My parents put a lot of pressure on me to get married before I reached 35 when I was 34.

threatening to exclude me from their inheritance, even. I’m tired,

I took a risk and married Stan, a homeless man.
Convenience marriage was the plan: I would provide him with housing,

He would pose as my husband and give me money, clothes, and other things. It appeared to be an easy transaction.

A month following our nuptials, I returned home to an entirely unexpected scene.

The house, usually a mess, was spotless, and the smell of a delicious roast chicken filled the air.

In the kitchen, Stan—looking clean and confident—was cooking like a professional chef.

“I didn’t want to live like a ghost in this house anymore,” he explained,

revealing that he used to be a sous-chef before his life took a downturn.

“I had no idea,” I said, shocked at how much I had underestimated him.

He started talking more about his past when we sat down to dinner.

He explained to me how poor choices had caused his life to get out of control.

and how he got into homelessness. He smiled and replied, “People can change.”

I understood as I listened that Stan wasn’t merely a practical fix for my issue; rather, he was someone

They has been granted another opportunity. Our agreement, which I had assumed would only last temporarily,

was beginning to seem more authentic. I couldn’t deny how much he had transformed my life, even though I had undervalued him.