My fiancé and I chose to pay for our wedding ourselves, turning down his wealthy parents’ help.
When I mentioned I’d be baking the wedding cake, my future mother-in-law, Christine, mocked me, convinced
it was beneath her standards. But baking had been my passion since childhood. I created a three-tier
cake with delicate florals and raspberry filling, and it turned out beautiful — guests raved about it.
Christine, who always judged me for not coming from money, couldn’t resist the spotlight. In the middle of the reception,
she grabbed the microphone and falsely claimed she had made the cake. Shocked, I wanted to call
her out, but Dave, my fiancé, whispered, “Let her lie — she’ll regret it.”
The next morning, karma arrived. Christine called in a panic: a high-society guest, impressed by “her” cake,
wanted to commission one for a gala. She was desperate, having no idea how to bake. I calmly told her,
“Sorry, I only bake for people who give credit where it’s due.”
I didn’t need public praise — the cake had already spoken for itself. Christine got her
lesson the hard way: while I baked for love, karma served the final slice.
