I arrived at Jessica’s house with my casserole, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, she eyed my dish with a look of disdain.

“Emily, what is this?” she asked, her nose wrinkled.

“It’s a family recipe,” I said. “I thought it would be nice to bring something homemade among all the things you wanted.”

“Homemade? Emily, this is a potluck for goodness’ sake, not a soup kitchen. Everyone else is bringing delicacies, and you decide to show up with this? Don’t you know that Gretchen is bringing three different types of caviar? Why would you choose to embarrass yourself like this?” she asked.

She waved her hand dismissively over my dish and sighed.

I felt my face flush with embarrassment and anger.

“I couldn’t afford the things on your list,” I said. “Your brother and I are doing the best we can.”

She crossed her arms and smirked at me.

“Maybe if you and Mark managed your money better, you wouldn’t be in this situation. Honestly, Emily. This is just embarrassing. I can’t serve this to my guests. I think it’s best that you leave.”

My sister-in-law’s words stung. I had never felt so humiliated before. Without saying another word, I picked up my casserole and left the kitchen.

“Where are you going, Em?” my mother-in-law asked me as I was almost out the front door.

“Home,” I replied softly. “I’m not feeling well and it’s not fair that I get to be here without Mark.”

My mother-in-law looked me up and down, her eyes softening.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I nodded.

I knew she wouldn’t ask me anything else. Not in this setting anyway. And I hoped she would just walk away. I was on the verge of tears, and if she had anything else to say, I knew I would just break down.

“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll call to check up on you later.”

As I walked to my car, the weight of the past year bore down on me. The sleepless nights, the constant worry, the feeling of never being good enough for the family. I drove home, my heart heavy with disappointment.

“Come on, Emily,” I muttered to myself as I got into the shower. I was determined to wash off the day and all my feelings before Mark got home.

“You’re home?” my husband asked as he walked into our bedroom. “I didn’t expect you to be in.”

I sat up and told him everything, watching the display of emotions race across his face.

“I’ll call her in the morning,” he promised. “She will not speak to you like this again.”

But karma played her game first.

The next morning, as I was making pancakes for Mark and me, my phone buzzed.

“Em,” Sarah said the moment I answered, giggling. “You won’t believe what happened last night!”

“What is it?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Jessica’s potluck was a complete disaster. Apparently, her helper didn’t plug the fridge in properly after cleaning it and everything that she had prepared was spoiled. The smell was something else!”

“Oh, my goodness,” I gasped.

“Everyone left early, saying it was the worst dinner ever. Serves her right. Her dad was quite upset, though. And her mom said the only thing that would have saved the evening would have been something you made.”

I couldn’t help but laugh with Sarah. This was karma, pure and simple. Jessica’s insistence on perfection and her dismissal of my food had backfired spectacularly.