During the party where we were supposed to find out the gender of our future baby, my mother-in-law saw the pink color, started screaming at me, and ruined the celebration — and that’s when I had to teach her a lesson 
We had been dreaming of a child for a long time. Every month I hoped for two lines on the test, every time I prayed for our little miracle to finally happen. And when the doctor smiled and said the long-awaited words: “You’re pregnant,” I couldn’t hold back my tears.
We decided to gather the whole family and share the wonderful news. Everyone was happy… except my mother-in-law.
With her arms crossed and an irritated expression, she said dryly:
— Well… I hope it’s a boy. Girls are nothing but trouble. We need an heir to carry on the family name.
— The most important thing is that the baby is healthy, — I replied, trying not to feel hurt.
But I didn’t yet know that this was only the beginning.
A few months later, when we held the gender-reveal party, my mother-in-law grumbled the entire evening, glared at the decorations, and repeated over and over:
— Just not a girl… anything but a girl…
I rolled my eyes but tried to keep the celebration going. But everything fell apart the moment we cut the cake. The knife slid through the cream, and in front of everyone, bright pink layers appeared.
The guests gasped with joy. My husband hugged me. And my mother-in-law… exploded.
She grabbed her head and screamed:
— A girl?! Are you kidding me?! We need a boy! I don’t need this child! What kind of woman are you if you can’t even give birth to a boy?!
She shouted so loudly that the music stopped on its own. The guests stood frozen in shock, and she continued:
— We need a boy! A girl is useless!
At that moment, something snapped inside me. I looked at the cake… at her twisted, hateful face… and realized I wouldn’t tolerate one more second. So I did something I don’t regret even for a moment, because I was defending my child. 
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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.
