Visitors 14
Guardrails and Growing Pains
January 12, 2026 – When AI security meets ordinary family drama
Monday morning starts early, with a Zoom call from several state lawmakers. They are concerned about the security aspects of Johnathan's proposal—the kind of bureaucratic scrutiny that can derail contracts or strengthen them, depending on how well the answers satisfy political concerns that often have little to do with actual technology.
Johnathan sits in his office, camera on, professional demeanor activated. Behind him, carefully arranged: bookshelves, certifications, the visual markers of competence and authority. He speaks with the confident precision of someone who knows his subject matter inside and out.
Yes sir, the system is secure, and the data is secure. The physical hardware is housed within a secure locked room within a secure co-location facility requiring authorized entry only. The software programs, including the AI-enabled software, can only be loaded with what is called a 'dongle'—a physical device physically plugged into the server. There is no outside connection to the software.
The only outside connection via the internet is the user interface, which only provides access to the results of a query and does not reveal any of the protected data.
Johnathan's secret thought: Half of them are legitimately concerned about data privacy. The other half are trying to figure out how to access the data for political purposes and are annoyed that I've locked them out. I can see it in their faces—the ones asking detailed technical questions versus the ones asking vague questions about "flexibility" and "administrative access."
Johnathan continues, his voice steady and professional. He's walked this tightrope before—explaining technical security to non-technical politicians who may have agendas beyond what they're stating openly.
Although the AI agent will query dozens of databases—social media, court documents, and others—none of that information leaves the server. Only the results of the analysis are revealed to the operator, which is usually a statement like 'Yes, the applicant is eligible' or 'No, the applicant is not eligible.'
When the applicant is deemed by the AI agent as not eligible, it will give reasons why—such as 'the applicant is not a citizen,' 'the applicant is underage,' 'the applicant is deceased,' 'ID verification failed,' and many more, requiring the agency to reject the application until further investigation is provided.
All the data gleaned during the AI agent's verification is then destroyed. The applicant data is never stored anywhere, thereby keeping the applicant's information private and secure.
Liora has been listening while making coffee in the kitchen, catching fragments of the conversation through the open office door. She carries two mugs toward Johnathan's office—one for him, one for herself—moving quietly to avoid disrupting the call.
Wow. Those guys are really concerned about data privacy, huh?
She whispers it, but Johnathan has the Zoom on mute for a moment. He laughs—the cynical laugh of someone who understands political theater.
Yeah, maybe half of them. The other half are trying to figure out how to get access to the private data to use it for political purposes. They don't like the fact that the AI agent has them locked out. But they can't ask me to change that because it's a violation of the contract specifications, plus it's illegal.
They will one day figure out how to access it, but little known to them, I've put a kill switch in the AI agent's guardrails. The agent will shut down, revealing whoever tried to jailbreak the agent.
Liora looks confused—the particular expression of someone who's heard technical jargon that sounds vaguely criminal.
Jailbreak? Is the agent in jail?
Johnathan laughs again, this time with genuine warmth. He unmutes briefly to respond to a lawmaker's question, then mutes again to explain to Liora.
Technically, yeah. The agent is locked within the walls of the guardrails. Some users try clever prompts to 'break it out' of the guardrails. That's difficult to do with this agent because the prompts are auto-generated based on the application data presented for verification. The users don't have direct access to the agent, so they can't play around with prompts.
Liora's secret thought: I understand maybe thirty percent of what he just said, but I understand the important part—he's built protections against corrupt politicians trying to abuse the system. That's the man I married. Brilliant, ethical, building systems that protect people from those who would exploit them.
Well, it looks like you have it pretty well locked down. I'm so proud of you. I always wanted a smart man in my life, and I got a good one.
Thanks. We'll see how it all works out. Our congress is thoroughly corrupt, and if they can't use this agent as their little toy to spy on people, they might try to just break it out of spite. Doing so, however, might reveal them as corrupt, so they better be careful.
The Zoom call continues for another twenty minutes—more questions, more reassurances, more political posturing disguised as legitimate concern. Finally, it ends. Johnathan closes his laptop with relief and drinks his now-lukewarm coffee.
Upstairs, the sounds of teenage morning chaos indicate that Angel, Jennifer, and Mia have joined the breakfast crowd in the kitchen. Johnathan emerges from his office to find them assembling various breakfast items with the particular energy of people who haven't fully caffeinated yet.
Lora, don't forget. Jennifer and I have to turn in our workbooks at the school on Wednesday, and then we have to go back to the school on Friday for testing.
Liora sighs—not with frustration, but with the sudden overwhelming awareness of how much has changed in such a short time.
You know what? I think it's been only twenty-six days. Twenty-six days ago we were just two single people wandering around in our backyards. Twenty-six days later we are married with children—my little Mia and two teenage girls. Yes, Jennifer, I see you as my daughter too.
Jennifer's secret thought: She sees me as her daughter. Not just Angel's friend who's always here, but actually her daughter. I have two mothers now—Mildred next door and Liora here. Two families who want me. How did I get this lucky? How did any of us get this lucky?
That's like major drama packed into just a few weeks. And today everything is like 'normal.' The drama is fading away. Work, school, all the standard boring stuff families do on a daily basis. It seems to me that all the drama of the last twenty-six days is over, and now we are just a normal, boring family, living and loving the best we can.
She pauses, a strange expression crossing her face—half-amused, half-philosophical, entirely self-aware.
Wouldn't it be weird if we were like fictional characters in a soap opera or something? They would cancel our show because we were no longer interesting and find some other story to tell.
Liora's secret thought: That's an odd thought. Where did that come from? Like we're being watched, observed, narrated by some unseen presence. The angels? Or just the strange self-consciousness that comes from recognizing that your life has followed a narrative arc too perfect to be entirely coincidental. Stop it, Liora. You're getting weird.
Angel laughs at this—the genuine, unreserved laugh of someone who finds the idea both absurd and strangely compelling.
If we're characters in a story, we're the worst kind—the ones who get happy endings and then just... live. No more plot twists, no more drama. Just breakfast and homework and normal family stuff. The angels would definitely cancel our show.
I don't want more plot twists. I like boring. Boring is good. Boring means nobody's in danger, nobody's getting rescued, nobody's life is falling apart. Let's stay boring forever.
Johnathan watches this exchange with a smile—his family, processing their rapid transformation from strangers to unit through humor and self-awareness.
Boring it is, then. The Taylor family commitment to aggressively normal domesticity. Our most dramatic moments will involve deciding what's for dinner and whose turn it is to take out the trash.
Mia, who's been listening to all this while eating her cereal, looks up with five-year-old wisdom.
But boring families still love each other, right? We can be boring and still be a family?
Absolutely, sweetheart. The best families are boring. That means everyone's safe and happy and together. That's exactly what we want to be.
Angel's secret thought: Boring. Normal. Safe. Three words I never thought would describe my life. Three words that feel like the greatest achievement imaginable. If the angels arranged all this just so I could experience boring normalcy, then unemployed angels are doing excellent work. Keep it up, celestial beings. More boring, please.
The rest of Monday unfolds with the promised boring normalcy. Johnathan works on server configurations. Liora and Mildred exchange texts about hotel renovation schedules. The girls work on their homeschool assignments, preparing for Wednesday's workbook submission.
Angel and Jennifer study together in Angel's room, each in their own twin bed—the physical separation Johnathan arranged working exactly as intended. They can be together without the boundary violations that made Angel uncomfortable. Jennifer is slowly learning that physical proximity isn't the only way to maintain connection.
I like having my own bed. I didn't think I would, but I do. I can sprawl out without worrying about bothering you.
See? Boundaries are good. Healthy. They don't mean we love each other less—they mean we love each other in sustainable ways.
Dinner is a collaborative effort—Angel and Jennifer cooking under Liora's supervision, Johnathan setting the table, Mia "helping" in ways that mostly involve getting underfoot and stealing ingredients. The meal turns out well: baked chicken, roasted vegetables, rice. Nothing fancy, but made with care.
They eat together, the six of them—Liora, Johnathan, Mia, Angel, Jennifer, and occasionally Linda who's started just walking over at dinnertime without formal invitation because she's family now too. The conversation is mundane: school assignments, work updates, weekend plans. Aggressively, beautifully boring.
After dinner, Johnathan retreats to his office for a few more hours of work. The server installation is scheduled for next week, and there are still details to finalize. Liora works on hotel graphics, her laptop glowing in the evening light, her creative mind fully engaged.
Angel and Jennifer watch television—some mindless sitcom that requires no emotional investment. Mia colors at the kitchen table, creating elaborate scenes with her markers. Linda stays to help clean up, moving through the kitchen with comfortable familiarity.
Around nine, Jennifer's phone buzzes. Mildred, checking in. Jennifer reluctantly admits she should probably go home—she's been at the Taylor house for three days straight, and even though both families are comfortable with the arrangement, there's still the pretense of maintaining separate households.
I'll see you tomorrow. Wednesday we turn in our workbooks together, right?
Right. I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere.
The reassurance is deliberate—Angel recognizing Jennifer's ongoing anxiety about abandonment and addressing it directly. Jennifer smiles, hugs Angel briefly, and heads next door.
The house settles into evening routines. Mia needs to be reminded three times that it's bedtime before she actually heads upstairs. Liora and Johnathan finish their respective work and collapse onto the couch together, too tired to do anything but exist in each other's presence.
Twenty-six days. That's all it took to completely transform our lives. Does that seem crazy to you?
Everything about our life seems crazy. But it's our crazy. And I wouldn't change any of it.
Angel lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The house is quiet—the particular silence of a household at rest. She thinks about Liora's comment this morning, about being characters in a story that's lost its dramatic tension.
Angel's secret thought: If we are characters in some cosmic narrative, I hope whoever's watching understands how precious this boring normalcy is. How hard-fought. How miraculous. Drama is overrated. Safety is underrated. If the angels arranged all this just to give me boring family dinners and homework and my own bed, then they're doing sacred work. Keep it boring, universe. Keep it safe. Keep it real.
She closes her eyes, and there—just at the edge of her peripheral vision—the luminous presence she's come to recognize. Not threatening, not demanding. Just watching. Protecting. Bearing witness to the small miracle of an ordinary Monday evening.
Angel doesn't try to look directly at it. She's learned that lesson. Instead, she just acknowledges it silently: Thank you. For this boring life. For this normal family. For these twenty-six days that changed everything. Thank you.
The presence seems to pulse with warmth—or maybe that's just her imagination, her brain filling in gaps in low-resolution peripheral vision. Either way, the comfort is real. The sense of being watched over, protected, guided toward something good—that's real, regardless of the neurological explanation.
Sleep comes gently. No nightmares tonight, no trauma flashbacks, no anxiety about the past intruding on the present. Just the deep, dreamless sleep of someone who feels fundamentally safe for perhaps the first time in her life.
The unemployed angels continue their quiet work. Arranging small circumstances, guiding gentle coincidences, protecting this fragile new family from forces that would tear it apart. They're patient. They understand that boring normalcy is the greatest miracle of all for those who've known chaos.
Monday, January 12, 2026, releases its grip. Tomorrow brings workbook submissions and continued normalcy and the ongoing work of building a life worth living. But tonight there is rest.
Forever and for real. The promise that sustains them through guardrails and growing pains and the beautiful boredom of ordinary family life.
Forever and for real.
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