my head.

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Great,” he breathed out, his relief completely evident. “Saturday at six? I’ll text you the address.”

As I walked back to my lonely studio apartment, my mind was spinning entirely out of control. What was I doing? I couldn’t pursue this. I couldn’t let it go a single step further. Julian had four children. He clearly valued family above all else. He deserved to know the absolute truth about my broken body. I should text him right now and end it before anyone got hurt.

But every single time I picked up my phone, my fingers froze over the keyboard. How do you tell someone you barely know something so deeply intimate and painful? I couldn’t do it over a text message. I cowardly put it off, telling myself I would bring it up in person after dinner.

Saturday arrived much too quickly. I paced around my tiny apartment, changing my outfit three different times before finally settling on a simple navy dress and a soft cream cardigan. I took a cab to the restaurant, my hands trembling slightly as I paid the driver.

The Italian place was incredibly warm and bustling. Families were crowded around large wooden tables, and the air was thick with the mouth-watering scent of roasting garlic and fresh baked bread.

Julian was waiting out front on the sidewalk, but this time, he wasn’t alone. Four children stood clustered tightly around him. They were dressed neatly, but they all possessed that slightly disheveled look that comes from constant, endless motion.

The oldest girl, Sophia, had long, dark brown hair and her father’s serious, observant eyes. James, the nine-year-old, wore slightly crooked glasses and was currently explaining something about a velociraptor to his father with wild, animated hand gestures. Little Lily clutched a worn-out stuffed bear to her chest, her blonde hair tied up in somewhat uneven pigtails. Michael, the youngest, held tightly to his father’s pant leg and stared openly at me with massive, curious eyes.

“Everyone, this is Emma,” Julian said warmly, resting a hand on James’s shoulder. “Emma, this is Sophia, James, Lily, and Michael.”

“Hi,” I managed to squeak out, entirely overwhelmed by the reality of four distinct sets of eyes studying my every move.

“Are you Dad’s girlfriend?” Michael asked immediately, his voice piercing through the sidewalk noise.

Julian’s face flushed a deep, violent shade of red. “Michael, we talked about this in the car. Emma is Dad’s friend. We’re just having dinner together.”

“But you told Aunt Rachel you were going on a date,” James pointed out logically, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, inside, everyone, right now,” Julian said rapidly, gently herding his chaotic brood toward the heavy wooden doors. He looked back over his shoulder and mouthed, I’m so sorry, to me. I couldn’t help but let out a genuine laugh despite my crippling nerves.

Dinner was an absolute revelation. I had expected a nightmare of spilled drinks and screaming, but the children were charming in their own wildly different ways. Sophia was quiet, but she watched everything with a sharp intelligence. James was a walking encyclopedia, full of complex facts about space exploration and the Cretaceous period. Lily was incredibly shy, hiding behind her father’s arm for the first twenty minutes before gradually warming up to the table. And Michael was a non-stop chatterbox who demanded to know my favorite color, my favorite dinosaur, and if I knew how to do a backflip.

They clearly adored their father. He managed their competing needs with a level of patience and deep affection that actually made my chest ache with longing.

Halfway through the massive plate of garlic knots, Lily reached across the table and tugged gently on the sleeve of my cardigan.

“Miss Emma,” she said softly, her stuffed bear resting on her lap. “Do you like to draw? Daddy said you’re an artist.”

“I’m a graphic designer,” I explained, leaning in closer to her so she didn’t have to shout over the restaurant noise. “But yes, I love to draw very much. Do you like art?”

Lily nodded her head enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing. “I draw pictures of Mommy. I draw them every day so I don’t forget what she looks like.”

The entire table went dead quiet. Even Michael stopped talking about his toy trucks. Julian’s expression turned instantly pained. He opened his mouth, likely to change the subject and protect his daughter from the heavy grief, but before he could say a word, I reached across the red-checkered tablecloth and gently took Lily’s small, sticky hand in mine.

“That’s beautiful, Lily,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I think that’s one of the absolute best reasons to make art. To remember the people we love.”

Lily gave me a bright, missing-tooth smile. When I glanced up, I saw Julian watching me. His dark eyes held an expression I couldn’t quite read—something deep, anchoring, and intensely grateful.

After dinner, we all spilled back out onto the cool evening sidewalk. I had driven my own car this time, a safety measure in case I needed to flee. As Julian walked me to where I was parked under a flickering streetlight, he gently caught my hand.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, the city noise fading into the background. “Thank you for what you said to Lily in there. And for being so incredibly patient with all of them. I know this probably wasn’t the romantic, quiet dinner you might have hoped for.”

I looked up at this incredible man. A man who was trying so desperately hard to keep his family afloat, who had been dealt such a horrific hand by fate and was playing it with absolute grace. The guilt in my stomach twisted into a sharp knife. I had to tell him the truth. I couldn’t let him look at me with that much hope when I was fundamentally broken.

“Julian, I need to tell you something,” I said, stepping back slightly so the cool air could hit my face.

His expression instantly shifted from warm to concerned. “Okay. Is everything alright?”

“I can’t have children.” The words ripped out of my throat in a panicked rush. “I found out a few weeks ago. Severe endometriosis. The damage is irreversible. It’s actually why my last relationship ended. My boyfriend kicked me out because of it. I should have told you sooner, before you introduced me to your amazing kids, but I didn’t know how. I’m so sorry for wasting your time.”

I dropped my gaze to the pavement. Julian was dead quiet for a long, agonizing moment. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I braced myself for the inevitable rejection. I waited for the polite, practiced explanation that this simply wouldn’t work out, that he needed a real woman, a whole woman.

Instead, I heard his dress shoes scuff against the pavement as he stepped closer.

“Is that why you seemed so hesitant when Rachel first set us up?” he asked, his voice completely level.

“Partly,” I whispered, still staring at his shoes. “I just didn’t see the point in dating when this is a mandatory disclaimer I have to give. It’s a massive dealbreaker for most people.”

“Emma. Look at me.”

I slowly lifted my chin. His eyes were fierce, locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch.

“I have four children,” he said softly, emphasizing the number. “Four. I am absolutely not looking for someone to give me more children. I’m looking for someone who could love the ones I already have. Someone kind, and patient, and genuine, who sees them as individual people, not as obligations or burdens.”

I felt hot tears violently prick the corners of my eyes. “But Julian, that’s a massive thing to ask of someone.”

“I’m not asking anything of you yet,” he said, reaching out to gently wipe a stray tear from my cheek. “I’m just saying that what you see as this massive, disqualifying flaw… I see as not a factor at all. It doesn’t change how I see you. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to get to know you better.”

“You really need to think about this,” I insisted, my voice cracking. I was trying to protect him from me. “Your kids are so young. They have already lost their mother. You need to find someone who can step into that role, someone who can be a mother figure. I don’t know if I can be that! I don’t know the first thing about being a parent!”

“Neither did I until they handed me Sophia in the hospital,” Julian said with a small, knowing smile. “Nobody knows how to do this until they’re actually in the trenches doing it. But for what it’s worth? I watched you with my kids tonight. Lily opened up to you more in one hour than she has with anyone since her mother d*ed. James actually stopped talking about the Mesozoic era long enough to ask you personal questions. Even Sophia, who is usually so guarded and suspicious of everyone, smiled when you complimented her sweater. You were completely natural with them, Emma.”

“They’re really great kids,” I choked out, furiously wiping at my wet face.

“They are,” he agreed softly. “And they deserve someone who sees them exactly that way. Not as complications.” He paused, letting his hand rest warmly on my shoulder. “I’m not asking you to make any massive life decisions tonight in this parking lot. I’m just asking if you’d be willing to stay. Just see where this goes. No pressure, no rigid expectations. Just see.”

I looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time in over a month, I felt a tiny, fragile spark of hope ignite in my chest. I nodded, entirely unable to speak past the massive lump in my throat.

Over the following months, my life changed in ways I could never have predicted. I was gradually, seamlessly folded into Julian’s chaotic world. I started coming over to his penthouse apartment for dinner once a week. Then it became twice a week. Then, I practically lived there on the weekends.

I helped Lily construct a massive papier-mâché volcano for her school art project, covering his expensive kitchen island in glue and paint. I sat on the living room rug and listened to James recite endless facts about the Mars rover missions until I could recite them myself. I taught Sophia how to use Adobe Illustrator on my laptop, watching her face light up as she designed her own digital posters. I spent countless hours sitting on the hardwood floor, pushing plastic dump trucks back and forth with Michael.

And slowly, terrifyingly, I fell in love.

I didn’t just fall in love with Julian—though I absolutely did love him. I loved his quiet strength, his unwavering patience, his gentle humor that always managed to pull me out of my darkest moods. But I fell deeply, permanently in love with his children, too. Each one of them was so incredibly different, so fragile, so beautifully themselves.

Julian’s massive apartment gradually became my safe haven. I learned where every single thing was kept in the sprawling kitchen. I knew exactly which bottom drawer held the kids’ favorite fruit snacks. I knew that Michael liked to hide his favorite Lego figures inside the decorative planters when he was supposed to be cleaning up his room.

I learned the rigorous, carefully orchestrated evening routine that Julian had perfected over two exhausting years of single parenting. Homework at the island, dinner at six, baths at seven, bedtime stories at eight.

But more importantly, I learned their hearts. I learned that twelve-year-old Sophia suffered from horrible night terrors about the car cr*sh, and she just needed someone to sit silently on the edge of her bed and stroke her hair until she fell back asleep. I learned that James suffered from intense perfectionism and anxiety, and he needed extra reassurance and tight hugs before his math tests. I learned that Lily was deathly afraid of the dark closet in her room, but she was entirely too proud to admit it out loud, so I casually started leaving her closet door cracked with a nightlight glowing inside. I learned that little Michael still cried sometimes because he couldn’t understand why his mommy went away and never came back to play with him.

And, to my utter shock, I learned that I could actually help with all of it. I learned that even without a single ounce of biological experience, even without having carried these beautiful children in my own womb, I could offer them genuine comfort, fierce support, and unconditional love.

Six months after our very first coffee date, I was standing in Julian’s kitchen, wearing one of his oversized button-down shirts, helping him chop vegetables for a stir-fry. The kids were spread out across the dining table, arguing loudly over a massive jigsaw puzzle. It was a scene of such absolute, comfortable domesticity. It was a universe away from the freezing, lonely studio apartment I had sobbed in just months prior.

Julian was dicing a red bell pepper when he suddenly froze. He slowly set the heavy chef’s knife down on the cutting board and turned to face me.

“I love you,” he said simply, his dark eyes locking onto mine over the kitchen island. “I should have told you much sooner, but I wanted to make absolutely sure you were ready to hear it. I’m sure now. I love you, Emma. And my kids love you, too.”

The knife slipped from my own fingers, clattering loudly onto the counter. I looked at this incredible man, and then I looked past his shoulder at the four children laughing and bickering at the table. My family.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, the happy tears already spilling over my eyelashes and running down my cheeks. “All of you. With everything I have.”

He crossed the kitchen in two massive strides and kissed me. It was tender, deep, and beautifully certain. From the dining room table, a chorus of loud, exaggerated gagging sounds erupted.

“Gross!” Michael yelled.

“Dad, please, we are eating in twenty minutes!” Sophia groaned, though I could hear the smile in her voice.

Exactly one year later, I stood in the heavy oak-paneled courtroom of the city courthouse. I was wearing a simple, elegant white dress. Julian stood firmly beside me, looking incredibly handsome in his sharp navy suit. Sophia, James, Lily, and Michael stood in a line next to us, all dressed in their absolute finest clothes. They wore matching floral boutonnieres and corsages pinned to their lapels and dresses.

We weren’t getting married today. Not yet, anyway. The wedding was planned for the spring. Today was about something else entirely. It was about something I had once believed the universe had permanently stolen from me.

The judge, a kind-faced woman with silver hair, looked down from her high bench and smiled warmly at the row of children.

“Do you all want Emma to officially become your parent?” she asked, her voice echoing in the quiet room.

“Yes!” they chorused together in perfect, loud unison.

Michael, entirely unable to contain his energy, jumped up and down and added an emphatic, “Forever and ever and ever!”

The judge chuckled, adjusting her glasses as she looked down at me. “And do you, Emma, agree to take on all the legal responsibilities, the burdens, and the immense joys of being a permanent parent to these four children?”

I looked at Julian, who gave my hand a reassuring, grounding squeeze. Then I looked at Sophia’s hopeful eyes, James’s nervous smile, Lily’s bouncing pigtails, and Michael’s beaming face.

“I do,” I said. My voice was surprisingly strong, ringing out clear and true despite the heavy tears blurring my vision. “I absolutely do.”

With the swift stroke of a black pen, the judge signed the heavy stack of legal papers, making it completely official. Emma Walsh-Matthews was now the legal, permanent adoptive mother of four incredible children. Children I had not given birth to, but children I loved as fiercely and violently as if they shared my own blood.

Later that evening, during our chaotic celebration dinner at the same bustling Italian restaurant where we had first met, Lily climbed out of her chair and wiggled her way onto my lap. She wrapped her small arms around my neck and pressed her face into my collarbone.

“I’m really glad you’re our mom now,” she whispered, her breath warm against my neck. “Not instead of our other mom… but also. We have two moms now. And I think that makes us the luckiest kids in the world.”

I hugged her tight to my chest, burying my face in her soft hair. I was entirely overwhelmed by the profound truth of how rapidly and beautifully life could change.

Just a little over a year ago, I had sat in a sterile medical office and been told I could not have children. That singular piece of news had completely broken me. I had genuinely believed it meant I was destined to never be a mother, to never have a loud, chaotic family, to never know what it was like to be someone’s entire world.

But sitting there with Lily safely in my arms, James eagerly showing me his latest detailed sketch of the Apollo lunar module, Michael demanding I watch him attempt a wobbly cartwheel in the restaurant aisle, and Sophia helping Julian carry a massive chocolate cake to the table, I understood a truth far deeper than biology.

Family was never just about shared DNA. Being a mother wasn’t strictly about giving birth. Love, raw and unconditional, could forge bonds that were just as strong, just as real, and just as deeply permanent as any genetic connection in the universe.

Julian caught my eye across the table as he set the cake down. He smiled at me—that exact same warm, anchoring smile that had greeted me at the coffee shop when I was entirely ready to give up on love.

I had been so broken then. I was so fiercely convinced that my medical diagnosis had permanently stolen my future. But I was wrong. The universe hadn’t closed a door to punish me; it had closed a door to force me down a different hallway entirely. It had led me right here, to this exact table. To four beautiful, grieving children who needed me just as desperately as my empty heart had needed them. It had led me to a remarkable man who had chosen me not in spite of my biological inability, but because he saw my infinite capacity to love the children who already existed in his world.

Marcus had ruthlessly rejected me for being infertile. He had viewed my medical condition as a fatal flaw that made me unworthy of his time and his future. But Julian had chosen me. He had looked past the sterile medical charts and saw exactly who I really was: someone capable of immense patience, deep devotion, and fierce protection.

Thank you, I mouthed silently to Julian over the flickering candles of the cake.

He slowly shook his head, his dark eyes shining with his own unshed tears. Thank you, he mouthed back.

Because that was the beautiful, undeniable truth that neither of us had ever expected when we sat down for that awkward first cup of coffee. I hadn’t rescued this broken family from their grief. They had rescued me from mine. They had proven to me that sometimes, the family you actively choose to build is even more beautiful and precious than the specific one you had always imagined in your head. They taught me that the human capacity for love is completely infinite, especially when you finally find the exact place where your soul belongs.

Emma Walsh-Matthews had been told by medical professionals that she couldn’t be a mother. And in the strictest, most clinical biological sense, that was entirely true. But as I sat surrounded by the beautiful chaos of my family—my incredible husband, and my four wonderful children who proudly called me Mom and meant it with their whole, healing hearts—I knew that the doctors, and Marcus, and everyone else who had ever doubted my worth had been profoundly, spectacularly wrong.

I was a mother. In every single way that actually mattered in this world, I was a mother. And absolutely nothing—not biology, not tragic circumstance, and certainly not anyone’s narrow, rigid definition of what makes a family—could ever take that beautiful truth away from me.

Disclaimer: Inspired by real events, this story is fictional and for entertainment only. It does not promote inappropriate behavior. Generated with AI assistance.