When I offered to marry a homeless stranger, I thought I had it all figured out. It seemed like the perfect arrangement to please my parents without any strings attached. Little did I know that I would be in for a shock when I walked into my house a month later. My name is Miley, I’m 34 years old, and this is the story of how I went from being a happy single woman with a career to marrying a homeless man, only to have my world turned upside down in the most unexpected way. My parents have been insisting that I get married for as long as I can remember. I feel like they have a timer in their heads, counting down the seconds until my hair starts turning gray.
As a result, every family dinner becomes an impromptu make-out session. “Miley, honey,” my mother, Martha, began. “Do you remember the Johnsons’ son? He’s just been promoted to regional director of your company. Maybe you could grab a coffee sometime? “Mom, I’m not interested in dating right now,” I said. “I’m focused on my career.” “But, honey,” my father, Stephen, said to me, “your career isn’t going to keep you warm at night. Don’t you want someone to share your life with?”
“I share my life with you and my friends,” I replied. “That’s enough for me right now.” But they didn’t give up their efforts. It was a constant barrage of “What’s up with so-and-so?” and “Have you heard of that nice young man?”
We were having Sunday dinner when my parents dropped a bombshell. “Miley,” my father said seriously. “Your mother and I are thinking.” “Wow, here we go,” I muttered. “We’ve decided,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm, “that unless you get married before you turn 35, you won’t see a dime of our inheritance.” “What?” I blurted out. “You can’t be serious!” “Yes, we do,” my mother replied. “We’re not getting any younger, honey. We want to see you settled and happy. And we want to have grandchildren while we’re still young enough to enjoy them.”
“This is crazy,” I blurted out. “They can’t blackmail me into getting married.” “It’s not blackmail,” my father insisted. “It’s an incentive.” That night I stormed out of the house, unable to believe what had just happened. They’d given me an ultimatum, implying that I would have to find a husband within a few months or say goodbye to my inheritance. She was angry, but not because she wanted the money. It was more because of the principle of the matter. How dare they control my life like this? I was walking home from work, thinking about spreadsheets and deadlines, when I saw him. A man, probably in his thirties, was sitting on the sidewalk holding a cardboard sign asking for help. He had a rough look, a scraggly beard, and dirty clothes, but there was something in his eyes. A kindness and a sadness that made me stop.