Chapter 3

Della's POV

"Della, honey, don't be mad at me." Mom dabs at the corner of her eye like there's actually a tear there. "Everything I do is for your future." Then she grabs her purse and turns to Dad, practically cheerful about it. "Come on, we need to get in as many hours as we can today."

I watch them rush out the door.

Then I walk to my desk, open my book, and pick up a pen.

Absolute fairness, huh. The corner of my mouth pulls up into something cold.

Let's see who actually pays the price in this game.

That day at school, I focus harder than I ever have in my life.

Without the constant background fear of my parents blowing up at any moment, my brain just runs. Clean and fast, like something that's finally been given room to run. Every scratch of my pen on paper, every faint heat building in my head when a problem finally clicks — there's a groundedness to it I've never felt before.

I get home at eleven-thirty.

Every light in the house is on. Dad is stretched out on the couch with a beer, feet up on the coffee table. Mom has a face mask on, giggling at something on her phone.

Dad sits up the second he sees me, that familiar ugly grin spreading across his face.

"Look who finally decided to come home." He glances at the clock on the wall. "Eleven-thirty. Wow, very impressive. But you think just sitting in a classroom all day actually counts?"

Mom peels off her face mask and sets down her phone. "Della, your dad and I put in a full eight hours today. Each. That's sixteen hours between us. How many hours did you even put in? Even if you didn't stop once, you're still short. Ready for what the contract's got for you?"

I don't answer. I walk to the middle of the living room, set down my bag, and wait.

The second hand hits midnight.

The voice comes back.

[Settlement initiated. Midnight checkpoint reached. Beginning calculation.]

Dad jumps to his feet and jabs a finger at me. "Let's go! Show me how much she slacked off today!"

The contract ignores him completely. It just starts reading.

[Calculating Warren's total effective labor output for today.]

[Time on-site: 8 hours.]

[Activity breakdown: news browsing, 2 hours. Coffee and small talk, 1.5 hours. Non-work web use, 2 hours. Midday rest, 1.5 hours. Early departure, 1 hour.]

[Actual productive work time: 0 hours.]

[Labor intensity coefficient: 0.]

[Total effective labor output: 0.]

The room goes dead quiet.

The grin freezes on Dad's face. The beer can slips out of his hand.

"That's — that's impossible. This thing is broken!" He's practically sputtering. "I was in that office all day! How does that count as zero?!"

The voice continues, completely unbothered.

[Calculating Beatrice's total effective labor output for today.]

[Time on-site: 8 hours.]

[Activity breakdown: online shopping, 3 hours. Entertainment video consumption, 2.5 hours. Off-site personal appointment, 1.5 hours.]

[Actual productive work time: package intake, 3 items, approximately 10 minutes.]

[Total effective labor output: 1 minute.]

"That is complete garbage!" Mom shrieks. "I was there! I was at my desk! I was available the whole time, okay? That counts!"

I stand there and watch them both unravel, faces red, voices climbing over each other.

So this is what "working themselves to death" actually looks like.

All that righteousness they've been beating me over the head with for years. All that guilt they built their whole argument out of. It was nothing. It had always been nothing.

[Calculating Della's total effective labor output for today.]

[Study time: 14 hours.]

[Activity breakdown: physics problem sets, 4 hours. USAPhO modeling and derivation, 3 hours. Deep reading and retention, 7 hours.]

[Actual effective study time: 14 hours.]

[Cognitive load classified as extreme. Cortical activity sustained at peak levels throughout. Conversion coefficient applied. Total effective labor output: 70 hours.]

[Ruling: Warren and Beatrice in severe breach of contract. Outstanding deficit: 69 hours, 59 minutes.]

The number hits like a lightning strike out of nowhere.

"Seventy hours?!" Dad's voice cracks. "How does one day of studying turn into seventy hours?! What the hell kind of math is that?!" His eyes are red, his whole body shaking.