Sophie carefully styled her hair, picked out her nicest dress, and spritzed on a hint of perfume before heading to her older sister Victoria’s birthday party. She carried a neatly wrapped cake box, hoping it would be a pleasant surprise and perhaps soften the tension between them. Climbing to the fifth floor, Sophie rang the bell twice. The door swung open, and Victoria—radiant in a new dressing gown, curls perfectly coiffed—clapped her hands.
“Is that for me? I suppose you remembered it’s my birthday?”
“Of course,” Sophie replied calmly, handing over the box.
Victoria took the cake with interest, lifted the lid, and peered inside. At first, admiration flickered across her face, then suspicion.
“Did you bake this yourself?”
“Well… yes,” Sophie hesitated with a faint smile.
“Really?” Victoria frowned, turning the box in her hands. “What’s in it?”
“Are we dissecting the ingredients, or shall we join the guests?” Sophie tried shifting the subject.
But it was too late. Victoria had sniffed out the truth—and not without reason. Three days earlier, she’d called Sophie in tears.
“I broke a nail and rowed with Oliver. I’m canceling the party—everything’s off!”
Sophie took the news in stride and accepted a last-minute order from a regular client. But at noon today, Victoria called again.
“We made up! He bought me a gold bracelet! Be here by seven—and bring the cake!”
“You canceled everything—” Sophie faltered.
“Stop nitpicking! You’re a baker—prove yourself!”
Sophie tried explaining a cake couldn’t be made in six hours, but Victoria insisted. She rang their mother, hoping for backup.
“Can’t you just do this for your sister?” came the sharp reply.
Realising no help would come, Sophie improvised: she bought an unsold cake from a lesser-known baker, Vera. It looked decent. The gesture mattered. But Victoria saw through it instantly.
“Vera, come here!” she called toward the kitchen.
A long-haired brunette emerged—Sophie recognised her immediately.
“Is this your cake?” Victoria asked icily.
“Mine. She bought it from me. So, this is your famous baker sister?” Vera sneered.
Sophie froze. The guests fell silent. Victoria snatched the lid off, scooped frosting with her finger, and flung it at Sophie’s face.
“Eat this rubbish yourself!” she hissed. “You couldn’t even be bothered to make something. Get out!”
Sophie was shoved outside, Vera following. As she left, Vera cursed loudly and flipped them off.
Outside, Sophie wiped her face with tissues and checked her phone—dozens of furious texts from her mother:
“Shaming the family! Lying to your own sister! Have you no shame?”
She didn’t reply. Just locked the screen. But it wasn’t over.
By morning, Victoria had posted online: “Don’t trust even family—my sister brought a store-bought cake and passed it off as hers. Pathetic.”
Sophie cried for hours. Then—she pulled herself together. Not for them. For herself. That day, she vowed: no more cakes for family. No more kindness to those who’d crush it without thought.
And for the first time in ages, she felt lighter. Because now, only true sweetness would remain—no fakes, no hypocrisy, and no so-called family who treated love as a transaction.
