I was done—completely done—with my family’s endless questions about my love life. Every holiday dinner turned into an interrogation: When are you getting married? Have you met someone yet?
So this year, I decided to pull off the craziest plan I’d ever thought of. I would bring a fake fiancé to the family holiday dinner. And not just any man—I chose a homeless stranger I’d just met.
It started on a cold Thursday afternoon. I sat in my car near the park entrance, dreading the upcoming weekend. I could already picture my mom’s raised eyebrows, my dad’s hopeful little smiles, and my relatives’ prying questions.
I glanced up and saw a man sitting alone on a weathered bench. His coat was torn, his hands shoved deep into the pockets. His face looked tired—like life had been far too cruel to him—but there was still something striking about him. His eyes, though sad, had a certain warmth.
A wild thought popped into my head. What if…
I whispered to myself, “Could he be my fiancé for the weekend?”
It was insane. Completely reckless. But I was desperate. I got out of my car, walked over, and stopped a few feet from him.
“Hey,” I said, my voice a little shaky. “I know this is going to sound strange, but… would you be willing to pretend to be my fiancé? Just for one weekend. I’ll give you a warm place to stay, new clothes, and a nice meal in return.”
He stared at me for a long moment, almost like he was trying to read my soul. Then, to my shock, he nodded.
“Okay,” he said simply.
I blinked. “Really? No questions?”
“No questions,” he replied.
Something about how easily he agreed made my stomach twist. But I pushed the feeling away. “Great. Let’s get you ready for the weekend.”
Back at my apartment, I pulled some clothes from my ex-boyfriend’s things—still sitting in my closet, waiting to be given away.
“These should fit you,” I said, handing him a clean shirt and jeans. “You can shower if you want. I’ll make us some dinner.”
He gave me a faint smile. “A shower sounds amazing. Thank you.”
While he disappeared into the bathroom, I chopped vegetables in the kitchen, my mind racing. Mia, what are you doing? You don’t even know his name.
The bathroom door opened, and I turned to see him—his damp hair pushed back, his skin scrubbed clean. He looked like a completely different man.
“That’s the best shower I’ve had in years,” he said, almost laughing.
I smiled. “Glad to hear it. Dinner’s almost ready.”
At the table, he took a bite of the food and closed his eyes briefly. “This is perfect. I’m Christopher, by the way.”
“Mia,” I said softly.
Over dinner, we talked. He liked old western movies, and his favorite book was The Old Man and the Sea.
“Really?” I teased. “I didn’t take you for a Hemingway guy.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes simple stories hit the hardest.”
Later that night, I went for a glass of water and saw the dishes washed and stacked neatly.
“Did you do these?” I asked.
“Seemed like the least I could do.”
The next day was all about preparation. Hair salon first—his messy hair transformed into a neat cut that made him look sharp.
“This feels weird,” he said, looking in the mirror.
“Good weird or bad weird?” I asked.
He smirked. “Definitely good.”
Then came new clothes—slacks, a crisp button-up, even a nice jacket. By the end of the day, Christopher didn’t just look like someone I could bring home to meet my family… he looked like someone I could actually date.
Dinner with my family started perfectly. My mother beamed at Christopher, my dad seemed relieved to see me with someone, and for the first time in years, no one asked me when I was getting married.
But then, my mom tilted her head. “Christopher, you look so familiar. Have we met? Maybe I’ve seen you on TV?”
He gave a polite smile. “No, I don’t think so. I just have one of those faces.”
She didn’t drop it. “So, Christopher… what did you do before you met Mia? Business, right?”
There was a pause. He looked at her a moment too long before answering. “Yes. Business. But everything changed for me about five years ago. There was… a car accident. It changed my life completely.”
I froze. This wasn’t part of our script.
My mother’s face drained of color. Her hands gripped the tablecloth until her knuckles turned white. “A car accident?” she said coldly.
Christopher stayed calm. “Yes.”
My mother’s voice trembled, but her words cut like glass. “He’s not the kind of man you need, Mia.”
The whole table fell silent. Christopher excused himself and stepped outside. I turned to my mom, furious.
“What was that? He hasn’t done anything wrong!”
Her eyes darkened. “Five years ago, I was in a car accident. The man I hit… was Christopher. He was under the influence, refused testing. There were no witnesses. I chose not to take him to court. But you can’t trust him.”
I was stunned.
Outside, Christopher stood by the fence, staring into the night.
“Yes, I was in that accident,” he admitted when I confronted him. “But I wasn’t drunk. I was on prescribed sedatives. My wife had just died. I was careful… but it didn’t matter.”
He pulled a small, plain ring from his pocket. “This was hers. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to leave it with. Thank you for dinner, Mia. It was more than I deserved.”
Before I could stop him, he walked away into the darkness.
Later, my mother admitted the truth—she had been speeding that night. She had also taken money from Christopher in an unofficial “settlement” she never told me about.
I couldn’t let it end there. I placed an ad in the paper:
“Christopher Hartman, if you see this, meet me at the restaurant where we last had dinner. I’m there every evening. Mia.”
The very next night, I was about to give up when the door opened. Christopher walked in, spotted me, and smiled faintly.
“I saw your ad,” he said, sitting across from me.
I told him everything—how my mom admitted her fault, how she still had his money, how she wanted to return it.
We talked for hours, no pretending this time. By the end of the night, I realized the craziest thing—my ridiculous plan had brought me to the person I didn’t even know I was looking for.
And best of all… he felt the same.