When I decided to marry someone living on the streets, I believed it to be a foolproof plan to show my parents a lesson while ensuring zero commitments. Little did I know the astonishment awaiting me a month later as I walked into my home.
Hi, I’m Miley, a 34-year-old who transitioned from being comfortably single and focused on my career to surprising even myself by marrying a homeless man. My life twisted and turned in ways I never anticipated.
My parents forever nagged me about settling down. To them, it seemed like there was a clock ticking, counting the days until gray hairs would start appearing.
Every family gathering quickly evolved into a matchmaking marathon.
“Miley, darling,” my mother, Martha, would hint. “Do you remember the Johnsons’ boy? Recently promoted to a big post! Maybe you two could grab some coffee?”
My response never changed. “Really not into dating at the moment, Mom. Career’s my focus.”
“But dear,” Dad, that’s Stephen, added, “will your job comfort you during the cold nights? Don’t you want someone to share your journey with?”
“I have you both and my friends for that,” I’d reply. “That suits me just fine right now.”
Despite my stance, their efforts intensified, with endless mentions of potential partners and eligible bachelors.
Eventually, things escalated unexpectedly one dinner evening.
“Miley,” Dad started in a tone filled with determination. “Your mom and I have pondered something.”
“Oh no… here it comes,” I’d mutter.
“We’ve concluded,” he continued, oblivious to my sarcasm, “if you’re not married by your next birthday, you won’t receive any inheritance.”
“What!” I gasped. “This can’t be! You can’t be serious.”
“We are,” Mom chimed in, “You know we aren’t getting any younger. We wish to see you settled and filled with joy. Grandkids would bring us immense joy.”
This shocked me beyond words. “This is madness. You can’t manipulate me into marriage!”
“It isn’t manipulation,” Dad defended. “Think of it as motivation.”
Filled with disbelief, I stormed out feeling they were trying to micromanage my life by laying down such ultimatums.
I was furious—not at the loss of money, but at their audacity to dictate my choices.
In the following weeks, I evaded their calls and visits. One twilight evening, I stumbled upon a unique idea.
Heading home post-work, consumed by work-related thoughts, I noticed him—a gentleman in his late thirties, seated on the sidewalk. His cardboard sign sought a few coins.
Though rugged in appearance with an unkempt beard, there was a solace in his eyes that compelled a halt in my stride.
And that’s when this absolutely whimsical idea sparked in my mind, a solution that seemed thoroughly ingenious.
“Excuse me,” I addressed him, “I know it sounds unusual, but… would you be open to getting married?”
The man’s eyes conveyed his surprise. “Excuse me, what in the world?!”
“Hear me out,” I implored, inhaling deeply. “I urgently need to be married. It would be a convenient setup. I’d provide you with shelter, clothing, meals, and some finance in exchange for pretending to be my husband. Are you interested?”
He hesitated, perhaps thinking it was a joke.
“Lady, are you genuinely serious?” he queried.
“Completely,” I nodded. “I’m Miley, by the way.”
“Stan,” he said, still adjusting, “And is it true, you’re ready to go through this with someone like me?”
I nodded in affirmation.
“Yes, it sounds outrageous, but I’m not a criminal. Simply a woman dealing with intrusive parents.”
“Miley, in truth, this is the oddest offer I’ve ever encountered.”
“So, are you in?” I ventured.
Following what seemed like a lengthy deliberation, a certain gleam appeared in his gaze. “Alright, let’s do it. Future wife, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
And my life instantly took a dimension I had never dreamed of.
Stan received a makeover, and underneath the weariness was a dashingly handsome man waiting for some grooming.
Days later, my family met him as my long-secret fiancé. Their bewilderment was a sight to behold.
“Miley!” Mom exclaimed. “Why keep this from us?”
“Oh, I needed certainty before announcing it,” I fibbed. “Stan and I are madly in love, aren’t we dear?”
Stan, an excellent actor, played along, enchanting them with concocted love tales.
A month zipped by and we got hitched.
Given potential consequences, I insisted on a strong prenup, ensuring my peculiar escapade didn’t backfire. Surprisingly, Stan proved great company.
Smart and humorous, he effortlessly lived like a comfortable roommate, playing the part of a devoted husband when needed.
Nevertheless, an unaddressed curiosity lingered.
Each inquiry about his past or the circumstances leading him to homelessness led to immediate evasion. That mystery frustrated yet captivated me.
Then an unforgettable day dawned.
Returning from work felt regular, only until rose petals scattered across our path caught my eye. They stretched towards the living room.
The petals led to a sight that rendered me speechless. Roses filled the room, a heart formed on the floor.
There, amid it all, was Stan.
A tuxedo replaced his regular attire, rivaling my rent cost. His hand cradled a delicate velvet box.
“Stan?” was all that escaped my lips. “What’s happening?”
His grin, warm with sincerity, captured my breath.
“Miley, accepting me, you brought unmatched happiness. I hoped you would genuinely love me, becoming my wife not just in title but truth. Meeting you brought joy I never knew. Will you be my honest-to-goodness bride?”
Eyes widened, trying to comprehend. Countless questions swam, one puzzled surfaced.
“Stan, how did you afford this—the outfit, the blooms, and that ring?”
“Miley, it’s time for clarity,” he said, a new chapter beginning. “My story as a street man was complex. Your grace inspired my fight to reclaim life.”
“Got turfed out by familial betrayal, losing my firm, they loved a fortune. They manipulated every strand of my life—identity, assets, residence; leaving me stranded. Seeking law, they drew upon connections, nullifying my access to justice.”
For the first time, I heard his trials, survival, and reclamation tale. Meeting me reignited his fighting spirit.
“You brought dignity and a place to recover, I contacted professionals, promising large payouts—ones my kin couldn’t impede, seeking rivals’ triumph.”
“The firm, enlightened by my resolve, stands beside me, case administrators lined up,” he recounted. “All restoration underway.”
Pausing, his eyes conveyed sincerity that drew me initially.
“Heart poured out, Miley. Never expected finding love free of material motives. Your goodness astounded me, laying bare my affection. Keeping secrets hurt, thank you for grace.”
My seat cushioned a whirlwind of shock. This unplanned husband was real wealth materialized and awaited only honest love.
“Stan,” thinking aloud, “changed everything with honesty. Feelings between us might be real when clarity sets in.”
Understanding was apparent as he led me towards a meal freshly prepared.
We dined, nestled with emotion and recognition of newfound truths.
In concluding our meal, I gathered strength to express what burdened my beating heart.
“Stan, this night proves unforgettable, never inspired devotion like you’ve shown.” A solitary tear marked my gratitude.
“I’ll marry you, ultimately, but let me embrace this revelation. Ask again in half a year, rekindle our burgeoning love amidst life’s tangles. Watching trials diminish with unwavering support.”
Stan’s joy brightened, “Elated, yes months will pass in wait. But take this rings symbolic promise meanwhile?”
Nodding, as the ring settled ushering tranquility over my hand. We embraced and our first kiss sealed a new chapter grounded not in spectacle but genuine warmth.
I find myself writing in reflection, acknowledging life’s unpredictability. Marrying a seemingly destitute soul to confound my parents revealed a flourishing, deep-hearted journey alongside wealth, yet authentic affection emerging unplanned.
This fictional narrative, echoing real experiences, fictionalizes for creativity. Alterations made preserve privacy and enrich storytelling. Resemblance is coin accidental, without authorial intent.
Liability for portrayal or event accuracy unheld; characters’ opinions solitary, not shared by the creator. This fiction persists, opinions solely belonging to fictional entities without influencing the source.”
