“Eat this rubbish yourself”: How My Sister Humiliated Me in Front of Everyone Over a Cake
Emily had carefully styled her hair, slipped into her prettiest dress, and after a light spritz of perfume, headed off to her older sister Charlottes birthday party. She carried a neatly wrapped box containing a cake, hoping it might smooth over their strained relationship. When she reached the fifth floor, Emily rang the bell twice. The door swung open, and Charlotteradiant in a new dressing gown, her curls flawlessclapped her hands excitedly.
“Is this for me?! I suppose you remembered my birthday, then?”
“Of course its for you,” Emily replied calmly, handing her the box.
Charlotte took the cake curiously, lifted the lid, and peeked inside. The admiration on her face quickly twisted into suspicion.
“Did you make this?”
“Yes,” Emily answered, hesitating slightly.
“Really?” Charlotte narrowed her eyes, turning the box in her hands. “Whats in it?”
“Are we really dissecting the recipe, or should we join the guests?” Emily tried to deflect.
But it was too late. Charlotte sensed something was offand she wasnt wrong. Three days earlier, shed called her sister in tears:
“I broke my nail and had a huge row with Oliver. I cant deal with this! Cancel the cake, cancel everything!”
Emily had taken the news in stride and accepted an urgent order from a regular client. But just that afternoon, Charlotte called back:
“We made up! He bought me a gold bracelet! Ill see you at sevenwith the cake!”
“You cancelled everything…” Emily stammered.
“Stop making excuses! Youre a bakerprove what you can do!”
Emily tried to explain that a proper cake couldnt be whipped up in six hours, but Charlotte insisted. She even rang their mum, hoping for backuponly to hear:
“Is it really so hard to do something nice for your own sister?”
Realising she was on her own, Emily improvised: she bought an unsold cake from a little-known baker, also named Emily (no, not the same one). It looked impressive on the outside. The thought counted, right? But Charlotte saw through it instantly.
“Emily, come here!” she barked toward the kitchen.
A brunette with long hair appeared, and Emily recognised her immediately.
“Is this your cake?” Charlotte asked icily.
“Mine. She bought it. So this is your famous baker sister?” the other Emily sneered.
Emily froze. The guests fell silent. Charlotte, lips pressed tight, ripped off the lid, stuck her finger in the frostingand smeared it across Emilys face.
“Eat this rubbish yourself!” she spat. “You couldnt even be bothered to make something yourself. Just get out!”
She shoved Emily out the door, then did the same to the other baker, who stormed off cursing and flipping the bird.
Outside, Emily wiped her face with tissues and checked her phone. Dozens of messages from her mum awaited:
“Youve shamed this family! Tricking your own sister! Have you no decency?”
She didnt reply. Just turned off the screen silently. But it wasnt over.
The next day, Charlotte posted online: “Dont even trust your sistershe brought me a shop-bought cake and lied about baking it. How pathetic.”
Emily cried all morning. Then she pulled herself together. Not for them. For herself. That day, she made a vow: no more cakes for family. No more kindness for people whod crush you without a second thought.
And for the first time in years, she felt lighter. Because from now on, her life would only hold what was truly sweet. No fakes. No hypocrisy. And no one who called themselves family.
