A month after signing the divorce papers with Carlos, my phone rang at 5:00 in the morning. It was Doña Beatriz, my ex-mother-in-law. Without even saying hello, she began barking orders in a demanding voice: “Elena, you need to come over immediately. Today is Fernando’s 70th birthday and the caterers canceled. I need you to prepare your famous three-course menu for thirty people before noon.” I was in shock at her arrogance. I politely reminded her that I was no longer married to her son and that her demands were no longer my responsibility. However, she simply replied: “That doesn’t matter, family is family and you owe us this for all the years we put up with you.” That was when I decided to teach her a lesson she would never forget…
I hung up the phone with my hands trembling with indignation. I couldn’t believe the level of nerve Beatriz had. During the four years I was married to Carlos, I endured constant humiliation, criticism about my cooking, and derogatory comments about my background. To Beatriz, I was never good enough for her son—a 34-year-old man who was financially dependent on his parents and never lifted a finger around the house.
The final straw for our divorce was discovering that Carlos was cheating on me while I worked twelve-hour shifts as a designer to pay off our debts. When I finally gathered the courage to leave, Beatriz told me that I would never find anyone as “wonderful” as her son and that I would regret ruining the family.
Now, a month later, there she was, demanding my culinary services as if I were her unpaid personal servant.
Ten minutes after the first call, the phone rang again. This time it was Carlos.
—“Elena, please, do it for my dad. You know how important his 70th birthday is. Mom is stressed and you always cook amazingly. Don’t be spiteful,”— he said in a manipulative tone I knew all too well.
At that moment, an idea crossed my mind. If they wanted me to act as a professional catering service, I would respond exactly like a professional business.
—“Alright, Carlos,”— I answered in a calm voice. —“I can handle the banquet for thirty people and have it ready before 1:00 p.m.”
—“I knew you’d come to your senses, Elena. Thank you so much, see you later,”— he said, letting out a sigh of relief.
—“Wait,”— I stopped him. —“Due to the urgency and volume of the order, the cost of the express catering service is $1,500. I require a 50% advance payment via bank transfer within the next twenty minutes to start buying ingredients.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line. Then, Beatriz’s voice burst through the speakerphone, shouting furiously:
—“How dare you charge us?! You ungrateful brat! That amount of money is ridiculous!”
—“Doña Beatriz,”— I replied firmly. —“I am no longer your daughter-in-law. If you don’t accept the terms and transfer the deposit to my business account before 6:00 a.m., I won’t lift a single finger. You have five minutes to decide.”
I hung up before they could answer. To my great surprise, five minutes later a notification arrived on my phone: a transfer of $750 had been made to my account. Accompanied by a text message from Carlos saying: “I transferred the money. Everything better turn out perfect.”
I smiled. I grabbed my car keys and went to the nearest 24-hour supermarket. But I didn’t buy fresh ingredients to prepare the sophisticated salmon with dill and handcrafted pasta menu I used to make for them. Instead, I bought thirty pre-cooked frozen meal trays from the cheapest brand, two discounted cakes loaded with artificial cream, and disposable plastic cutlery. The total came to barely $120.
I spent the morning heating the frozen trays in the oven and arranging the food into disposable aluminum containers. At 12:30 p.m., I drove to my ex-in-laws’ elegant residence. Guests had already started arriving, dressed in formal attire, while a live band played in the garden.
I entered through the back door carrying the aluminum boxes. Beatriz looked at me with a triumphant smile, believing I had yielded to her demand.
—“Put everything onto the porcelain plates in the dining room,”— she ordered.
—“I’m sorry, Doña Beatriz,”— I said loudly while opening the boxes on the main kitchen counter, in full view of several passing guests. —“The package you paid for only includes disposable packaging. If you want plating service, it requires the payment of the remaining 50% balance.”
Beatriz turned bright red with rage. Carlos tried to step in and whisper to me not to make a scene, but I kept my tone professional and clear. Fernando, the birthday man, walked over to the table confused and stared at the frozen food containers.
—“What is this?”— Fernando asked, bewildered.
—“It’s the catering your wife and son hired at the last minute, Mr. Fernando,”— I replied politely. —“Pre-cooked supermarket meals. I hope you enjoy it. By the way, Carlos, the remaining balance of $750 is due right now.”
Several of Beatriz’s wealthy friends began whispering among themselves. The embarrassment on my ex-mother-in-law’s face was indescribable. She had spent hundreds of dollars thinking she could blackmail me into working for free, and instead ended up serving cheap frozen food to her high-society guests on her husband’s 70th birthday.
Carlos glared at me in fury, but pulled out his phone and transferred the remaining $750 to prevent me from saying anything else in front of the guests.
As soon as I saw the payment confirmation on my phone, I smiled at everyone, grabbed my things, and left. I made over $1,200 in net profit in less than five hours and, best of all, I ensured that they would never call me for a favor ever again.
