My fiancé Dave and I planned every part of our wedding ourselves, refusing money from his rich parents.

When I mentioned I’d bake my own wedding cake, my mother-in-law mocked me.

But on the big day, she took credit for it in front of everyone.

She stole my spotlight… but karma was already baking its way back.

My mother-in-law, Christine, has never worked a day in her life and it shows in ways that make my teeth grind.

I first met her three years ago, and she’d assessed me like I was a questionable purchase.

“So you’re in… customer service?” she asked, somehow making it sound like I cleaned toilets for a living.

“I’m a marketing coordinator,” I corrected gently.

“How sweet. I suppose someone needs to do those jobs.”

Dave had squeezed my hand, offering a silent apology for his mother’s behavior. He held me close that night and whispered, “I love that you work hard and care about things that matter.”

That was the moment I knew I’d marry him someday.

Three months before our wedding, Dave’s company downsized, making him lose his job.

We were already stretching every dollar for the wedding, determined not to start our marriage in debt.

“We could ask my parents,” Dave suggested.

“Really?? Think again!”

He sighed, “God no! Mom would lord it over us for the next decade.”

“Then we cut back.

We make it work.”

“Yeah, we’ll do it our way. No debt, no guilt, no strings.”

“And no loans from your mom!”

He laughed. “Especially no loans from her!”

Then his eyes softened a little.

“This is why I love you, Alice. You never take the easy way out.”

That night, I came up with an idea. “I’ll bake our wedding cake myself.”

Dave propped himself up on one elbow.

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of pressure.”

“I’ve been baking since I was 10!” I reminded him. “Remember those cookies I used to sell in college?

People loved them.”

He smiled, “They did. And I love you for even considering it.”

“It’s decided then,” I said, feeling a flutter of excitement. “I’m making our wedding cake.”

The following Sunday, we had dinner at Dave’s parents’ sprawling house.

Jim, Dave’s father, was warm enough but distant, and lost in his business empire.

Christine, however, was impossible to ignore.

“We’ve finalized the menu with the caterer,” I mentioned over dessert, trying to include them in the planning. “And I’ve decided to bake the wedding cake myself.”

She laughed. “Oh, honey!

No. You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I’ve been testing recipes for weeks.”

Christine exchanged glances with Jim.

“You’re baking your own wedding cake? What is this, a picnic in the park?”

“Mom, Alice is an amazing baker.”

“Well,” Christine said, dabbing her lips with her napkin, “I suppose when you grow up… less fortunate, it’s hard to let go of that mindset.”

“We’re doing this our way,” Dave said firmly. “Without going into debt.”

Christine sighed dramatically.

“At least let me call Jacques. He does all the society weddings in town. Consider it my gift.”

“We’re not taking money from you, Mom.

Not for the cake… not for anything.”

On the way to our apartment complex, Dave turned to me.

“You’re going to make the most beautiful cake anyone has ever seen, Alice. And it’s going to taste better than anything Jacques could ever create.”

I leaned over and kissed him, tasting the promise of our future together.

The weeks before the wedding, I practiced piping techniques until my hands cramped. I baked test cakes and subjected our friends to taste tests.

I watched countless tutorials on structural support for tiered cakes.

The night before the wedding, I assembled the cake in the venue’s kitchen. Three perfect tiers: vanilla bean with raspberry filling covered in Swiss meringue buttercream with piped florals cascading down one side.

I stood back, hardly believing that I, Alice, who grew up helping her mom clip coupons, had created something so beautiful.

“You’ve outdone yourself!” the venue manager whispered with wide eyes. “This looks like it came from a fancy bakery downtown.”

Pride bloomed in my chest.

“Thank you. It’s been a labor of love.”

The wedding morning dawned clear and perfect.

“Ready to become my wife?” Dave asked, adjusting his tie.

“More than ready!” I replied, smoothing my simple but elegant dress. We’d found it at a consignment shop, and with a few alterations, it fit like it was made for me.

The ceremony was everything I’d dreamed of—intimate, meaningful, with just our closest family and friends.

When Dave said his vows, his voice broke with emotion, and I didn’t care about fancy decorations or expensive flowers. All that mattered was us… promising forever.

At the reception, I held my breath as the cake was wheeled out. A collective gasp rose from the guests, followed by appreciative murmurs:

“Did you see the cake?”

“It’s stunning!”

“Who made it?”

“Wow!”

Dave’s cousin Emma found me by the bar.

“Alice, the cake is magnificent! Which bakery did you use?”

“Alice made it herself,” Dave said, his voice warm with pride.

Emma’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding!

It’s absolutely professional quality!”

Throughout dinner, guests kept stopping by our table to compliment the cake. Dave’s best friend Mark had three slices. His aunt said it was the best cake she’d ever tasted.

Even the photographer took special photos for his portfolio.

I was floating on cloud nine… until Christine took the microphone.

“I want to say a few words about the beautiful cake everyone has been raving about,” she began, her voice carrying clearly across the reception hall.

Dave and I exchanged glances. This wasn’t on the program.

“Of course, I had to step in and make the cake!” Christine continued with a tinkling laugh. “I mean, with everything going on, I couldn’t let my son have a tacky 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.

I half-rose from my seat, words burning on my tongue, but Dave gently touched my arm as we watched three guests walk up to Christine.

“Let her have her lie,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t quite read. “She’s about to regret it.”

“But—”

“Trust me. Some things work themselves out.”

Reluctantly, I sank back into my couch, watching as Christine basked in the applause, accepting compliments for my creation with practiced grace.

The rest of the reception passed in a haze of forced smiles and polite conversation.

Only Dave’s steady presence at my side kept me grounded.

It wasn’t until we were alone in our hotel room that night that I finally let the tears fall.

“I can’t believe she did that,” I cried. “It’s such a small thing, but it feels huge.”

Dave pulled me close, his arms strong around me. “It’s not small.

It was your accomplishment… and she stole it.”

“Why does she do these things?”

“Mom’s always defined herself by how others see her. She can’t understand people who don’t do the same.” He brushed a tear from my cheek. “But that’s what I love about you.

You don’t care about appearances. You care about what’s real.”

“I just wanted one day without her drama.”

“I know. But remember what I said?

She’s going to regret it. Because karma is real.”

***

The day after the wedding, my phone rang. Christine’s name flashed on the screen.

I considered letting it go to voicemail but decided to be the bigger person.

“Hello, Christine.”

“Alice. I need your help.”

I sat straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“Mrs.

Wilson called me this morning. She’s hosting that charity gala next week and wants to order a custom cake. From me.

She was so impressed with… with the wedding cake.”

I said nothing, letting the silence stretch between us.

“Alice?” Christine prompted. “Are you there?”

“I’m here… just trying to understand why you’re calling me about this.”

“I need… I need the recipe. And instructions for those flower things.”

“The piping technique?

Funny, I thought you made the cake.”

“Look, maybe it was more of a… collaborative effort.”

“A collaborative effort?” I laughed. “When exactly did we collaborate, Christine? Was it while I was testing recipes for weeks?

Or during the hours I spent learning how to properly stack tiers? Or maybe when I was up until 2 a.m. the night before my wedding, putting on the finishing touches?”

“Alice—”

“Let me know when the orders are ready.

I’ll send the guests your way.”

I hung up and Dave found me in the kitchen, staring at my phone.

“Your mom just called. Seems she’s been commissioned to make a cake for the Wilson charity gala.”

The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page. Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇