Pod Generation: The

She burst into tears.

“We’re considering a third,” Mira said, swirling a glass of synthetic wine. “The pod makes it so easy. No downtime. I can still work, travel, exercise. Honestly, I forget I’m even ‘pregnant.’”

“And that’s why you have this scar,” Luna said, tracing a small line on Rachel’s abdomen from a later, natural birth — her brother, Mateo. The Pod Generation

And years later, when Luna asked her mother how she was born, Rachel didn’t tell her about the pod. She told her about a woman who broke a machine, held a wet, screaming baby in her arms, and felt, for the first time in her life, utterly human.

They chose “Luna” for a girl, “Kai” for a boy. The pod didn’t care either way. She burst into tears

A low, watery thrum filled the room. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Rachel’s eyes stung. Mark squeezed her hand, but his attention was on his own tablet, where work messages were piling up.

Rachel nodded. “Can I hear the heartbeat?” No downtime

“Because she kicked me,” Rachel said. “Inside the pod, she kicked. I felt it. Just once. And I realized — no machine will ever remember that. But I will.”

On the fourth day, he spoke.