Baking’s my thing. I run a small IG page and make cakes for family—never charging full price, but they always chipped in. Then my brother Adam and his fiancée Chelsea asked for a three-tier wedding cake for 75 guests. I told them, “Okay, it’s labor, time, ingredients. $400.” They agreed. I spent weeks perfecting it—design sketches, tastings, every detail made with love. On the big day, I delivered it. They smiled and said, “Perfect! But we’re not paying. You don’t charge family. Consider it your wedding gift.”
For a moment, I stood there stunned. My hands, dusted with sugar and effort, felt strangely heavy. I had poured not just ingredients but heart into that cake—late nights, careful touches, the quiet kind of love that goes into every handmade thing. Before I could even find words, Grandma Margaret, who’d been nearby, overheard everything.
