When I offered to marry a homeless stranger, I thought I had it all figured out. It seemed like the perfect solution—my parents would finally stop nagging me about my single status, and I’d get the “married” label without any emotional complications. It wasn’t supposed to be real, just a simple arrangement. But life doesn’t work that way, does it?

At 34 years old, I was a career-driven woman who had no time for a relationship, and I didn’t want a messy commitment. My parents, on the other hand, were relentless. Every family gathering, every phone call, they’d drop hints or make comments about the urgency of me settling down. I wanted to make them happy, but on my terms, so I thought a quick, uncomplicated marriage was the answer.

I met the man on the street, and after a brief conversation, I proposed the idea. He didn’t have anything to lose, and I didn’t expect to gain anything more than a simple favor to check off my parents’ wish list. It was supposed to be an easy way to silence the pressure, no emotions, no strings attached. What I didn’t foresee was how this act of convenience would spiral into something that would shake my entire life.