Christine had mocked my thrift store wedding dress, scoffed at our modest venue, and rolled her eyes at our DIY decorations. But when I told her I’d be baking our wedding cake, her reaction crossed into cruelty. “Growing up poor really does leave its mark,” she sighed, as if my homemade cake would embarrass her society friends.
I spent every free moment for months perfecting that cake – testing recipes, mastering tier construction, painstakingly piping hundreds of sugar flowers. When it was unveiled at our reception, the gasps of admiration were everything I’d dreamed. Until Christine stood up.
“I simply had to take charge of the cake,” she lied to our guests. My hands shook as she accepted compliments for my work. But karma works fast – days later, when a prominent socialite demanded Christine recreate “her” stunning cake, the truth came out spectacularly.
Now I run a successful cake business, while Christine still can’t look at a mixing bowl without flinching. Some life lessons are best delivered with a side of frosting.
