I’m Ana, and I’m marrying my perfect match in three months. His parents, though, decided I wasn’t good enough, mocking my job with sly smiles. I held my tongue until a party revealed my hidden past, shocking them and leaving me wondering if I played it wrong.
I’m 27, Cuban-American, and own Snap Joy Photography, a busy studio I poured my heart into. It’s my dream come true. But when I met my fiancé Lucas’s parents, Patricia and George, they didn’t care. “Photography?” Patricia said at our first coffee, her smile cutting. “How… fun.” I stayed steady. “It’s my life,” I said. George laughed, “Lucas loves quirky types. He’s so accomplished, it’s cute to see someone… relaxed.” Lucas held my hand, stiff, but I smiled. “Creativity’s vital, right?” Their jabs kept coming, cloaked in fake warmth. At a family barbecue, Patricia said, “We value real careers in our family, Ana. You know, degrees?” My chest tightened, but I said, “Education’s more than diplomas.” George grinned, “Anyone can take photos now with apps.” Lucas started, “Dad—” but I stopped him. “It’s fine,” I said, masking my hurt.
Things snapped at Patricia’s 60th birthday party, a glitzy event with academic big shots. As I fixed my makeup, Patricia walked in. “Ana, tonight’s guests are professionals,” she said, adjusting her earrings. “They respect serious work. Maybe don’t mention your photos much. Keep it simple to avoid… wrong ideas about our standards.” Her words hit hard, her smile cold. “You mean your reputation?” I asked, hands trembling. “Yes,” she said. I nodded, choking back anger. At the party, Patricia called me “Lucas’s girlfriend,” not fiancée, to women in fancy dresses. “Do you do pet photos?” one asked, smirking. “All kinds,” I said politely. Another said, “What a fun hobby.” Lucas held me close, but I stayed quiet, letting their assumptions grow.
Then Dr. Gomez, a familiar face, arrived. My heart pounded. She saw me, beaming. “Ana? From the renewable energy project at Horizon Institute?” Patricia tensed. Dr. Patel joined, excited. “Your solar efficiency study’s in our new report!” The room stilled. George’s fork froze. “Your study?” he mumbled. Dr. Gomez frowned. “You didn’t know? Ana’s master’s and PhD in Energy Science won the Reed Award. She was a trailblazer before she… switched paths.” I smiled. “I run a photo studio now. I wanted creativity.” Dr. Patel gasped, “But your work could power communities!” The awkwardness was intense. Patricia disappeared to the restroom for ages. George stared, floored.
Later, Patricia cornered me, angry. “You made us look stupid!” she snapped. “I answered their questions,” I said calmly. “You let us think you were just a photographer!” she fumed. “You never asked about me,” I said. “You judged my job and accent, saying I wasn’t enough for Lucas.” She stuttered, “That’s not—” I interrupted, “You told me to stay quiet tonight. You called me his girlfriend, not fiancée.” Tears threatened, but I stood tall. “I didn’t share my degrees because I knew you’d still dismiss me. My PhD just showed your bias.” George appeared, pale. “We didn’t mean—” “You did,” I said. “Every dig was intentional.”
I found Lucas outside, head down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve stood up more.” I sat beside him. “It’s not your fault, but I can’t live like this.” He looked pained. “You’re better than us. I’m ashamed of them.” I said, “I don’t want shame. I want respect for me, not my degrees.” He nodded. “They’ll respect you now.” But respect from humiliation feels fake. Was I wrong to hide my past? Should I have shared my degrees upfront? Or is it okay to let people reveal themselves? I’m proud of my master’s and PhD in Energy Science, every late night and breakthrough. I hid them to see if they’d value Ana, not my titles. They didn’t, and that’s on them. Now I’m wondering if I can join a family that needed a shock to see my worth.
