Chapter 4: Family Lies and Birthday Cake

Everyone was stunned.

You could have heard a pin drop, right up until the angry murmurs started. The whole bakery felt like it was on pause, customers frozen mid-bite, jaws hanging open.

"Is she nuts? How can someone be that greedy?"

A woman in a Cubs hoodie gaped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. Someone else held up their phone like they might start recording. This was about to become the highlight of everyone's week.

"If you want to eat it, pay for it! What is this? Gross!"

The cake owner stood there, eyes wide, arms crossed, practically daring my mom to deny it.

The staff was shocked and immediately called the manager. But my mom didn't care—she was totally lost in the delicious food. She stuck out her finger, smacked her lips, and licked the frosting. Then she said absentmindedly, "What’s the big deal? It’s just a taste—just smooth the frosting over, nobody’ll even notice."

She grinned, frosting on her chin, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Except, she wasn't sorry at all.

The manager smiled apologetically but firmly: "Sorry, ma'am, but once food is touched, you have to pay for it."

He spoke with the tight smile of someone who's dealt with too many Karens in one shift. He gestured at the cash register, already knowing where this was headed.

My mom's eyes widened: "What? Pay? Are you kidding? I can't afford it! Look at me, I didn't bring my wallet, didn't bring my phone. How am I supposed to pay?"

She patted her empty pockets, turning her act up to eleven. If there'd been a fainting couch, she would've flopped onto it.

A customer pointed at me and shouted, "That's her daughter, she has her phone!"

All heads swiveled my way. I felt like a deer in headlights, spotlighted in the middle of the bakery.

Hearing that, the manager walked straight over. People started crowding around me.

Their faces closed in, a wave of disapproval and curiosity. My cheeks burned hot enough to fry an egg.

"Miss, please help your mom pay."

He was polite, but there was steel in his voice. No one was going to let us leave without paying.

I was so anxious I almost cried—a $65 cake, even with 40% off, was still $40! My monthly allowance was only $40—how could I afford it?

My hands shook as I dug for my phone. My vision blurred, and I could feel every pair of eyes pinning me to the floor. I wanted to disappear, or at least shrink small enough to hide behind the pastry case. That $40 was my safety net for the whole month. Gone. Just like that.

"Tsk, what's with the act? Maybe these two planned to ruin the cake and take it home for free."

A skinny teenager with purple hair sneered, looking at us like we were some viral scam.

"Seriously, who just pokes someone else's cake? So shameless."

The words stung more than I expected. I wanted to disappear into the tile floor.

"Look at this girl, she's starting to cry."

They weren't wrong—my eyes burned and my throat felt tight.

"Don't even think about leaving without paying! They probably do this all the time."

The crowd's energy turned nasty, folks feeding off each other's outrage. I felt trapped, nowhere to run.

"Freeloaders! Pay up!"

Someone muttered under their breath, but loud enough for me to hear. My face burned with shame.

I was thin-skinned, and with everyone pressuring me, I cried and went to pay. But when I turned around, I saw my mom had already gotten the staff to box up the cake and had rushed out the door with it. I cried even harder. How could she do this? Not only did she want to eat the cake, she didn't even leave me a piece.

She was gone before I could even wipe my tears, cake box swinging in her hand like she'd just won the lottery. I paid the bill, hands trembling, feeling more alone than ever.

I walked out the door under everyone's angry stares and whispers. Then I took out my phone and called my dad, who hadn't left for his business trip yet.

Outside, the sky was wide and cold. My phone felt slippery in my palm as I dialed home. I wanted to run away, but I had nowhere to go. The only option left was Dad, even though I already knew what would happen.