When I proposed a marriage of convenience to a homeless man, I thought I had everything figured out. It seemed like the perfect solution to appease my parents with no emotional strings attached. Little did I know, I was about to have my world turned upside down.
I’m Miley, 34 years old, and this is the story of how I went from being a content, single career woman to marrying a homeless man, only to discover an unexpected truth.
For years, my parents had been pressuring me to get married. It felt like a ticking clock in their minds, counting down until I reached some supposed expiration date. Family dinners always turned into matchmaking sessions.
“Miley, honey,” my mom would start. “Have you met the Johnsons’ son? He’s just been promoted. Maybe you should grab coffee sometime?”
“Mom, I’m not interested in dating right now. My career is my focus,” I’d reply.
“But sweetheart,” my dad would chime in, “don’t you want someone to share your life with?”
“I share my life with you and my friends,” I’d counter.
But they wouldn’t stop. The constant questions and suggestions wore me down until one fateful night when they dropped an ultimatum.
“Miley,” my dad said seriously, “we’ve decided that unless you’re married by your 35th birthday, you won’t see a cent of our inheritance.”
“What?” I blurted, stunned. “You can’t be serious!”
“We are,” my mom replied. “We want to see you settled and happy. And we want grandchildren while we’re still young enough to enjoy them.”
I was furious—not about the money, but about the audacity of their control over my life. I left that night, not speaking to them for weeks.
Then, one evening, on my walk home from work, I spotted him—a man sitting on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign asking for change. He looked rough, but there was something in his eyes that stopped me in my tracks.
“Excuse me,” I said, “this may sound crazy, but would you be willing to marry me?”
He looked up, confused. “What?”
“I need to get married ASAP,” I explained. “It would be a marriage of convenience. I’ll give you a place to stay, food, clothes, and some money, and you just have to pretend to be my husband.”
He stared at me, shocked. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” I said. “I’m Miley.”
“Stan,” he replied, still bewildered. “You’re asking me to marry you?”
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