No dinner for liars, Mother announced, locking the kitchen for the third day. Dad nodded. “You’ll eat when you learn proper respect.”
Sister added, “Some children just need to learn through harsh consequences.”
Brother agreed. “Finally, someone’s teaching her about real discipline and boundaries.”
Mom continued, “Some kids just don’t deserve food until they sincerely apologize.”
When I fainted at school, the nurse weighed me and immediately called 911. The hospital’s findings would destroy my family forever.
My name is Kimberly, and I lived with what everyone thought was the perfect family. My parents, Gregory and Evelyn Fletcher, were pillars of our small Indiana community. Dad was a respected insurance agent. Mom volunteered at the church and was PTA president. My older sister, Melanie, was 17 and captain of the debate team, while my brother Preston, 16, was star quarterback of the varsity football team despite being a sophomore.
Then there was me, the disappointment. I wasn’t athletic like Preston or academically gifted like Melanie. I was average at best, struggling with mild dyslexia that made school harder than it should have been. But the real problem wasn’t my grades or lack of trophies. The real problem was that I had started questioning things.
It began small. I asked why we spent so much money on Melanie’s debate tournaments when I couldn’t get a tutor for my reading difficulties. I wondered aloud why Preston got a car for his 16th birthday when Melanie and I had to walk or take the bus. I questioned why I was expected to do most of the household chores while my siblings focused on their important activities.
My parents called it disrespect and ingratitude. My siblings agreed, especially after my parents started treating them even better to contrast with my bad attitude.
The breaking point came on a Tuesday in March of my sophomore year. I had asked politely, I thought, if I could join the school’s art club. It required a $50 fee and would meet twice a week after school. I had saved up babysitting money to cover the fee myself.
“Absolutely not,” Mom said without looking up from Melanie’s college application essays. “You can barely handle your current responsibilities, and your grades are terrible.”
“My grades aren’t terrible,” I protested. “I have mostly B’s and C’s, and I’ve been working really hard, too.”
“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” she snapped. “This is exactly the kind of disrespectful attitude that’s been poisoning this household.”
Dad looked up from helping Preston with his football recruitment videos. “Your mother’s right, Kimberly. You’ve been nothing but ungrateful lately. Maybe you need to learn some appreciation for what you have.”
That’s when I made my fatal mistake. “I just want to do something I enjoy for once. Melanie gets debate. Preston gets football, but I can’t even have art club.”
The room went silent. Melanie slowly closed her laptop. Preston paused his video. Mom’s face turned red.
“How dare you compare yourself to your siblings?” Mom hissed. “They earn their privileges through excellence and respect. You earn nothing but disappointment.”
“I’m trying my best,” I said, tears starting to form. “I just wanted—”
“You’re a liar,” Dad interrupted. “If you were trying your best, your grades would be better. If you were respectful, you wouldn’t question our decisions. You’re manipulative and deceitful, and we’re tired of it.”
That’s when Mom made the announcement that would change everything. “No dinner for liars. Until you can show us proper respect and honesty, you don’t deserve to eat at our table.”
I stared at her in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” Dad said, nodding approvingly. “You’ll eat when you learn proper respect.”
Melanie chimed in with a smug smile. “Some children just need to learn through harsh consequences. Maybe this will finally teach you some gratitude.”
Preston nodded sagely as if he was dispensing ancient wisdom. “Finally, someone’s teaching her about real discipline and boundaries.”
Mom continued, looking almost pleased with herself. “Some kids just don’t deserve food until they sincerely apologize and change their attitude completely.”
I was sent to my room while they enjoyed dinner. I could smell the pot roast and hear their laughter echoing through the house.
The next morning, I came downstairs hoping it had been some sort of twisted lesson. Surely, they wouldn’t actually starve me. But the kitchen was different. Mom had installed a lock on the pantry door overnight. The refrigerator had a padlock on it. Even the fruit bowl was gone.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mom said cheerfully to Melanie, who was eating pancakes and bacon. “Did you sleep well?”
I stood there in my pajamas, stomach growling. “Can I have some breakfast?”
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. “Have you learned proper respect?” Dad asked without looking up from his newspaper.