During her speech, my mother-in-law mocked me for deciding to bake my own wedding cake.
We didn’t accept money from his wealthy family for the wedding—we planned everything ourselves. When I told my mother-in-law I would make the cake, she laughed at me. But on the wedding day, she took credit for it in front of everyone. She stole my spotlight, but karma was on its way.
Christine, my wife’s mom, has never worked a day in her life, and it shows in ways that frustrate me. When I met her three years ago, she gave me a dismissive look, judging my department store dress and worn shoes.
“So you work in… customer service?” she asked, as if my job was menial.
I politely corrected her, “I’m a marketing coordinator.”
“That’s nice. Someone has to do those jobs.”
Dave squeezed my hand apologetically for his mother’s rudeness. That night, he told me he admired how hard I worked and cared about meaningful things. That’s when I knew I wanted to marry him.
Three months before the wedding, Dave lost his job. We saved every penny to avoid going into debt.
“We could ask my parents for help,” Dave suggested, but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing his mother would then control us.
“We’ll do it our way—no debt, no strings,” I insisted.
“And no borrowing from your mom!” Dave added, smiling.
That’s when I decided I’d bake the wedding cake myself.
At a dinner at Dave’s parents’ mansion, I shared our plans, including the cake. Christine couldn’t believe it.
“You’re making your own cake? How quaint,” she scoffed.
Dave defended me, but Christine’s condescending attitude hurt. She even called me “less fortunate,” which stung deeply.
I stood my ground: “We’re not taking money from you.”
Christine sighed and offered to have a fancy baker do it as a “gift,” but we refused.
In the weeks before the wedding, I poured my heart into perfecting the cake. Vanilla bean with raspberry filling, Swiss meringue buttercream, decorated with piped flowers. The venue manager praised it, saying it looked like it came from a top bakery.
On the wedding day, the ceremony was intimate, focused on our vows and love.
When the cake was served, guests were amazed. Dave proudly told everyone I had made it.
But then Christine tapped her glass and claimed credit for the cake, saying she couldn’t let her son have a bad dessert on his special day.
I felt crushed, my joy stolen. Dave quietly told me to let her have this moment; karma would catch up with her.
The next day, Christine called, asking me for the recipe to a cake order she had accepted from a charity gala.
I laughed and told her to let me know when the orders were ready so I could send guests her way.
Christine’s lie quickly unraveled. The charity called me directly to book future cakes.
Soon, I was building a small but growing business making cakes for local events.
At Thanksgiving, Christine gave me a store-bought pie—a small gesture of apology.
Dave’s dad confided that Christine rarely admits when she’s wrong, but he assured me I belong in the family and am valued.
Later, Dave told me his cousin was getting married and wanted me to make their cake.
I smiled, knowing I didn’t need Christine’s approval. Dave believed in me, and I had the skills and heart to create beauty.
I learned some people will try to take credit for your work, but truth always rises—just like a perfectly baked cake.