When my fiancé and I decided to pay for our wedding ourselves, we politely turned down financial help from his wealthy parents. We wanted the day to reflect us—simple, meaningful, and from the heart. So when I mentioned I’d be baking our wedding cake, his mother, Christine, scoffed. She clearly thought it was beneath her son’s big day.

But I’ve been baking since I was a kid. I knew what I was doing. I spent days designing and crafting a beautiful three-tiered cake—elegant florals, raspberry filling, the works. It was a labor of love, and when it was finally unveiled at the reception, it was a showstopper. Guests raved about it. I was so proud.

Then Christine did something I’ll never forget.

In the middle of the reception, she grabbed the mic and proudly announced that she had baked the cake. I stood there in stunned silence as people clapped and complimented her. She smiled and soaked it all in—claiming credit for something she hadn’t lifted a finger to help with.

I was furious. But before I could confront her, my fiancé Dave gently took my hand and said, “Let her lie. She’s about to regret it.”

He was right.

The very next morning, Christine called me in a panic. Turns out one of her high-society friends was so impressed with “her” cake that she wanted to commission one for an exclusive charity gala. Christine was trapped—she didn’t know the first thing about baking, let alone how to recreate what I had made.

I let her squirm for a minute. Then I calmly said, “Sorry, Christine. I only bake for people who give credit where it’s due.”

I didn’t need to humiliate her in front of a crowd or make a scene at the wedding. The cake had already made my statement. And Christine? She got a big, embarrassing slice of karma.

I made that cake for love—but justice served the final bite.