I bake as a hobby. My sister is pregnant and asked me to make the cake for her gender reveal. She didn’t tell me the gender.
The deadline comes, and I still don’t have the info. So I make the cake—gray inside, gray outside. The reveal day comes, they cut into it, and everyone just kind of… blinks.
There’s this awkward silence hanging in the air, like someone accidentally swore in church. My brother-in-law, Hakeem, starts laughing first, thinking maybe it’s a prank. Then my mom gives me that tight-lipped smile that says, “You’ve embarrassed me in front of the aunties.”
My sister, Reena, is just staring at the slice, fork frozen halfway to her mouth.
I clear my throat and say, “Well, you never told me the gender. I texted, called, even emailed. I figured neutral was better than wrong.”
Everyone laughs it off eventually, but I can see Reena’s jaw tightening.
She’s not one to hide when she’s irritated. Still, the day goes on—people mingle, pose for pictures, gossip in the kitchen. But she barely speaks to me after that.
Two days later, I get a text from her:
“That was so petty. You could’ve just asked Mom or Hakeem.”
I didn’t respond. Because honestly?
I had. I’d called my mom twice. She just said, “Ask Reena, I’m not getting in the middle.” And Hakeem?
He claimed he “wasn’t sure” if he was supposed to know. I let it go, figuring she’d cool down. But she didn’t.
Weeks passed. No check-in texts. No random TikToks from her at 2 a.m.
Nothing. I even dropped off some homemade blueberry scones when I knew she’d be home—left them on her porch with a little note. She didn’t even message me to say thanks.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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