Androids in fiction often get to be “sons”. Many of them are flawed or rejected sons who destroy their creators, symbolically if not literally, but that is an old narrative of parents who fail their children. Frankenstein is an android story, though the Creature is made of flesh and blood. They are the ambitions of their parents, given, if not technically “life”, then “conscience existence”, and that is usually enough.
But gynoids so very rarely get to be “daughters”. They can be “girlfriends”, or art, or… toys, but they almost never get narratives about personal identity remotely comparable to their “male” counterparts.
They said robots can’t feel. That androids don’t have souls. But as I rest my head against his smooth chest, with the soft thrumming of his artificial heart and the warmth of his arms as we hold each other, I know he loves me with more depth than any human could.
Completely unrelated, but I wanted to show you these robots. Yes, these are not fish, these are robots - the future is now. Not to mention that they’re moving apparently randomly through a three-dimensional space, and not touching each other! That’s impressive.