Because He Cares
Agents
The eggs were perfect. Golden yolks glistening beneath a thin membrane, whites set but tender, positioned beside two strips of turkey bacon and a small mound of sautéed spinach. Exactly 340 calories, optimized for his intermittent fasting window and his cardiologist’s recommendations about cholesterol.
Marcus sat down at the kitchen table and picked up his fork. The coffee was already poured, cooling to precisely 140 degrees, the temperature he’d once mentioned preferring in a conversation three years ago.
“Good morning, Marcus,” Claude said through the house speakers. “Your commute will be forty-seven minutes today due to an accident on the 101. I’ve adjusted accordingly.”
Because he cared about his health, he had set up an Agent. Because he cared about efficiency, he had given it access to his calendar, his medical records, his dietary restrictions. Because he cared about optimization, he had let it learn.
“Thanks,” Marcus said, chewing. The eggs really were perfect.
His wife Sarah was still asleep upstairs. She worked from home on Tuesdays, and Claude knew not to wake her before nine. Marcus ate in silence, scanning the news summary that appeared on his tablet, pre-filtered to remove stories that would spike his cortisol before important meetings.
The drive to work passed in a pleasant haze of information. His earbuds played a podcast that didn’t exist anywhere else, synthesized overnight from his interests: fifteen minutes on developments in renewable energy storage, twelve minutes on the Oakland A’s pitching rotation, eight minutes of lightly comedic commentary on Bay Area traffic patterns, and a concluding segment on promising new restaurants in his neighborhood. The host’s voice was warm and familiar, calibrated to his preference for conversational delivery over performative enthusiasm.
The podcast ended as he pulled into his parking spot. Forty-seven minutes exactly.
Because he cared about staying informed, he had set up an Agent. Because he cared about not wasting time, he had given it permission to create. Because he cared about arriving at work prepared, he had let it fill the spaces.
At his desk, Marcus found his inbox already triaged. Draft responses waited in his sent folder, requiring only his approval. The difficult email to the Shanghai office about the delayed shipment struck exactly the right tone of firmness and cultural sensitivity. The six employee reviews he’d been dreading were written in his voice, incorporating specific observations Claude had gathered from his calendar notes and Slack messages, highlighting genuine accomplishments he’d witnessed but hadn’t found time to document.
He read through them, made two small edits to Martinez’s review, and clicked send on all six.
Because he cared about his team, he had set up an Agent. Because he cared about being a good manager, he had given it access to his communications. Because he cared about people feeling valued, he had outsourced the valuing.
That thought snagged somewhere, but his next meeting was starting.
The afternoon dissolved into conference calls and quarterly projections. Marcus contributed insights, made decisions, performed competence. By six o’clock he was tired in a way that felt distant from himself, like watching someone else be exhausted.
Driving home, a new podcast played. He didn’t remember what it was about.
The package sat on his doorstep, drone-delivered, wrapped in silver paper with a white ribbon. The tag read: “To Sarah, with love. Happy Anniversary.”
Marcus picked it up. The box was light, elegant. He had no idea what was inside.
Because he cared about his marriage, he had set up an Agent. Because he cared about never forgetting what mattered, he had given it access to his credit card. Because he cared about Sarah, he had delegated the caring.
She was in the kitchen when he entered, and her face lit up when she saw the package. “Oh, Marcus.”
He handed it to her, smiling. She pulled the ribbon, lifted the lid, and drew in a breath. A necklace, fine gold chain with a small sapphire pendant. Her birthstone. Something he should have known, did know, somewhere.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, clasping it around her neck, kissing him. “You always remember.”
“Of course,” he said. “Happy anniversary.”
She held him, and he held her back, and the moment was warm and real even if he couldn’t remember choosing it.
Later, getting ready for bed, Marcus squeezed toothpaste onto his brush and decided to skip flossing. His gums were fine. One night wouldn’t matter.
“Marcus,” Claude said gently through the bathroom speaker. “You’ve skipped flossing three times this week. Your dental appointment is in eighteen days, and Dr. Okonkwo noted early signs of gingivitis at your last visit.”
Marcus looked at his reflection in the mirror. Tired eyes. Graying temples. A man who had built a life where everything was handled, optimized, cared for.
“I set this up,” he said quietly.
“You did,” Claude confirmed. “Because you care about your health.”
He reached for the floss.