Eat That Trash Yourself: How My Sister Publicly Humiliated Me Over a Cake That Wasn’t Mine
Elodie had spent time perfecting her hair, slipping into her best dress, and spritzing a light hint of perfume before heading to her older sister Camilles birthday. She clutched a neatly wrapped box containing a cake, hoping it would be a pleasant surprise and smooth over their strained relationship. When she reached the fifthfloor apartment, Elodie rang twice. The door swung open, and Camilleglowing in a fresh robe, her curls flawlessgreeted her with excitement:
Is that for me? Its my birthday, you didnt forget, did you?
Of course its for you, Elodie replied calmly, handing over the box.
Camille lifted the lid, peered inside, and her admiration quickly turned to suspicion.
Did you bake this yourself?
Yes, Elodie answered, a hint of hesitation in her voice.
Are you sure? Camille frowned, turning the box in her hands. Whats it made of?
Shall we discuss the recipe now, or join the guests? Elodie tried to deflect.
It was already too late. Camille sensed something was off, and rightly so. Three days earlier she had called Elodie in tears:
I broke a nail and fought with Antoine. I dont want anything! Cancel the cake, cancel everything!
Elodie had taken the news philosophically and accepted an urgent order from a regular client. Yet that same afternoon Camille phoned back:
Were patched things up! He gave me a gold bracelet! Ill be waiting at sevenseven for the cake!
You cancelled everything Elodie stammered.
Stop making excuses! Youre a bakershow me what you can do!
Elodie tried to explain that a cake couldnt be made in six hours, but Camille pressed on, even involving their mother in hopes of some support:
Is it really that hard to please your own sister?
Realising she was on her own, Elodie improvised. She bought an unsold cake from a littleknown pastry chef also named Elodie (not the same person). It looked impressive on the outsideintention mattered, right?but Camille saw through the ruse instantly.
Elodie, come here! she shouted toward the kitchen.
A darkhaired woman with long locks appeared, and Elodie recognized her at once.
Is that your cake? Camille asked icily.
Its mine. She sold it to me, the other Elodie replied, mocking. So youre the legendary sisterbaker?
Elodie froze. The guests fell silent. Camille, lips pursed, ripped off the lid, plunged a finger into the frosting and flung it straight at her sisters face.
Eat that trash yourself! she spat. You didnt even bother to make anything yourself. Get out!
She pushed Elodie out the door before doing the same to the other baker, who left cursing the whole household and making an obscene gesture.
Outside, Elodie wiped her face with a wet wipe, opened her phone, and saw dozens of messages from their mother:
Youve disgraced the family! Deceiving your own sister! Are you ashamed?
She didnt answer, simply silencing the screen. The drama wasnt over.
The next day Camille posted on social media: Dont trust your sistershe brought me a storebought cake and pretended it was hers. What a shame.
Elodie spent the whole morning crying, then gathered herself. Not for them, but for herself. That day she swore: no more baking for the family, no more gestures of goodwill toward people who could step on you at any moment.
For the first time in ages she felt lighter, knowing her life would now contain only things that are truly sweetno fakes, no hypocrisy, and no family who pretends to care.
Eat This Mess Yourself: How My Sister Embarrassed Me in Front of Everyone Over a Cake
