My boyfriend and I have been together for five years. At first, his mom called me by his ex’s name. Then she started calling me Laura instead of Leylah.

Weeks before her 60th birthday, she gathered the whole family and asked everyone to bring some food to her birthday party. Suddenly, she turned to me and loudly said, “Why don’t we let Laura make the birthday cake this year?”

I said, “That’s a great idea!” but I planned to teach her a lesson instead.
On her birthday, the house was bustling with guests, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The dining table was adorned with a variety of dishes brought by family members. In the center of the table, a spot was reserved for the grand birthday cake that “Laura” was supposed to make.
As everyone eagerly awaited the cake, I made my way to the kitchen. I had spent the entire week preparing not one, but two cakes. The first was a beautiful, elegantly decorated cake with “Happy Birthday, Mom” written on it. The second cake, hidden from view, was a much smaller, messier one with “Happy Birthday, Laura” scrawled on it.

I brought out the elegant cake first, and the guests gasped in delight. My boyfriend’s mom, already basking in the attention, smiled smugly as if taking credit for the idea.

Just as everyone was about to dig in, I held up my hand. “Wait a moment,” I said. “There’s another cake. A special one.”

I went back to the kitchen and brought out the second cake. The room fell silent as I placed it next to the first one. “This one,” I said, turning to my boyfriend’s mom with a sweet smile, “is for Laura. Since you seem to think she’s the one making everything special.”

Her face turned a shade of red I’d never seen before. “Leylah, what is the meaning of this?” she snapped.

I looked her straight in the eye. “The meaning is, you’ve called me by the wrong name for five years. Even when corrected, you’ve never made an effort to remember my actual name. So, I thought it was time to remind you who I really am.”

The room was filled with a mix of gasps, whispers, and awkward shuffling. My boyfriend’s mom looked around, seeking support, but no one came to her aid.

My boyfriend stepped forward, wrapping his arm around me. “Mom, it’s about time you showed Leylah the respect she deserves,” he said firmly.

The atmosphere shifted, with the guests nodding in agreement. My boyfriend’s mom, cornered and embarrassed, stammered an apology. “I… I’m sorry, Leylah. I didn’t realize how much it bothered you.”

I nodded, accepting her apology, but knowing that actions spoke louder than words. The rest of the party continued with a more subdued tone, but the message had been delivered loud and clear.

From that day forward, she never called me by the wrong name again. And every time she saw me, there was a new glint of respect in her eyes, a recognition that I wasn’t just a passive girlfriend, but someone who would stand up for herself.

It was the start of a new chapter in our relationship, one built on mutual respect and understanding. And for that, I was grateful.