The Ten-Dollar Lunch

The preschool parent chat kept lighting up, and the more I read, the more ridiculous it became.

The man sending the messages had a profile picture of himself with his daughter. He was Mia's dad, Mark Donovan.

When I did not answer immediately, he sent several more messages in a row.

"Ethan, did you see my message? Mia hasn't had much of an appetite these past two days, but she seems to really like Theo's lunch.

"You're already cooking anyway. Making one extra portion shouldn't be any trouble.

"Ten dollars a day is fair. A fast-food meal costs about that much. You're raising a kid on your own, right? Think of it as grocery money."

The condescending charity in his tone made my skin crawl.

I had no idea where he heard that I was a single father. I did usually handle school drop-off and pickup myself, and I dressed casually most days, so maybe he had decided I was an easy target.

My son, Theo, was allergic to a long list of common ingredients. His stomach was unusually sensitive too, so I personally handled everything he ate.

His ingredients came from specific farms and specialty suppliers. A small piece of premium wagyu alone cost over a hundred dollars, never mind the carefully selected organic produce.

Ten dollars would not even cover the container.

I had no patience for the man's nonsense, so I typed directly in the group chat.

"Sorry, I don't have the time. Also, my son's meals are very expensive to make. Ten dollars won't cover it."

I thought that was clear enough.

Apparently, it was not.

He immediately sent a string of voice messages.

"Oh, come on, Ethan. We're all parents in the same class. What happened to helping each other out?

"It's just a few pieces of meat and some vegetables. How much could that possibly be worth? You're acting like your kid is eating at a Michelin restaurant.

"Boys don't need to be pampered like that. Girls are different. My Mia is growing, and she needs proper nutrition. Don't you have any sense of priorities?"

By the time I finished listening, my temper had shot straight up.

What decade was this man living in?

I was about to tear into him in the chat when Ms. Walker, the classroom teacher, suddenly jumped in.

"Ethan, Mark is only thinking of the children. Our class has always encouraged sharing.

"Since Mia likes Theo's lunch, perhaps you can help out a little. It will also help the children build a closer friendship."

Reading her blatantly biased message, my expression went cold.

I had just transferred Theo to this preschool because it advertised itself as an elite bilingual academy. I thought the standards would be better.

Clearly, I had been wrong.

I ignored the rest of the messages and tossed my phone aside.

They could say whatever they wanted. I was not making lunch for some stranger's daughter.