PART 3
That morning, Zion found me sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open.
Ava was in her high chair, happily eating banana slices while I reviewed my business records.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
“Some.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I smiled faintly.
“Neither is asking me that question when you already know.”
He pulled out a chair.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about Beatrice’s cake?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really making it?”
I nodded.
“Three tiers. Red velvet. Vanilla cream cheese frosting. Gold detailing. Fresh flowers.”
“That’s going to take you all day.”
“I know.”
“Naomi, why are you giving her another cake?”
I closed my laptop.
“Because I want to see something.”
“What?”
“How far your mother is willing to go when she thinks nobody knows what she’s doing.”
Zion rubbed his forehead.
“Please tell me you’re not planning something that will get you arrested.”
I laughed.
“No. I’m planning something that will get me paid.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then he smiled.
“That’s my wife.”
I kissed his cheek and returned to my work.
But I wasn’t preparing an ordinary birthday cake.
I was preparing a very carefully documented order.
First, I contacted Beatrice directly.
I had her number because she had once sent me a photograph of a cake she wanted for her retirement party.
I wrote:
“Good morning, Beatrice. I’m Naomi from Willow & Crumb. Giselle mentioned that you’re celebrating your sixtieth birthday this weekend. I just wanted to confirm the design and make sure I have your preferences correct.”
Her response arrived five minutes later.
“Oh, hello, dear! Yes, Giselle told me you were making something wonderful. She said she’s already taken care of everything.”
I looked at the message.
Then typed:
“Wonderful. Just to confirm, the cake is $285, including the custom decorations and delivery. I normally collect payment directly through Willow & Crumb.”
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
“$285? Giselle told me it was $350.”
I stared at the screen.
There it was again.
Another price.
Another customer.
Another amount Giselle had apparently invented.
I replied politely.
“My standard price for this design is $285. I can’t speak for any separate arrangements, but I can confirm that Willow & Crumb has not received payment for this order.”
This time, Beatrice called.
“Naomi, sweetheart, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“I hope so.”
“Giselle told me she had already paid you.”
I closed my eyes.
“She hasn’t.”
A long silence followed.
Then Beatrice said something I hadn’t expected.
“Would you mind sending me your business payment information? I would prefer to pay you directly.”
I sent her the invoice.
She paid it within ten minutes.
Then she sent another message.
“And please don’t worry. I will speak with Giselle myself.”
I thanked her.
But I wasn’t finished.
I also contacted Linda and the other customers who had admitted paying Giselle.
I didn’t accuse anyone of wrongdoing.
I simply explained that Willow & Crumb handled all orders directly and that I had recently discovered discrepancies in previous transactions.
I attached my business contact information and invited them to contact me if they wanted copies of their invoices.
By lunchtime, I had recovered three customers.
By two o’clock, I had received two more messages.
One woman had paid Giselle $220 for a cake that I had made for free.
Another had paid $175.
The more I learned, the uglier the situation became.
And then I found something that made my hands go cold.
A photograph.
It was on Giselle’s Facebook page.
She had posted it eight months earlier.
The picture showed her standing beside an enormous three-tier wedding anniversary cake I had made.
Her caption read:
“Another beautiful creation from my little home baking venture! I love making special occasions unforgettable for my friends.”
My little home baking venture.
She hadn’t even mentioned my name.
People had commented.
“You’re so talented, Giselle!”
“Do you take orders?”
“How much would something like this cost?”
And Giselle had replied:
“Of course! Message me privately.”
I scrolled through the comments.
There were dozens.
Dozens of people asking about cakes.
And dozens of replies from my mother-in-law.
She had been advertising my business as hers.
I took screenshots of everything.
Then I saved the original messages, payment confirmations, and customer statements.
When Zion came home, I showed him.
He didn’t say anything for almost a minute.
Finally, he whispered, “She’s been pretending your business is hers?”
“Looks that way.”
He shook his head.
“My mother told Aunt Patricia last month that she was thinking about opening a bakery.”
I slowly turned toward him.
“What?”
“She said she had been experimenting with recipes and wanted to turn her hobby into something bigger.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Giselle wasn’t merely collecting money from customers.
She was building a reputation using my work.
And she was doing it without my permission.
“Zion?”
“Yes?”
“Does your mother know that Beatrice paid me directly?”
He checked his phone.
“I haven’t told her.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
I smiled.
“Because I want her to arrive at that party believing everything is exactly as she planned.”
He studied my expression.
Then he nodded.
“Okay. But promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don’t let her turn this into a situation where you’re the villain.”
I reached across the table and held his hand.
“I’ve spent three years trying not to offend her. I’m finished doing that.”
Saturday arrived.
I started baking at six in the morning.
The first tier was red velvet with cream cheese filling.
The second was chocolate with raspberry preserve.
The third was vanilla bean with strawberry buttercream.
I covered each tier in smooth ivory frosting, added delicate gold detailing, and decorated the edges with fresh red roses.
The cake was beautiful.
Not because I wanted to impress Giselle.
Because I wanted to remind myself that my work deserved to be respected.
At the bottom, I placed a small elegant gold plaque.
It read:
WILLOW & CRUMB
Below it, in smaller lettering:
Made with care. Created by Naomi Carter.
I stepped back and admired it.
Ava was sitting nearby, coloring on a piece of paper.
“Mommy, is that cake for Grandma?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Will Grandma eat it?”
“Probably.”
“Then why is it so big?”
I laughed.
“Because some people have very big birthdays.”
She considered that.
Then went back to coloring.
Zion came into the kitchen carrying two cups of coffee.
“Wow.”
He stood in front of the cake.
“That’s incredible.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned closer to read the plaque.
Then he looked at me.
“You put your name on it.”
“I put my business name on it.”
“Good.”
He kissed my forehead.
“You should have done that years ago.”
I knew he was right.
For years, I had allowed Giselle to take credit for my work because I wanted family gatherings to remain peaceful.
I had made myself invisible to keep someone else comfortable.
That was over.
At four thirty, Giselle arrived at our house.
She didn’t knock.
She simply walked into the kitchen as though she owned the place.
“Well, where’s my cake?”
I pointed toward the dining room.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh, Naomi!”
For one brief second, she looked genuinely impressed.
She walked around the cake, admiring the flowers and gold details.
“Beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Beatrice is going to love this.”
She reached into her handbag.
“Now, about the little payment arrangement—”
“Beatrice paid me directly.”
Giselle froze.
“What?”
“She paid the invoice yesterday.”
Her smile returned, but it looked forced.
“Well, that’s unusual.”
“Not really. That’s how my business normally works.”
She looked at me.
Then at the cake.
“Did you tell her something?”
“I confirmed the price.”
“Naomi.”
Her voice dropped.
“You shouldn’t confuse my friends with business matters.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“They’re customers when they’re paying for cakes.”
She gave a small laugh.
“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t start.”
I didn’t respond.
She leaned closer.
“Listen, I told Beatrice I was handling everything. She didn’t need to get involved in all this.”
“She wanted to pay the baker.”
Giselle’s expression hardened.
“Watch your tone.”
I almost laughed.
There it was.
The familiar warning.
The assumption that I would immediately retreat.
But I simply said, “The cake is ready. Beatrice has paid. You’re welcome to take it.”
Giselle looked at me suspiciously.
Then she noticed the plaque.
Her face changed.
“What is that?”
“My business name.”
“Why?”
“Because I made it.”
“Naomi, don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows I arranged this cake.”
“Arranging an order and making a cake are two different things.”
She stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she might actually remove the plaque.
Instead, she straightened her jacket.
“You’re becoming very difficult lately.”
“I’m becoming very clear.”
She didn’t answer.
She called Zion from the hallway.
“Could you help me carry this?”
Zion appeared.
He looked at the cake, then at his mother.
“Careful. It’s heavy.”
Together, they loaded it into Giselle’s car.
Before leaving, she turned toward me.
“Please don’t make a scene tonight. Beatrice has important people coming.”
I smiled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Beatrice’s birthday party was held at a beautiful country club ballroom.
There were white tablecloths, crystal glasses, gold decorations, and enormous floral arrangements.
More than sixty guests attended.
Giselle had clearly spent weeks organizing the event.
She stood near the entrance greeting people, wearing a champagne-colored dress and a necklace that caught the light whenever she moved.
When she saw us arrive, she immediately waved.
“Naomi! Zion! Over here!”
I wore a simple black dress.
Zion wore a navy suit.
We greeted Beatrice, who hugged me warmly.
“Oh, sweetheart, the cake is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Happy birthday, Beatrice.”
She squeezed my hands.
“Thank you for everything.”
Then she leaned closer.
“I received your invoice and payment confirmation. Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten our conversation.”
I nodded.
Across the room, Giselle was watching us.
She didn’t look happy.
But she quickly turned toward another guest.
“Isn’t my daughter-in-law talented?” she announced.
I nearly smiled.
For once, she had acknowledged me publicly.
Unfortunately, she continued.
“She’s been helping me with cakes for years. I’ve practically trained her!”
The woman beside her laughed.
“Really? I thought you made them yourself.”
Giselle waved her hand.
“Oh, I supervise the designs. Naomi does most of the baking.”
Most of the baking.
I took a sip of water.
Zion leaned toward me.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfectly.”
He followed my gaze.
His mother was already telling another guest how much work went into managing her little baking operation.
I decided to enjoy the evening.
I spoke with Beatrice’s guests, accepted compliments about the cake, and answered questions about my business.
Several people asked for my card.
I gave them one.
Giselle noticed.
Her smile became increasingly strained.
Then, at approximately seven thirty, Beatrice stood up and tapped her glass.
The room quieted.
“Before we cut the cake,” she announced, “I’d like to thank everyone for coming.”
People applauded.
She thanked her family, her friends, and the staff who had organized the evening.
Then she looked toward the cake table.
“And I especially want to thank Naomi Carter from Willow & Crumb.”
She gestured toward me.
“Naomi created this magnificent cake, and I want everyone to know exactly who made it.”
Applause filled the room.
I felt Zion squeeze my hand.
For the first time in three years, I was being introduced as the owner of my own work.
Then Beatrice continued.
“There’s also something I’d like to clear up tonight.”
The applause faded.
Giselle’s smile disappeared.
Beatrice turned toward her.
“Giselle, darling, would you come over here?”
Giselle hesitated.
Then she walked forward, still smiling.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Beatrice picked up a silver cake knife from the table.
It was an ornate knife with a polished handle.
She held it out to Giselle.
“Why don’t you cut the cake yourself?”
Giselle laughed.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly. Naomi made it.”
Beatrice tilted her head.
“That’s interesting.”
The room became quiet.
Giselle looked around.
“What do you mean?”
Beatrice placed the knife in her hand.
“I mean, since you’ve been telling everyone that you’ve been handling the cake business, I thought you might enjoy being the one to cut it.”
A few guests exchanged glances.
Giselle’s smile became stiff.
“Beatrice, darling, let’s not make this awkward.”
“Oh, I’m not making anything awkward.”
Beatrice turned toward the guests.
“Actually, there is something I would like everyone to understand.”
She reached into the small handbag hanging from her chair and removed a folded piece of paper.
Then she looked directly at Giselle.
“Yesterday, Naomi showed me something very interesting.”
Giselle’s face went pale.
Beatrice unfolded the paper.
“And I think it’s time we all heard the truth about what has been happening with these cakes.”
Nobody moved.
Giselle looked toward Zion.
“Zion, tell your wife to stop this nonsense.”
But Zion didn’t move.
He simply stood beside me.
Beatrice continued.
“For years, several of us have been paying Giselle for cakes that she claimed she was arranging through her daughter-in-law. Some of us paid cash. Others transferred money. And we all believed that Naomi was receiving those payments.”
Giselle interrupted.
“That’s enough.”
Beatrice raised her voice.
“No, Giselle. It isn’t.”
She turned toward me.
“Naomi, sweetheart, would you mind telling everyone how much money Willow & Crumb actually received for those orders?”
I stood slowly.
My hands were shaking, but my voice wasn’t.
“For the orders I’ve been able to verify, I received absolutely nothing.”
A murmur spread through the room.
Giselle immediately shook her head.
“That’s a lie!”
I looked at her.
“Then perhaps you can explain the payments.”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I continued.
“I’ve been making cakes for your friends for almost three years. I never charged many of them because you repeatedly told me they were family friends. But I recently discovered that several customers had paid you for those same cakes.”
Giselle’s face turned red.
“Naomi, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Actually, I do.”
I reached into my handbag and removed a folder.
Inside were copies of customer payment confirmations, messages, order dates, and my own business records.
I placed it on the table.
“These are the payments I was able to verify. They include dates, amounts, and the corresponding orders.”
