Ever felt like you were invisible in your own home? Like the person you're supposed to look up to doesn't even know you exist? That's been my life for as long as I can remember. I'm Irene, and this is the story of how my brother and I had to teach our dad a lesson he'd never forget...

It was a typical Tuesday evening. I sat at the kitchen table, math homework spread out in front of me, while my younger brother Josh sprawled on the living room floor, nose buried in a comic book. The clock on the wall ticked steadily towards 6 p.m.

Right on cue, the front door swung open. Dad trudged in, briefcase bag in hand, tie already loosened. He barely glanced our way as he called out, "Hey."

I looked up, hoping for... something. A smile? A "How was your day?" But nope. Nothing.

Instead, he bellowed, "Mariam! Where's my dinner?"

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

Dad grunted, kicking off his shoes. "Well, hurry up. I'm starving."

I watched as he made a beeline for the PlayStation, plopping down on the couch without so much as a "How are you?" to any of us. The familiar sounds of his racing game filled the room, drowning out everything else.

Josh caught my eye from across the room. He rolled his eyes, and I nodded in silent agreement. This was our normal, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

Mom rushed past, arms full of laundry. "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Carl."

No response. Just the screeching of virtual tires and Dad's occasional muttered curse.

I sighed, turning back to my homework. Another night in the Thompson household, where Dad was king, Mom was the servant, and Josh and I, well, we might as well have been furniture.

"Earth to Irene," Josh's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "You gonna help me with my English homework or what?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah, sure. Let me finish this problem first."

As I bent over my textbook, I couldn't help but wonder: How long could we go on like this?

The next evening, things reached a boiling point. I was setting the table for dinner when I heard Dad's voice from the living room.

"Mariam! Why are these magazines so dusty? Don't you ever clean around here?"

I peeked around the corner to see Dad holding up one of his car magazines, a scowl on his face. Mom stood nearby, looking exhausted and defeated.

"I'm sorry, Carl. I've been so busy with work and—"

"Busy?" Dad scoffed, rubbing his chin. "I work too, you know. But I expect to come home to a clean house. Is that too much to ask?"

My blood boiled. Mom worked just as hard as Dad, if not harder. She had a full-time job, plus she did all the cooking, cleaning, and taking care of us kids. And what did Dad do? Work, eat, play video games, sleep. Rinse and repeat.

"That's it," I muttered under my breath. I stormed into the kitchen where Josh was grabbing a snack.

"We need to do something," I said, my voice low.

Josh raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About Dad. This can't go on. He treats Mom like dirt, and us like we don't even exist. We need to show him what it feels like."

A slow grin spread across Josh's face. "I'm listening."

We huddled together, whispering furiously as we hatched our plan. It was time to give Dad a taste of his own medicine.

The next day, we convinced Mom to take a spa day, assuring her we'd take care of things at home. She was hesitant at first, but eventually agreed, clearly in need of a break.

As 6 p.m. approached, Josh and I got ready. We raided Dad's closet, pulling out two of his shirts and ties. The clothes hung off our smaller frames, but that was part of the effect we were going for.

"Ready?" I asked Josh as we heard Dad's car pull into the driveway.

He nodded, straightening his too-large tie. "Let's do this."

The door swung open, and Dad stepped in. He froze, taking in the sight of us in his clothes.

"What's going on here?" he asked, confusion evident in his voice.

I fixed him with a stern look. "I need my dinner," I said, mimicking his usual demanding tone.

Josh didn't even look up from his magazine. "And don't forget to clean up the PlayStation when you're done."

Dad's eyebrows shot up. "Wait a minute. What are you two doing?"

I waved him off dismissively. "Hey, I'm busy. Don't bother me with questions."

"Yeah," Josh chimed in, "go ask Mom. Isn't that what you usually do?"

A heavy silence fell over the room. I could almost see the gears turning in Dad's head as he watched us. Slowly, his expression changed from confusion to dawning realization.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable. "Is this... is this how you see me?"

The moment of truth had arrived. I took a deep breath, dropping the act.

"Yes, Dad. This is exactly how you've been treating us and Mom. You're always too busy for us, and you treat Mom like she's just here to serve you."

Josh joined in, his voice steady despite the emotion I could see in his eyes. "She works just as hard as you do, but she also has to take care of everything at home. And all you do is complain and demand things from her."

Dad's shoulders slumped as the weight of our words hit him. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the front door opened once more.

Mom walked in, looking more relaxed than I'd seen her in years. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her.

Dad turned to her, and I was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "I... I think I've been a terrible husband and father," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize how bad it was until now."

Without another word, he walked into the kitchen. We all watched in stunned silence as he started pulling out pots and pans.

"Carl?" Mom called out, confusion evident in her voice. "What are you doing?"

"Making dinner! Flatbread, anyone?!" came his reply. "Please, sit down. All of you."

As we all pitched in to clear the table and wash dishes, I couldn't help but feel hopeful. This was just one night, and I knew things wouldn't magically be perfect from here on out. But it was a start, a real one. And for the first time in years, we felt like a family again.