They Sang for Her and Saved Me Leftovers I Couldn’t Eat Chapter 01
On my eighteenth birthday, my fever spiked to 102°F. Yet the familiar birthday melody echoed through the living room right on schedule.
“Sabrina looks too sick to get up. I’ll blow out the candles and make a wish for you!”
Dizzy and heavy-headed from the fever, I gripped the doorframe and stepped out.
My parents and elder brother Cillian Hill huddled around my younger sister Wallis Hill, laughing as they settled a party hat onto her head.
The room fell silent the second they spotted me.
Mom gestured toward a neglected corner of the dining table. “Come sit. We saved you cake and dinner.”
I glanced down.
On the plate sat a few cold shrimp and a small portion of fried chicken. The tiny slice of ice cream cake beside them had already half-melted.
They’d forgotten. I ran a fever, and I was severely allergic to seafood.
The shrimp were Wallis’s favorite. Fried chicken belonged to Cillian. All I’d asked for, over and over, was chicken noodle soup.
They remembered my birthday, but they didn’t remember me.
I doubted they’d recall, either, that I was leaving for UC Berkeley in three days.
…
When I didn’t lift my fork, Dad’s expression darkened. “We made this meal specially for you. What could you possibly have to complain about?”
Special. It was always “special for me.” In the end, every meal catered only to Cillian and Wallis.
It was just like my fourteenth birthday. Mom promised a special gift for me. Instead, she bought Wallis a pink ballgown. All I received was a cheap hair clip tossed in as a freebie with the dress.
On my sixteenth birthday, Dad said he’d take me out for a fancy dinner to celebrate. He booked a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant—Cillian’s favorite spot. I sat through the whole evening staring at platters of seafood, my stomach aching with hunger.
Now history repeated itself.
Staring at the cold food spread out before me, I spoke softly. “Dad, I told you last month I wanted chicken noodle soup for my birthday. I reminded you repeatedly, even yesterday. How could you forget?”
“I’m allergic to seafood, I’m running a fever, and I can’t handle greasy food or cold sweets. Did you cook all this for me, or did you only cook it for Cillian and Wallis?”
The moment the words left my mouth, my parents’ faces hardened.
Mom pointed her finger straight at me. “Sabrina, what is your problem?”
“We left work early to prepare this whole spread. Your brother and sister gave up their free time just to celebrate you, and here you are nitpicking every little thing?”
“Chicken noodle soup is only for you. It’s a big occasion—of course we’d make food everyone enjoys!”
Dad’s voice turned gruff. “How can you be so selfish? We’re family. Everyone has to compromise when we eat together. What are we supposed to do, cook only what you like and leave everyone else unhappy?”
Wallis’s eyes welled up with tears. “I’m so sorry, Sabrina. I thought since you were feverish, Mom and Dad should make seafood for you… I didn’t know you couldn’t eat it.”
Cillian let out a scoff. “You never said you couldn’t eat any of this. How can you blame Mom and Dad?”
It wasn’t that I never spoke up. It was that no one ever listened.
When I was little, I took one bite of shrimp and immediately broke out in hives. I spent three days in the hospital, fighting just to stabilize.
Mom and Dad took turns staying by my bedside that night.
But the next day, the dinner table was covered in shrimp and crab anyway, all because Wallis mentioned she loved seafood. The only dish set aside for me was plain boiled greens.
Once I’d been sick with a sore throat, craving something sweet instead of spicy food. Mom and Dad agreed readily to make mild, sweet dishes.
The next day, every single sweet recipe was loaded with chili peppers.
Mom brushed off my protests. “Your brother’s been under a lot of stress lately. He needs spicy food to unwind. These dishes are still sweet at heart. Just put up with it. Rinse your portion under water if you have to.”
Put up with it. Why was it always my job to accommodate everyone else?
But I was done making concessions. Instead of forcing the food down like I always had, I turned and walked back to my bedroom.
The second I shut the door, I heard Dad slam his fork against the table. “We put all this work into a meal for her, and this is the thanks we get? She shows us nothing but disrespect for our effort!”
Mom huffed coldly. “It’s just a fever. Why all these sudden food restrictions? She’s had too easy a life, never gone hungry. Skip a few meals and she’ll learn to appreciate what’s put in front of her.”
My stomach knotted as tears slid down my cheeks.
Why could Cillian and Wallis eat all their favorite foods until they were full? While I starved, shoving food I hated down my throat only when the hunger became unbearable.
I wiped my tears, swallowed hard, and got up to take fever medicine.
Staring out the window at the moon, I silently made my birthday wish. I hoped I could get away from this house in three days.