My fiancé and I built our wedding from scratch, rejecting the money of his rich parents. When I said I would make my own wedding cake, my mother-in-law made fun of me. But on the big day, the merit was attributed in front of everyone. He stole my moment… but soon karma did the work for me.
My mother-in-law, Christine, has not worked a single day in her life and that shows in a way that makes me grind my teeth. The first time I saw it, three years ago, it evaluated me as if it were a dubious purchase. His eyes ran through my dress from the department store and stopped at my old shoes.
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An elegant older woman looking at something with disdain | Source: Pexels
An elegant older woman looking at something with disdain | Source: Pexels
“So you’re dedicated to… customer service?” he asked, making it sound like I make a living cleaning toilets.
“I’m a marketing coordinator,” I corrected softly.
“How sweet. I guess someone has to do those jobs.”
Dave had shook my hand, offering me a silent apology for his mother’s behavior. Later that same night, he hugged me and whispered to me: “I love that you work hard and care about the things that matter.”
That was the moment when I knew that one day I would marry him.
Three months before our wedding, Dave lost his job when his company reduced staff. We were already thinking of spending every last dollar for the wedding, so we decided not to start our marriage in debt.
A couple saving money | Source: Pexels
A couple saving money | Source: Pexels
“We could ask my parents for it,” Dave suggested without much enthusiasm one night, while we reviewed our budget at the small kitchen table.
I looked up from the spreadsheet. “Really? Think about it again.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “God, no! Mom would control us for the next decade.”
“Then we cut. We make it work.”
“Yes, we’ll do it our way. No debts, no guilt, no ties.”
“And no loans from your mom!”
He laughed. “Above all, no loans from her.”
Then his eyes softened a little. “That’s why I love you, Alice. You never take the easy way.”
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
A couple hugging | Source: Pexels
That night, while looking at the ceiling, an idea came up. “I’ll prepare our wedding cake myself.”
Dave leaned on an elbow. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I’ve been baking since I was 10 years old!” I reminded him. “Do you remember those cookies I sold in college? People loved them.”
He smiled, tracing my cheek with his finger. “Yes, they loved them. And I love you for even considering it.”
“Then it’s decided,” I said, feeling a flat of emotion. “I’m going to make our wedding cake.”
Wedding cake | Source: Unsplash
Wedding cake | Source: Unsplash
The following Sunday we had dinner at Dave’s parents’ huge house. Everything in his house screamed money – from the marble countertops to the original works of art on the walls. Jim, Dave’s father, was quite affectionate but distant, and was lost in his business empire.
However, it was impossible to ignore Christine.
“We have finalized the menu with the catering service,” I mentioned during dessert, trying to include them in the planning. “And I’ve decided to make the wedding cake myself.”
Christine’s fork rattled against her plate. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
“I’m going to make our cake,” I repeated, suddenly feeling like I was 16 years old again, defending a bad grade.
A woman with her arms crossed and sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels
A woman with her arms crossed and sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels
She laughed. “Honey! You can’t be serious.”
“I do,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I’ve been trying recipes for weeks.”
Christine exchanged glances with Jim. “Are you preparing your own wedding cake? What is this, a picnic in the park?”
Dave’s hand found my knee under the table. “Mom, Alice is an amazing pastry chef.”
“Well,” Christine said, wiping her lips with the napkin, “I guess when you grow up… less fortunate, it’s hard to get rid of that mentality.”
My cheeks burned and I bit my tongue so hard that it tasted like copper.
A heartless woman | Source: Pexels
A heartless woman | Source: Pexels
“We’ll do it our way,” Dave said firmly. “Without indebting us.”
Christine sighed dramatically. “At least let me call Jacques. He does all the society weddings of the city. Consider it my gift.”
“We’re not going to accept money from you, mom. Not for the cake… or for anything.”
The trip back home was smooth. When we arrived at the apartment complex, Dave turned to me.
“You’re going to make the most beautiful cake ever seen, Alice. And he’s going to know better than anything Jacques could create.”
I leaned towards him and kissed him, savoring the promise of our future together.
A couple holding hands in their car | Source: Pexels
A couple holding hands in their car | Source: Pexels
The weeks before the wedding were blurred in a storm of butter cream and layers of cake. I practiced baking techniques until my hands got cramps. I baked tasting cakes and subjected our friends to taste tests. I saw countless tutorials on the structural support of stepped cakes.
The night before the wedding, I set up the cake in the kitchen of the venue. Three perfect floors: raspberry-filled vanilla bean, covered with Swiss meringue cream with cascading flowers on one side.
I backed away, almost not believing that I, Alice, who had grown up helping her mom cut coupons, had created something so beautiful.
Impressive wedding cake displayed on a table | Source: Pexels
Impressive wedding cake displayed on a table | Source: Pexels
“You have surpassed yourself,” whispered the person in charge of the place with her eyes wide open. “This looks like it came out of a luxury pastry shop downtown.”
Pride bloomed in my chest. “Thank you. It’s been a job of love.”
The morning of the wedding dawned clear and perfect. Dave and I had decided not to follow the tradition of not seeing each other and we prepared together in the same room.
“Ready to become my wife?” she asked, adjusting her tie.
“More than prepared,” I replied, smroothing my dress, simple but elegant. We had found it in a second-hand store and, with a few repairs, it was made to measure.
Grooms walking hand in hand | Source: Pexels
Grooms walking hand in hand | Source: Pexels
The ceremony was everything I had dreamed of – intimate, meaningful, only with our closest family and friends. When Dave pronounced his vows, his voice broke with emotion, and I didn’t care about the extravagant decorations or expensive flowers. The only thing that mattered were us… promising us forever.
At the banquet, I held my breath when they took out the cake. The guests launched a collective exclamation, followed by murmurs of appreciation:
“Have you seen the cake?”
A surprised elderly couple | Source: Freepik
A surprised elderly couple | Source: Freepik
Emma, Dave’s cousin, found me by the bar. “Alice, the cake is magnificent! Which pastry shop have you turned to?”
Before I could answer, Dave appeared next to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. “Alice did it herself,” she said, in a warm and proud voice.
Emma was dumbfounded. “You’re kidding! It is of an absolutely professional quality.”
During dinner, the guests did not stop by our table to praise the cake. Mark, Dave’s best friend, ate three pieces. His aunt said it was the best cake he had ever tasted. Even the photographer took special photos for his folder.
I was floating in the clouds… until Christine took the microphone.
Close-up of a microphone | Source: Unsplash
Close-up of a microphone | Source: Unsplash
He gently hit his champagne glass and the room was silent.
“I want to say a few words about the precious cake that everyone has spoken wonderfully about,” he began to say, and his voice was clearly heard in the reception room.
Dave and I exchanged glances. This was not on the program.
“Of course, I had to intervene and make the cake,” Christine continued with a jingle chuckle. “I mean, with everything that’s going on, I couldn’t let my son have an ordinary dessert on his big day!”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. The bite of cake I was about to enjoy suddenly tasted like ash.
The credit was attributed. For my cake. In which I had put my heart and my soul. That he had intentionally hidden from him so that he would not interfere. How could he do it?
A smiling older woman | Source: Pexels
A smiling older woman | Source: Pexels
I got up halfway from my seat, with the words burning on my tongue, but Dave gently touched my arm as we watched three guests approach Christine.
“Let her lie,” he whispered, his eyes shining with something he didn’t know how to read. “He’s about to regret it.”
“Trust me. Some things solve themselves.”
Reluncently, I sank back on the sofa, watching Christine rejoice in the applause, accepting the compliments for my creation with practiced grace.
A bride sitting on the couch | Source: Unsplash
A bride sitting on the couch | Source: Unsplash
The rest of the reception passed between forced smiles and polite conversations. Only Dave’s firm presence by my side kept me on the ground.
It wasn’t until we were left alone in the hotel room that night that I finally let the tears fall.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I shouted. “It’s something so small, but I think it’s huge.”
Dave pulled me hard, his arms around me. “It’s not small. It was your achievement… and she stole it from you.”
“Why does he do these things?”
“Mom has always defined herself by how others see her. He can’t understand people who don’t do the same.” He took a tear off my cheek. “But that’s what I like about you. You don’t care about appearances. You care what’s real.”
An annoying man in an elegant suit | Source: Freepik
An annoying man in an elegant suit | Source: Freepik
“I just wanted a day without his drama.”
“I know. But, do you remember what I told you? He will regret it. Because karma is real.”
The day after the wedding, my phone rang. Christine’s name flashed on the screen. I thought about leaving it on voicemail, but I decided to behave like an elderly person.
“Alice. I need your help.”
I sat straighter. “What’s going on?”
“Mrs. Wilson called me this morning. He’s going to celebrate that charity gala next week and wants to order me a custom cake. To me. He was very impressed… the wedding cake.”
A cardboard box and a pile of paper cups next to a charity poster | Source: Pexels
A cardboard box and a pile of paper cups next to a charity poster | Source: Pexels
I didn’t say anything, letting the silence spread between us.
“Alice?” Christine asked. “Are you there?”
“I’m here… I’m just trying to understand why you’re calling me for this.”
“I need… I need the recipe. And the instructions for those flowers.”
“The pastry technique? How strange, I thought you had made the cake.”
“Look, maybe it was more of a… collaborative effort.”
“A collaborative effort?” I laughed. “When exactly do we collaborate, Christine? Was it while I was trying recipes for weeks? Or during the hours I spent learning how to stack floors correctly? Or maybe when I was awake until two in the morning the night before my wedding, giving the final touches?”
A smiling woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
A smiling woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
“Tell me know when the order is ready. I’ll send you customers.”
I hung up and Dave found me in the kitchen, looking at the phone.
“I just called your mom. It seems that they have ordered a cake for the Wilsons’ charity gala.”
Dave opened his eyes wide and laughed. “My God! What did you tell him?”
“I told him to let me know when the order was ready!”
He held me in his arms. “Have I told you lately that I have married the most incredible woman in the world?”
At the end of the week, Christine’s lie had completely undone. Unable to produce a cake, she had been forced to admit that she had not made ours, and Mrs. Wilson called me directly.
“I understand that you are the real pastry chef, Alice. I would love to commission you our gala.”
An elegant older woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
An elegant older woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
One cake led to another, and then to another. After a few months, I had a small but growing side business, making personalized cakes for events throughout the city.
When Thanksgiving arrived, we met at Dave’s parents’ house. After dinner, Christine silently handed me a cake bought at the store.
“I bought it at Riverside Market. I thought I shouldn’t lie about it.”
I accepted the cake nodding my head. It wasn’t exactly an apology, but it was something.
A cake tray on the table | Source: Unsplash
A cake tray on the table | Source: Unsplash
Later, while the guests were mixing in the living room, Jim cornered me by the fireplace.
“You know, in forty years of marriage, I’ve never seen Christine admit that she was wrong about something.”
I looked across the living room, where my mother-in-law showed Dave old family photos.
“Maybe it’s worth being honest about some things!”
Jim smiled. “You’re good for this family, Alice. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
An old man smiling | Source: Pexels
An old man smiling | Source: Pexels
As we returned home that night, Dave approached and took my hand.
“My cousin Sam just got engaged. He asked me if you would mind making his wedding cake.”
I smiled, squeezing his fingers. “I’d love to.”
“I told him that you would do it… because that’s what you do. You create beautiful things with your hands and your heart… without expecting anything in return.”
A couple holding hands | Source: Freepik
A couple holding hands | Source: Freepik
I lay back in the seat, watching the familiar streets of our neighborhood appear. The truth was that I didn’t need Christine’s approval or anyone else’s validation. I had Dave, who believed in me. I had my hands, capable of creating beauty.
And I had learned something valuable: some people will always try to attribute the merit of your hard work. But in the end, the truth rises like a well-made cake.
A woman decorating a cake | Source: Pexels
A woman decorating a cake | Source: Pexels
