I walked to the table, calmly took a piece of the pink cake — and before anyone could stop me, I smeared it across her face, covering her eyebrows, her hair, and her dress with cream.

The guests gasped. She stood there frozen like a statue, shock in her eyes.

I leaned toward her and said coldly and clearly:

— You were once a little girl too. It’s a pity your mother gave birth to you. She would’ve been better off having a boy — there would be a lot less noise.

The room went silent. My husband squeezed my hand tightly. My mother-in-law stood there — red, sticky, humiliated — unable to say a single word.

It was the first time she understood that insulting my child would be the very last thing she’d ever dare to do in this life.