The Choice That Changed Everything
Lina-Mei had been dreaming about this trip for months. A chance to meet her boyfriend Luke’s family—finally! Maybe even a proposal if things went well. Her heart fluttered at the thought.
She packed carefully—flats for dinner, heels just in case, and a soft blue dress she’d only worn once before, saved for something special.
That morning, Luke kissed her forehead as she slipped on her boots.
“Lina, you’re going to love my mom,” he said, grinning. “And I know she’s going to love you!”
Her stomach buzzed with excitement. This was it. The moment that could change everything.
But halfway through the flight, with the mountains below them like smudged watercolors, Luke turned to her. His voice was casual, too casual.
“When we get there, Lina… would you mind telling my family you’re Japanese?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Not like a whole backstory,” he rushed to explain. “Just… let them assume. Maybe mention a dish or say a phrase in Japanese. They’ll figure it out.”
Her chest tightened. “Luke… I’m Chinese.”
“I know,” he chuckled, like this was some harmless little game. “But my grandmother’s Japanese, and my brother’s wife is too. She’s obsessed with the idea of us marrying Japanese women. She’s even leaving her whole estate to my brother because of it. If she thinks you’re Japanese… it could be huge for us, Lina. Like, life-changing money.”
Her fingers curled into her seat. “So you want me to lie… for an inheritance?”
“It’s not a lie,” he said, like he was convincing himself. “Just… letting them believe what they want. And I already told them to call you Lina-Mei—your full name. You should let my grandma invite you to make dumplings. She’d love that!”
Lina-Mei stared at him.
This wasn’t just about a name. It was about who she was.
A memory flashed—third grade, standing in the lunch line. “You must be Japanese, right? Lina-Mei… do you help your mom roll sushi?”
“I’m Chinese,” she had corrected firmly.
“That’s the same thing,” the teacher had murmured, waving her off.
That night, she had asked her mother why people always got it wrong.
“Oh, Lina,” her mother had sighed, hands deep in soapy water. “It’s because they think we all blend together. But we don’t. You’re not a shade in someone’s watercolor painting, my petal. You’re your own color.”
Now, years later, Luke was asking her to blend again.
Dinner at Luke’s family home was warm at first. His parents, Margaret and Tom, were kind. His grandmother, Sumiko, watched everything with sharp eyes, even as she moved slowly with her cane.
Then Margaret smiled at her. “Lina-Mei, your name is beautiful! Is it Japanese?”
Lina-Mei hesitated. “No. My family’s from the mainland.”
“But she loves Japanese culture!” Luke jumped in, laughing nervously. “She’s learning calligraphy!”
“That’s not true,” Lina-Mei said calmly. “I’m not.”
Luke’s face reddened.
Sumiko’s gaze flicked between them.
The tension grew.
Then, during dessert, Luke stood, tapping his glass.
“A toast!” he announced. “To my future wife, Lina-Mei. Beautiful, brilliant… and Japanese, just like Grandma always dreamed!”
Silence.
Lina-Mei set her spoon down.
She stood.
“Luke, we already talked about this. I told you I wouldn’t lie.”
“What lie?” Margaret gasped.
“I’m not Japanese,” Lina-Mei said, her voice steady. “I’m Chinese. And Luke wanted me to pretend otherwise—for his inheritance.”
The room froze.
Luke paled. “Lina—”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “You didn’t want me. You wanted a version of me that would make someone else happy. I’m not your fantasy. I’m not your ticket to money.”
She grabbed her bag, ready to leave.
Then Sumiko stood.
“Lina-Mei,” she said, her voice strong. “Wait.”
Lina-Mei paused.
“I’m sorry my foolish grandson dragged you into this,” Sumiko said. “I never told anyone I’d only leave money to Ryan. Luke doesn’t understand responsibility. That’s why I made my decision. It was never about ethnicity.”
Lina-Mei exhaled. “Thank you for your honesty.”
Then she walked out.
The next morning, she packed while Luke hovered in the doorway.
“You’re really leaving?” he asked, voice tight.
She didn’t look at him. “I’m not mad at your family. They were kind. I’m leaving because of you.”
“It was just an idea,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean for me to see who you really are,” she said, zipping her suitcase. “But I did. And I don’t like it.”
He didn’t stop her.
At the airport, she ate dumplings from a takeout box, watching the planes take off.
She wasn’t heartbroken.
She was free.
Next time, she wanted someone who didn’t just want her—but knew her.
And never asked her to hide.