My mother-in-law mocked me for making my own wedding cake – then took credit for it in her speech

I leaned back, almost unable to believe that I, Alice, who had grown up helping my mom clip coupons, had created something so beautiful.

Stunning wedding cake displayed on a table | Source: Pexels
“You’ve outdone yourself,” the venue manager whispered, eyes wide. “This looks like it came from a luxury downtown bakery.”
Pride blossomed in my chest. “Thank you. It’s been a labor of love.”

The wedding morning dawned clear and perfect. Dave and I had decided not to follow the tradition of not seeing each other beforehand and got ready together in the same room.
“Ready to become my wife?” he asked, adjusting his tie.
“More than ready,” I replied, smoothing my simple but elegant dress. We had found it at a thrift store, and with a few alterations, it fit me like it was made just for me.

Bride and groom walking hand in hand | Source: Pexels
The ceremony was everything I dreamed of — intimate, meaningful, just our closest family and friends. When Dave said his vows, his voice broke with emotion, and I didn’t care about the fancy decorations or expensive flowers. The only thing that mattered was us… promising forever.

At the reception, I held my breath as they brought out the cake. The guests let out a collective gasp, followed by murmurs of admiration:

A surprised elderly couple | Source: Freepik
Emma, Dave’s cousin, found me by the bar. “Alice, the cake is magnificent! Which bakery did you use?”
Before I could answer, Dave appeared beside me and wrapped his arm around my waist. “Alice made it herself,” he said, his voice warm and proud.
Emma’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding! It’s absolutely professional quality.”

Throughout dinner, guests kept coming to our table to praise the cake. Mark, Dave’s best friend, ate three slices. His aunt said it was the best cake she had ever tasted. Even the photographer took special photos for his portfolio.
I was on cloud nine… until Christine took the microphone.

Close-up of a microphone | Source: Unsplash
She gently tapped her champagne glass, and the room fell silent.
“I want to say a few words about the beautiful cake everyone has been raving about,” she began, her voice clear throughout the reception hall.
Dave and I exchanged looks. This wasn’t part of 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 just couldn’t let my son have a plain dessert on his big day!”
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. The bite of cake I was about to enjoy suddenly tasted like ashes.
She took credit. For my cake. The one I had poured my heart and soul into. That I had deliberately hidden from her so she wouldn’t interfere. How could she do that?