My MIL would laugh at my homemade cake business, calling it a “silly little hobby,” all the while asking for free cakes for her friends—until I uncovered she’d been selling them herself, which led me to teach her a lesson she’d remember.
Three years ago, after quitting my job to care for our newborn, I started baking cakes to earn some extra money. It was a way to contribute and maintain my independence.
Zion, my husband, thought it might not last. Luckily, support from friends and family helped my cakes gain popularity, and it grew into a legitimate business.
My MIL, Giselle, remained unimpressed.
“Still playing with frosting, honey? It’s a silly little hobby, but hardly a real job.”
I’d usually just let it go, since debating Giselle was never productive.
Once orders started coming in, Giselle began putting in requests for cakes for her friends’ celebrations and expected each one to be free.
“Oh, come on! You wouldn’t charge family friends, would you?”
I disliked declining, so I kept baking, even as it cost me time and money.
Then, last Thursday, Giselle requested a cake delivery to her friend Linda. She usually came herself, but claimed she was too busy. I agreed.
Linda greeted me with a smile.
“Honestly, $150 is a steal! Giselle said your prices went up, but you’re worth it!”
I was taken aback. “$150? You paid Giselle?”
“Of course! She said she handles your orders.”
I stayed composed until I reached my car.
After some phone calls, I found out Giselle had been charging for every cake I’d made as a favor.
I drove home, angry and hurt. She’d profited from my talent while calling it a silly hobby.
I thought about calling her but suspected the conversation would turn against me.
My phone pinged.
It was Giselle.
“Need another cake for Saturday. Make it extra nice. I’ll pick it up Friday.”
I looked at the text and replied.
“Of course, Giselle. I’d be happy to.”
But this time, she had no idea what awaited. And for once, I anticipated her picking up that cake.
My mother-in-law called my cake business a silly hobby, then kept demanding cakes for her friends. My husband said her help with our daughter made it fair. When I learned what those friends were paying her, I agreed to one more cake — and prepared for a Friday pickup
I was adding the finishing touches to a cake when Giselle brought my three-year-old daughter home from the park.
Giselle leaned over the tiny yellow roses I’d piped for Dana’s birthday order.
“Still playing with frosting, honey? It’s a silly little hobby.”
“A silly little hobby that pays,” I replied with a tight smile.
Giselle leaned over.
“Hmm.” Giselle pulled her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “By the way, I need a cake for my friend Patrice’s book club on Sunday.”
“I can’t make another free cake this week, Giselle.”
“You wouldn’t charge family, would you?”
Behind her, my three-year-old daughter, Mina, was struggling out of her coat.
“I need a cake.”
“I have three paid orders to finish,” I said. “And the ingredients for Patrice’s cake would come out of my pocket.”
“Patrice is a dear friend of mine. It’s just a simple lemon cake. Nothing fancy. I’d make it myself, but between watching Mina and my own commitments, I won’t have time.”
Mina held up her coat, and I stepped away to hang it on its hook.
“I’d make it myself.”
I had left my job after Mina was born.
Baking started as a way to earn a little money. Then people began recommending me to strangers.
I still had the first thank-you card a customer sent, tucked behind my recipe books.
Three mornings a week, Giselle took Mina out while I baked. Without her help, those paid cakes would have to wait until bedtime.
I had left my job.
I turned back to the counter.
Giselle was waiting for an answer. I could keep saying no, but on Thursday morning I’d still be handing her Mina’s backpack and thanking her for coming.
“All right. Lemon for Sunday.”
That night, I complained to Zion while he scrolled his phone on the couch.
Giselle was waiting for an answer.
“Your mom asks for a free cake at least once a week. I can’t keep absorbing it.”
“But she watches Mina three mornings a week,” he said, not looking up. “Think what that would cost us. You can give her a few cakes back. Be grateful.”
I had been grateful.
I packed Mina’s lunch, thanked Giselle at every handover, and made her favorite coconut cake on her birthday.
“Be grateful.”
None of that seemed to count when I wanted to say no.
But the solution was obvious now: To say no to Giselle’s demands, I’d have to organize childcare for Mina.
The next day, Dana messaged to ask about a cake for her sister’s anniversary.
It would pay enough to cover a week of morning childcare at the preschool near us.
I wanted to say no.
I checked my calendar twice before replying.
I could do it if I kept the following Thursday clear.
Then Giselle called.
“I promised Julia a retirement cake. I’ll collect it when I bring Mina home on Thursday.”
“I need that morning for a paying order,” I said. “Could you ask her to collect Friday instead?”
Then Giselle called.
“The party’s Thursday. Do you think she should postpone her retirement for your cake?”
“Of course not! I just… I’m sorry, but I can’t do it this time.”
There was a pause. I stood by the counter, proud of myself and a little sick.
“I’ve already told her,” Giselle said. “What am I supposed to say now? That my daughter-in-law couldn’t be bothered?”
There was a pause.
“That I’m working.”
“While I’m looking after your child.” She sighed. “Maybe Mina should stay home that day, so I can bake the cake instead.”
I wouldn’t be able to focus on Dana’s order anyway if I had to watch Mina.
I looked at the calendar again. I could take both cakes and work through Wednesday night.
“Maybe Mina should stay home that day.”
I could tell Dana yes and hope nothing went wrong.
Mina had been waking up from nightmares lately, though, and I couldn’t promise a customer something I might not deliver.
“I’ll do the retirement cake,” I said.
Afterward, I typed an apology to Dana.
“I’ll do the retirement cake.”
She was kind about it. Somehow that made it harder.
When Dana’s earlier payment came through, I moved $40 into a savings account I labeled “Mornings.”
I’d looked up the preschool’s fees.
I wanted enough to start, with something left over for disasters, or if an order fell through.
She was kind about it.
After that, part of every paid cake went into that account.
And Giselle’s free orders kept coming.
One night, after a whole morning spent on Giselle’s cake, I was still piping borders on a paid order at eleven, my eyes burning.
“Mama,” Mina called from the hallway, clutching her blanket. “I had a bad dream.”
Giselle’s free orders kept coming.
I put the piping bag down and went to her.
I took her back to bed.
She caught my wrist when I stood to leave.
“Stay, Mama, please. I’m scared.”
So I sat down again.
I took her back to bed.
When I returned to the cake, the buttercream had crusted in the nozzle.
I scraped it out and started again.
On Thursday, Giselle called.
“I’m swamped, honey. Could you run Linda’s cake over? I’d hate for it to be late.”
I started again.
Free cake, and now free delivery, too.
I almost laughed. But I had an hour, so I drove it over.
Linda opened her door with a big smile.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous! Honestly, $150 is a steal. Giselle said your prices went up, but you’re worth every penny.”
“Honestly, $150 is a steal.”
For a second, all I heard was that last part. Someone thought my work was worth more than I charged.
Then I tightened my hands around the box.
“$150? You paid Giselle?”
“Of course. She said she handles all your orders.”
All I heard was that last part.
“Did she?”
Her smile faded. “Well, yes. She said it’s a family business.”
I set the cake down carefully.
“I need to check something. Enjoy the cake, Linda.”
In the car, I called the women whose numbers Giselle had given me for allergy questions.
“Did she?”
Patrice answered on the second ring.
“I paid $60,” she said. “Why?”
Call after call, everyone confirmed the same thing.
They’d all paid Giselle for those “free cakes.”
They all thought the money had come to me.
Everyone confirmed the same thing.
I stared at the steering wheel.
I had given up paid orders to make cakes Giselle had sold anyway.
I wanted to call her right then. I wanted to yell until my throat hurt.
But I could already hear her answer: Honey, you misunderstood. You’re so sensitive.
She would twist it until I was the one apologizing.
I wanted to call her.
So I drove home and told Zion instead.
He sighed and set down the remote.
“Okay, so she charged them. But you agreed to make the cakes for free. And she brought you those customers.”
“She lied to them, Zion. And she lied to me.”
I told Zion instead.
He looked at me, then away.
“Talk to her. Just don’t turn it into some huge family fight.”
I had come home wanting him to be angry on my behalf.
Instead, I was being asked to make this easier for his mother.
My phone buzzed. Giselle.
“Don’t turn it into some huge family fight.”
Need another cake for Saturday. Make it extra nice. I’ll pick it up Friday.
A follow-up message said that the cake was for Priscilla, a friend of hers I’d baked for before, and that I should use raspberry filling.
Then a picture: three tiers, sugar flowers floating between them, and lace hanging unsupported from the edges.
Need another cake for Saturday.
Some flowers melted into the icing.
It was clearly AI-generated, an impossible cake I couldn’t have recreated in a week, never mind overnight.
I wasn’t going to attempt it. I wasn’t going to explain why either.
I already had a far better idea for the decorations.
An impossible cake.
I typed back: Of course, Giselle. I’d be happy to.
That evening, I worked on my plan and the cake.
At dinner, I asked Zion to be home for collection the next afternoon.
