In our house, Dad was the king, and Mom was his servant. My brother Josh and I were practically invisible. My name is Irene, and this is how we decided to teach our workaholic father a lesson.

It was a typical Tuesday evening. I was doing math homework at the kitchen table while Josh lay on the living room floor with his comic book. The clock ticked towards 6 p.m., and I braced for Dad’s arrival.

At 6 p.m., the front door swung open, and Dad trudged in, his briefcase in hand. He barely looked at us, instead calling out, “Mariam! Where’s my dinner?”

Mom, looking frazzled, appeared from the laundry room. “Coming, Carl. Just finishing up the laundry.”

Dad grunted and plopped down on the couch, immediately immersing himself in his PlayStation game. The familiar sounds of racing cars filled the room, drowning out everything else.

Josh and I exchanged frustrated glances. This was our routine: Dad was absorbed in work and games, while Mom handled everything else, and we were invisible.

“Enough,” I muttered, storming into the kitchen where Josh was grabbing a snack. “We need to show Dad how he’s been treating us and Mom.”

Josh’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “What’s the plan?”

We hatched a plan. The next day, we convinced Mom to take a spa day, promising to handle everything at home. She agreed, clearly needing a break.

As 6 p.m. approached, Josh and I raided Dad’s closet for his shirts and ties. We dressed up in his oversized clothes, adding a touch of comedy to our act.

When Dad came home, he froze at the sight of us. “What’s going on?” he asked.

I mimicked his usual demanding tone. “I need my dinner.”

Josh, engrossed in a magazine, added, “And don’t forget to clean up the PlayStation.”

Dad’s confusion turned to realization as he watched us. “Is this how you see me?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Dad. You ignore us and treat Mom like a servant,” I said.

Josh chimed in, “Mom works hard too and takes care of everything. You only complain and demand.”

Dad’s shoulders slumped. Just then, Mom walked in, looking relaxed. She took in the scene and asked, “What’s going on?”

Dad, tears in his eyes, said, “I’ve been a terrible husband and father. I’m sorry.”

He walked to the kitchen, and we watched as he began cooking. “Making dinner! Flatbread, anyone?” he called out.

Josh and I exchanged stunned looks but joined Mom at the table. As Dad served us, he apologized again. “I’ll do better,” he promised.

During dinner, Dad engaged with us, asking about our day and listening. It felt strange but wonderful.

“So, how’s school?” Dad asked.

I mentioned a big test coming up. “Maybe I could help you study?” Dad offered.

Surprised, I agreed. As we finished dinner, Dad smiled genuinely. “Thank you for showing me how I was acting.”

I felt a warm glow. “We’re just glad you listened.”

Josh grinned. “And maybe you’ll join us for games?”

Dad laughed. “Deal. But first, let’s clean up together.”

As we cleared the table and washed dishes, I felt hopeful. It was just one night, but it was a start. For the first time in years, we felt like a family again.