When my sister-in-law Jessica announced a luxury-themed potluck for my father-in-law’s retirement, I knew it would be stressful. My husband Mark had recently lost his job, and money was tight. Jessica insisted everyone bring gourmet cheeses, imported chocolates, and fancy wines things we simply couldn’t afford.

Determined to contribute, I made a homemade casserole, a treasured family recipe that Mark loved. But when I arrived, Jessica sneered at my dish.“This isn’t a soup kitchen,” she snapped. “Everyone else is bringing delicacies. You should just leave.”

Humiliated and heartbroken, I left without a word. Mark was furious when I told him, promising to stand up to her. But karma intervened before he could. The next morning, Mark’s cousin called laughing Jessica’s helper had unplugged the fridge by mistake, spoiling all the expensive food.

Guests left early, calling it the worst potluck ever. Jessica’s mother even said my casserole was the only thing that could have saved the night. In the end, Jessica’s cruelty backfired spectacularly, and I didn’t have to say a word.