My Brother Chipped Me for Labor, Now He’s Broke

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.