My Stepsister Demanded a Custom Cake from My Grandma – Then Tried to Return It Half-Eaten for a Refund

I glanced at Grandma, who was piping delicate rosettes onto a strawberries-and-cream order.

She didn’t even flinch.

“My party’s tomorrow,” Kayla continued, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “The theme is ‘Goddess of the Night.’ Think sparkles. Think extra.

And—” she paused to jazz-hand at me—”iconic. Two tiers. Maybe three.

Gold leaf, glitter, drip—just make it perfect, or I’ll die.”

I wiped my hands on a towel, silently counting to five.

“We usually need more notice for—” I began.

But Grandma gave me the look. The one that said, “Let it go.”

She set down the piping bag and walked over. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart,” she said with that gentleness she never seemed to run out of.

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