Jane eyed the towering baby gate with growing determination. Her tiny arms and legs weren’t going to get her far on their own—but the pile of plushies in the corner gave her an idea. Waddling over with an awkward toddler gait, she began dragging the biggest stuffed animals she could find—an oversized bear, a giraffe with a floppy neck, and a pink elephant almost half her size.
Panting from the effort, she stacked them as best she could, pushing and nudging them into a wobbly, cushioned pile. She climbed on, little arms flailing for balance, and just barely managed to get her tummy over the top of the gate. With a grunt and a final heave, she tumbled over to the other side with a soft thud.
“Okay… okay,” she whispered to herself, blinking back tears from the fall and crawling forward. Her eyes found the cabinet across the room. The phone was still up there. Jane stood up unsteadily, then scurried over on her short legs.
A plastic storage box sat beside the cabinet—just tall enough to give her a chance. She pressed her weight against it, teeth clenched, and pushed with all her might. Inch by inch, it slid. When it finally bumped up against the cabinet, Jane clambered onto it.
Her little fingers stretched upward, pawing blindly at the edge of the shelf. She stood on her tippy toes, face squished against the cabinet wood, until—yes!—her hand brushed the edge of the phone.
She grabbed it in both hands, nearly losing her balance in the process. With a soft plop, she sat back down on the box, clutching her prize. Relief washed over her, but only for a moment. She opened the reality-altering app, heart racing...
And then she froze.
The sentence on the screen was a blur of squiggles. She couldn’t read it. The letters looked like a foreign language now. Panic tightened her chest. Her toddler brain just wasn’t developed enough anymore.
But she could still tap. She could still try.
Trembling, she pressed the “Generate Current State” button and saw a new sentence appear. She recognized a few words, vaguely. She tapped on one of them, trying to guess what it meant. Then she swapped a word that looked familiar with something that might’ve been "sisters". Another edit changed “Mr. Thompson” to “Ms. Thompson.” Another swipe, something about the daycare—she thought it said “boys,” so she changed it to “girls.”
Then the app auto-confirmed.
She blinked, looking around. Her five brothers were now… girls. All of them. Her new father was suddenly a woman now. And the entire daycare had a more feminine appearance than before, with more girls than ever.
Jane tried using the app again, and to her pleasant surprise, she succeeded. The new sentence improved her reading comprehension. But before she could make another change, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Jane,” Sophia said sharply. “What did I tell you?” She plucked the phone out of Jane’s trembling hands.
Jane knew she was in serious trouble, so she came up with something to help her avoid punishment: Start crying as loud as she could.
“Shhh, sweetheart. No need for that.”
Sophia scooped Jane up with practiced ease, gently bouncing her as she fished a pacifier from her apron pocket and popped it into Jane’s mouth.
Still sniffling, Jane suckled the pacifier, her tears slowing. Sophia carried her back into the playroom, setting her down on a soft rug surrounded by blocks and plush animals. She gave her a gentle pat on the head before retiring to attend some babies.