Helen's POV

Lemuel rubbed the back of his neck, all relaxed like he'd just checked something off his to-do list. He even looked a little smug about it.

"All set," he said as he grabbed his bag. "The settlement will take a few days. There's a temporary cap on large transactions in the system. As for Mom…"

He turned toward the door, already half out. "I'll need you to keep taking care of Mom for a few more days. Once the report comes in, we'll settle up. If I owe you, I'll pay it. If you owe me, you'll pay me."

Lemuel didn't even wait for my response before walking out with a spring in his step, as if he'd just shrugged off a heavy load.

...

Back home, I helped Mom turn over in bed and brought her some warm water. Not too hot, not too cold—just the way she liked it. I held the glass steady while she took a few slow sips.

When she was finally settled, I sat on the small plastic stool beside her bed.

That thing had been creaking under me for years, just like my back.

I grabbed my phone, the screen a little smudged, and the battery barely hanging on. Sure enough, there it was: a new icon right in the middle of my home screen.

A cold silver scale hovered over a gray background.

Underneath, one neat line of text:

[Equal Responsibility Tracker]

I swiped across the screen. The surface of the phone, cool and glassy, brought back memories of summers from long ago.

Back then, the only electric fan in the house was always aimed at Lemuel's desk.

Mom would sit nearby, gently fanning herself with that bamboo fan, muttering like she was talking to the air.

"Lemuel's our family's future. He's gonna make us proud. Helen, don't block the breeze. It's okay if girls aren't great at school. Just marry well and you'll be fine. No need to stress over books."

The thing is, I wasn't a bad student. I'd actually gotten into the local teachers' college.

But when Mom held that admission letter in her hands, she looked at it as if it were trash.

"What's the point of sending a girl to college? Total waste of money. You'll fall behind and struggle. Lemuel's taking the entrance exam next year, and that's what really matters."

So instead, I went to work at the textile factory.

My very first paycheck? I spent it buying Lemuel a nice fountain pen.

That was the first time Mom really smiled.

"Now that's more like it," she said, all proud. "Big sisters should support their little brothers. He's the one carrying on the family."

Right then, my phone buzzed in my hand.

The silver scale icon flashed, and the app kicked out its first calculations.

[Helen, caregiving action: assisted patient in turning over (8 minutes), recorded as 0.13 basic work hours, converted to $6.50.]

[Helen, basic nursing: feeding water (5 minutes), recorded as 0.08 work hours, converted to $4.00.]

A few seconds later, Lemuel called.

He sounded like he was in a great mood.

"Helen, did you see it yet? According to this system, your daily wage is only $56.50. I've been sending you three grand every month. Honestly, you've been making a killing."

My stomach sank.

For a second, I actually questioned myself, 'Had I really taken advantage of my brother all these years?'

But then he kept going. "That's what home caregivers usually make. And you don't even pay taxes. Free room and board, too. It's not bad and a pretty cushy deal."

Then he paused, like he was being generous. "Don't worry, once the numbers settle, I won't ask you to pay too much back. You're my sister, after all. Just return $80, maybe $100, and we'll call it even."

After he hung up, I stared at the app.

All I saw was a message that said: [Total balance currently under settlement.]

The rest of the screen was blank.

I sighed and set the phone down. Bills don't wait, and groceries weren't going to buy themselves.

I got on my old bike and headed to the farmers' market out by the edge of town.

That was Lemuel's idea, too.

"Mom's getting older," he had said one evening, sitting right at her bedside. "Her digestion isn't great. The produce at regular markets is too full of pesticides. There's an organic farm out past the city line. It's a bit of a hike, but worth it. It doesn't matter if it costs more. What matters is that it's fresh and clean."

He'd squeezed Mom's hand for effect. "A little extra effort's no big deal. Her health comes first."

And of course, Mom was moved to tears.

She looked at me and said, all emotional, "See how thoughtful your brother is? He's always thinking about me. You should really listen to him more. Stop complaining all the time."

But Mom had no idea that the farm was fifteen miles away with no bus route. I didn't even have a car, and all I've got is that old, beat-up bike with a chain that rattles louder than a tambourine and brakes that squeal like they're begging for mercy.

The only thing that still works is the bell.

...

Today, the heat was unreal.

It was peak summer, and the air felt like it had been microwaved. The asphalt shimmered under my tires like it was about to melt. Every push on the pedal sent waves of heat up from the road, wrapping around me like a wet towel in a sauna.

Still, I kept pedaling.

Because no matter how heavy the sun felt or how sore my legs were, groceries still needed to get done.

That's just how it always is.

Helen's POV

Sweat was sliding down the side of my face in slow, sticky streams. I reached up to wipe it away with one hand, but the handlebars wobbled, nearly steering me straight into a guardrail. I steadied myself with a shaky breath and kept pedaling.

By the time I finally made it to the farm, my shirt was soaked clean through and clinging to my back like shrink wrap. The woman behind the vegetable stand looked me over and gave a long, pitying sigh.

"Miss, this is brutal. Why doesn't your brother come do this himself?"

I offered a tired smile, trying to play it off. "He's busy. He's a professor, you know, has classes to teach."

I grabbed the organic greens that Mom liked best, then tossed in a slab of fresh pork ribs. Lemuel had been particular and said they were crucial for 'calcium supplementation.'

...

When I arrived home, Lemuel was relaxing in the living room, peeling an apple for Mom. She seemed as happy as if she had just won the lottery, smiling widely.

"Lemuel was just telling me that once he clears up his schedule, he's going to take us out to the countryside for a day trip," Mom told me, glowing with excitement.

The moment Lemuel saw my sweaty, soiled face, his expression changed to annoyance.

"What took you so long? Mom's already hungry."

He didn't ask if I was okay, didn't wonder if I got there safely in that heat, or if the ride had tired me out. He just pointed at the basket like a boss, giving orders.

"Wash the ribs really well. Simmer them for two hours. The broth should be rich and milky white."

I didn't say a word. I just nodded and went into the kitchen. The range hood rattled as the soup simmered, the pot bubbling and hissing like it was whispering secrets. The smell spread throughout the house.

From the living room, I could hear Mom talking with Lemuel.

"You know how to take care of me," Mom said with a proud, almost dreamy tone. "You always remember what I like. Helen should take notes. She's so careless."

Then, like she was sharing some deep life lesson, she added, "You're the only one I can count on, Lemuel. I've truly lived a blessed life."

Over an hour later, I brought dinner to the table.

Mom took a sip of the rib soup and closed her eyes, savoring it like it was gourmet.

"Lemuel really puts thought into everything," she said, practically swooning. "This soup's delicious."

Lemuel threw a look my way like he was a head chef getting five stars.

"As long as Mom's happy. Sis, make this your new standard. If $3000 a month isn't enough, I'll throw in a little extra."

I kept my head down and quietly drank the soup. The ribs were tender, cooked so well that they fell right off the bone. Rich and flavorful…but somehow it didn't taste enjoyable to me.

Later that night, my phone buzzed.

The 'Equal Responsibility Tracker' app lit up and gave me a breakdown of the day:

Helen: $25 deducted

Lemuel: $229 deducted

I stared at the numbers. Strangely enough, they made me feel calm.

Maybe this system really was fairer than people's hearts.

The app remembered I biked fifteen miles through scorching heat to get those ribs. It recalled the nights when my fingers were too cold to move, but I still massaged Mom's swollen limbs. It also remembered the ten long years of care I gave without ever hearing a "thank you," while Lemuel dismissed it all as "just a little trouble."

After all, some sacrifices deserve more than empty praise. They deserve to be counted.

That night, for the first time, I actually slept through the night.

...

Bright and early the next morning, Lemuel came storming up to my door, practically vibrating with anger.

"Helen, call customer service right now! There's something messed up with this system! It says I got charged over $200? That's got to be a glitch!"

I didn't say a word; I just unlocked my phone, opened the app, and called support while he was right there.

The customer service rep answered in a calm, measured voice and began reading off the activity log:

"Helen, procurement activity: round trip to the organic farm (2 hours 15 minutes in high-temperature weather), recorded as 2.25 work hours, converted to $112.50 (including heat hazard compensation)."

"Helen, cooking service: pork rib stew (detailed preparation), 1.5 hours, converted to $75."

"Helen, basic care: body cleaning (20 minutes at 32°C room temp), recorded as 0.33 hours, converted to $16.50."

"Ingredients such as pork ribs cost $50, evenly split between both parties."

Lemuel just stared at the phone, jaw dropping open.

Then he snapped. "The ribs only cost $50! Why the hell am I being charged over $200?"

He snatched the phone and barked into it.

"She chose to bike there! I never said she couldn't take a cab! And now stewing ribs counts as work hours? Since when is cooking at home considered labor?"

But the rep didn't flinch.

"The system recorded that Mr. Lemuel requested the procurement task and did not provide transportation or any subsidy. Heatwave compensation is a standard protocol. During the meal, Ms. Helen consumed only a small amount of vegetables. The ribs and soup were primarily consumed by Ms. Brook's mother and Mr. Lemuel. Ingredient costs are apportioned based on actual consumption."

Lemuel stood there frozen, still gripping the phone, his mouth slightly open, but no words coming out.

Meanwhile, the app continued quietly in the background. No emotion, no bias—just recording every action, every hour, every cent.

Because unlike people, it actually noticed.

Mom chimed in from the side.

"Lemuel only asked for those fresh vegetables because he was thinking of me. So what if his sister runs a few errands? Does that really need to be turned into dollars and cents?"

She then reached for Lemuel's hand, patting it like she always did when she was trying to soothe him.

"Don't let it get to you, son. This whole system is just a machine. It can't understand the love we have as a family."

Lemuel exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he pointed a finger at the phone screen.

"Alright, let's say, for the sake of argument, we accept the grocery run and the cooking charges. Fine. But what is this?" He pointed harder. "A hundred bucks for labor? Who the hell makes this much an hour as a caregiver?"

Then he turned to me, narrowing his eyes. "Did you rig the system somehow? Snuck in a custom setting to milk more money out of me?"

Right on cue, his phone chimed.

[System Alert: Mr. Lemuel has questioned the system's impartiality and falsely accused Ms. Helen. A penalty of $50 has been issued.]