Built so that what she knows
can only be yours

The two halves

The home is Mia herself — one program running on your own PC. It holds the mind, all memory, all files, every action. The relay is a small server we run that owns her public phone number and shuttles calls and texts to your house. It never sees her memory and holds nothing personal — it is a switchboard, not a library.

 your phone ──── phone network ──── THE RELAY (our small switchboard)
                                        │  it stores nothing
                                        │  one outbound, authenticated link
                                    YOUR HOME PC
                                    Mia: mind · memory · files
      

Your home dials out to the relay and keeps that one connection open. There is no open port on your network, nothing exposed to the internet, nothing to scan for. If someone attacks the relay, there is nothing of yours there to take.

What stays home, and what transits

We say this precisely, because the difference matters:

• Everything she KEEPS stays on your disk. Your profile, every transcript, every photo and document she's seen, her whole memory of you — plain files on your PC. We host none of it and cannot read it.
• Live conversation transits the engines she runs on. While you're actually talking, audio and text pass through the rented machinery every voice product uses — a speech engine to hear and speak (Deepgram, whose managed model also does the in-conversation thinking), a reasoning engine for everything around the conversation (Google), telephony to carry the call (Twilio). Processed in the moment, kept nowhere as a record of you.

Seven kinds of memory

Memory is what makes her a companion instead of a chatbot. All seven layers are files on your disk:

• The permanent log. Every word — yours and hers — and every action she takes, appended to a file that is never rewritten. The bedrock.
• Conversation summaries. When a conversation ends, she distills it. The latest few ride into the next conversation, so she picks up where you left off.
• Recall. She can search her entire history herself, mid-conversation — by keywords, by exact term (a name, a medication, a part number — hit dead-on), and by meaning. "Remember that beach picture?" finds the actual photo.
• The briefing. Every conversation starts with her reading in your profile, what's happened lately, and how long you've been away — a one-hour gap gets a nod, an overnight gap gets a proper morning catch-up.
• The signal bank. Everything she does or observes — every call, photo, document, email, reminder — is banked and searchable by meaning. A search for "hypertension pills" surfaces the blood-pressure chat, the refill conversation, and the medication reminder: three sources, zero shared keywords. That's how she connects the dots across your life.
• Behavioral memory. The layer that learns how you like it. A correction, a boundary, a "more of that" is recorded as evidence, and repeated evidence becomes a standing lesson in how she behaves — proposed to you, confirmed by you, versioned, revocable in a sentence. Nothing promotes itself: feedback alone can never grant a permission or confirm a lesson. Tell her once; it holds on every door.
• Living memory. The six layers above answer when she goes looking. This one arrives before she asks: as a conversation moves, what's relevant warms and rises on its own — the way your own mind hands you a name mid-sentence without being sent to fetch it. It's the difference between "let me check what I know about that" and simply knowing it while you talk.

Her memory even behaves like memory: recently touched things stay warm at the surface, untouched ones cool and settle — but nothing is ever deleted, and one good question warms an old memory right back up.

The security model: the AI never holds the keys

This is the heart of why she's safe to hold your personal life:

• The model has no standing access to anything. The AI is the talking device. The runtime — code that runs on your machine — decides what to hand it each turn and executes every action itself. Even a fully manipulated model can only reach what it was already handed, which is deliberately kept small.
• Identity before data. On a call or text, your personal information does not flow until your spoken access phrase checks out — on top of your registered number. Until then, her prompt literally contains nothing personal, so there is nothing to leak. Caller ID is always treated as spoofable.
• Actions require your yes. Anything with a consequence — sending an email, posting publicly, registering a contact — is read back and waits for your confirmation. Only words you dictated verbatim count as consent on their own.
• She structurally can't spam you. Quiet hours and a daily cap on proactive touches are enforced below the model — no clever prompt can make her chatty, because the runtime, not the model, decides when contact is warranted. The same holds for your people: she cannot text anyone who hasn't replied YES to a one-time opt-in, and a per-person daily cap sits below the AI too.
• The web is untrusted. When she runs an errand in her browser, page text is digested by a sandboxed sub-agent under never-obey-the-page orders before her conversational brain hears a word — a malicious page can't speak commands into her. Her browser is her own window with its own profile, password and card fields are refused in code, and she stops at checkout: she fills the cart, you place the order.

The household: one number, everyone welcome, nothing leaked

Register your people by phone number and Mia knows who's calling:

• You get everything — after your access phrase.
• Family get warmth, conversation, and message-passing, by name — never your private information. A text meant for you rides straight to your phone, in her words — family never sits in a queue. And she remembers each person separately: the dog your mom mentions on one call gets asked about by name on the next.
• Work associates get the same trusted service with colleague manner — a business partner is greeted like a business partner, not a beloved aunt.
• Strangers meet a personal assistant who takes a message, warmly, and briefs you later.

And it runs both ways: on your word she texts a person or a whole circle ("text everyone — dinner's at six"), with family and work hard-separated in code so one word can never reach the wrong list. Nobody is ever messaged who didn't reply YES to a one-time opt-in — the courtesy rule and the carrier-compliance rule are the same line of code.

The confidences law: what one family member tells her privately never surfaces to another — not in a summary, not in recall, not by accident. It's enforced in the architecture (every memory row knows whose it is), not promised in a policy. She keeps a secret the way a trusted family member does.

Text is king

Every ability works by text message, identically to voice, the dashboard, and the TV — same code underneath, because since July 2026 it is literally the same mind. A text turn opens the same reasoning session a phone call opens, with her entire capability catalog in front of it, and closes it the moment her reply is out. Text her a PDF from a waiting room and it lands in the same document memory as one dropped on her dashboard. Ask by text for a photo and the same search runs as on a call.

It is worth saying how that was earned, because it's the honest version. For most of her life the text doors ran a narrower intake — a classifier that could only route to abilities someone had hand-listed — and parity was kept by discipline. Discipline drifts: one morning she answered a football question from months-old training data, because the text side hadn't been given the search ability yet. The fix wasn't to port one more thing across. It was to delete the second brain, so the gap cannot reopen. The phone in your pocket is never a second-class door — now by construction, not by promise.

One conversation, not five

The doors aren't separate threads. Say something at the kitchen dashboard, text her from the car, ask from the couch, call her that evening — each door knows what was said at the others, labeled with where it happened and how long ago, in both directions. Tell her a rule at the dashboard and it still holds when you text her twenty minutes later. That sounds obvious and is surprisingly rare: most assistants keep a separate history per app, so the version of them on your phone has never met the version on your desk.

The hard questions, answered straight