Her name was Lestari — though everyone called her Tari.
Every morning, she braved Jakarta’s choking traffic to make it on time to her job: a contract worker at a private bank, earning just enough to scrape by on the city’s minimum wage.
Life had never been kind to Tari. Orphaned since she was young, she had no parents to lean on when things got hard. The only family she had left was her older sister, Dewi, who was married with two kids. Dewi’s husband, Rian, worked odd jobs with just enough income to keep food on the table.
Tari lived in a small rented room in East Jakarta. After paying her rent, meals, and daily transport, her salary was nearly gone. But every month, she somehow managed to set aside a little — forcing herself to cut corners — just so she could help her nephew, Saka, who was in high school.
“High school costs more, Kak,” she had said to Dewi when her sister initially refused her help. “Let me help pay for Saka’s transportation and school needs. Dita can walk to her middle school since it’s closer.”
For two years, Tari stuck to this routine: working hard, saving what she could, sending money to help Saka. She thought her sister and brother-in-law would be grateful.
But reality wasn’t what she expected.
One long weekend, Tari returned to her hometown. That was when a neighbor casually let slip something that struck her like a slap in the face: Rian, her brother-in-law, had been complaining about her behind her back. He said Tari was unfair — that she only helped Saka while ignoring Dita, making her feel like the “lesser” child.
That night, Tari confronted Dewi quietly.
“Kak… is it true that Mas Rian said I was unfair?” she asked softly.
Dewi only lowered her gaze. “He just feels bad for Dita. He doesn’t want her to feel left out.”
Tari fell silent. A lump formed in her throat. All this time, she had sacrificed her own comfort just to lighten her sister’s burden. She herself lived on so little — sometimes even going hungry at the end of the month.
“I see,” she finally said, her voice cold but calm. “If that’s the case… then to be fair, I won’t help either of the kids anymore. After all, they’re not really my responsibility.”
Dewi looked up at her, eyes glistening, but Tari had already made up her mind.
That night, for the first time in years, she slept with a strange sense of relief — though her chest still ached.
She only ever wanted to be appreciated, without conditions. Without being judged for trying to help in the way she could.
And from that moment on, Tari stopped sending money.
She chose instead to save for herself. For her own future, which still stretched far ahead.
Because she finally realized: kindness is not always valued.
And she had every right to stop when she was tired.
Photo by SEO Galaxy on Unsplash
