I Asked Homeless Man to Be My Pretend Fiancé Only to Discover He Was Part of My Mother’s Secret Past — Story of the Day

I had a crazy plan because I was sick of my relatives asking me incessant questions about my romantic life. I brought a homeless man to the Christmas dinner that I had found and made into a faux fiancé. Everything looked ideal up until my mother’s response, which made their startling relationship clear.

I was dreading spending the next weekend with my family as I sat in my car and stared at the park entrance. My dad’s hopeful smiles, my mom’s covert stares, and the never-ending stream of inquiries were the same every holiday visit.

When will you tie the knot? Have you made any new friends?

I couldn’t bear the thought of doing it again since it was so taxing.

My gaze suddenly settled on a lone man, bundled in a ragged coat, sitting on a seat. He appeared exhausted, as though life had dealt him more than his fair share of hardships. He was still a gorgeous man, even with his sad eyes and deep creases in his face. I realized at that point. absurd notion

“Could he be my fiancé for the weekend?” To myself, I muttered.

It might work, even though it was crazy. Anything to avoid having to deal with my family. I exited the vehicle and approached him. We both just stared at each other as he looked up.

I said, feeling embarrassed, “Hey.” Although it may sound unusual, would you mind assuming the role of my fiancé? For the duration of one weekend only. I can provide you with a comfortable place to stay, fresh clothes, and a delicious supper in exchange.

He remained silent for a brief while. His eyes lingered on mine as though he was trying to figure out why a person like me would offer something like this. Then he nodded slowly, which surprised me.

He spoke a soft “Okay.”

He consented so effortlessly that I was startled. Not a question. Without holding back. I felt a little uneasy about that. But I didn’t give a damn at that time.

Fantastic, I replied. “Come on, let’s get you weekend ready.”

I gave the stranger some clothes that belonged to my ex after we got home. His belongings were still in my closet, and to be honest, I couldn’t have come up with a greater purpose.

I held out a crisp shirt and pair of jeans and added, “Here, these should fit you.” If you’d like, feel free to take a shower. I’ll prepare a meal for us.”

“Well, thanks,” he grinned a little. “A shower sounds amazing.”

I distracted myself from my growing anxiousness by chopping vegetables while he disappeared into the restroom.

Living with a stranger in my house… What are you doing, Mia? His name is still unknown to you!

I heard the creak of the door and turned to see the stranger coming out of the restroom. To my amazement, he looked entirely different as he stood there with his hair still moist and a towel draped over his shoulder.

“Well, that’s the best shower I’ve had in years,” he laughed.

My initial uneasiness appeared to disappear right away.

“Happy to learn that. I’m hoping the meal will be as delicious.

He looked at the table, examining the dishes that I had arranged. It smells amazing. I am Christopher, just so you know.” He took a seat at the table and grinned at me.

My only response, out of shyness, was “Mia.”

He took a taste and nodded as we sat down to dine. It’s flawless. It’s been a while since I had a home-cooked lunch.”

After dining in pleasant silence for a while, the conversation began to flow.

I finally said, “So,” to end the silence. “Any favorite movies or books?”

He paused to consider his response. “Old westerns have always been my favorite. And literature? Most likely The Sea and the Old Man. It’s simple, yet it has a certain quality.”

“Are you serious? Hemingway? I expressed mild astonishment as I said, “I wouldn’t have guessed.” “I thought you’d go for something darker.”

He laughed. “You’re not wrong, but sometimes, simple stories hit the hardest.”

“I get that.”

The remainder of the evening was spent conversing about illogical subjects that made us chuckle. I was surprised by his caustic sense of humor, and by the conclusion of supper, I felt remarkably at ease with him.

I returned to the kitchen late at night to get a glass of water before going to bed. The dishes were already clean and neatly placed by the sink, I noticed.

“Did you… do the dishes?” I asked Christopher, peeking around the corner.

Sincerely moved by the gesture, I grinned. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Good night, Christopher.”

Everything moved rapidly the following day. With my family, we just had one day left before the weekend, and there was still a ton of work to be done.

We started by going to the hairdresser. Christopher sat peacefully, allowing the transformation to take place while the stylist worked. I was astounded to see his unruly hair styled into a polished, put together look.

He mumbled, “This feels weird,” as he studied himself in the mirror.

“Good weird or bad weird?” I made fun of it.

“It’s definitely good,” he grinned.

He was beginning to take on an entirely new appearance by the time we went shopping for new clothes.

---

The holiday meal got off to a decent start. Christopher’s arrival delighted my parents, and I could practically sense their pleasure as they looked at me and finally stopped asking me the same old questions about my personal life.

When speaking, Christopher was courteous, focused, and even endearing, thus he played his part flawlessly. I started to unwind, believing that perhaps my crazy scheme had succeeded.

“Christopher is correct?” my mother enquired with a cheery smile. “You appear really familiar. Have I previously seen you somewhere? perhaps on television?

She chuckled softly, as though she’d just cracked a little joke.

Christopher shook his head courteously. “No, I don’t believe that. Perhaps I’m just pulling a face like that.

My mother’s lighthearted banter certainly made my father laugh. “Well, if you’re on TV, I’ll have to start watching more closely,” he said.

Mom went on, “So, Christopher, what did you do before you met Mia?” Business, is that correct?

Before responding, Christopher hesitated and gave my mother one too many lengthy looks.

He murmured, “Yes, business,” but there was a change in the tone of his voice. “But about five years ago, everything changed for me.”

A beat skipped in my heart.

Hold on… This is not intended to happen.

I glanced at him in the hopes that he would understand, but he persisted. “An accident occurred. an automobile mishap. It radically altered my life.

We most definitely didn’t discuss this.

My mother’s knuckles turned white, her fingers clenching the tablecloth while her face grew pale. Her face grew serious, as though she had just put something together.

“A vehicle collision?” she repeated. The atmosphere had lost warmth as a result of her remarks. That is regrettable.

My dad gave her a quick glance. “Olivia, are you okay?”

She was ignoring him, though. “Not everyone walks away from accidents unscathed, do they?”

Her voice shaking with rage, Mom added plainly, “He’s not the kind of man you need.”

It surprised me. My father’s fork paused halfway to his mouth as his eyes grew wide with disbelief.

Christopher put down his drink quietly. I apologize. I’m going outside for a little.”

I glanced to my mother as he walked out. “What was the purpose of that? He did not act improperly.”

“Mia, there’s something you should know. I was in a vehicle accident five years ago,” she started, lowering her voice as if she was worried someone else may hear.

My heart fell. “What?”

“That night, your Christopher was under the influence,” she remarked angrily. He refused to get tested, despite my demands. I decided not to take him to court because no one witnessed what happened. However, Mia, you must comprehend… He poses a threat. He is untrustworthy.”

Christopher? Under the influence?

At last, I broke the quiet. “I need to talk to him.”

Christopher was gazing into the night while resting on the fence. Despite his placid demeanor, there was sadness in his eyes.

“Christopher,” I whispered.

He was deliberate in his word choice and spoke slowly. “Hartman is my last name. I was in that accident, yes. That night I was taking sedatives, given for my anxiety following my wife’s death. I was driving defensively.”

Digging inside his pocket, he produced a tiny, plain ring.

Since my wife passed away, you’re the only woman I’ve wanted to leave something with. She owned this. Mia, I’m grateful for dinner. It was… above what I merited.”

He gave me the ring, gave me a small nod, and turned to leave.

I whispered, “Wait,” but the chilly night air swallowed my words.

I lingered there, gazing at the ring I was holding. When I walked back inside, my mother was waiting.

“You didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you?” I insisted.

She let out a sigh. “Not at all. I didn’t. That night, I was driving too fast. Mia, I… I was afraid.”

Her expression said it all. Indeed. But it was too late now.

---

I kept thinking about Christopher all the time. His narrative, the mishap, and the burden he bore. I was tormented by it.

I ran a brief but straightforward advertisement in the local newspaper:

“If you see this, Christopher Hartman, please come to the restaurant where we had supper the other night. I have dinner there every night. Mia.

Not knowing if he would ever read it or even if he wanted to see me again made me feel a little silly. However, I had to give it a shot. Too much remained unspoken.

---

I got to the restaurant early the day after I placed the advertisement. As the minutes passed, uncertainty began to surface.

Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t want to.

However, the door opened as I was ready to give up. Christopher entered and looked around the room before focusing on me. He walked over with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He sat down opposite me and said, “I saw your ad.”

Before I spoke, we looked at each other for a time. I have so much I want to share with you. I learned about your past, including the accident. At last, my mother acknowledged that she was also at blame. Additionally, she stole your money.”

For a few while, we sat silently and let his words to sink in.

“I apologize,” I muttered.

His voice was quiet as he said, “You don’t have to be.” “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, but even so… Help is what I want to do. My mom wants things to be corrected. She’s giving you back what she took from you.

The remainder of the evening was spent conversing. It was no longer about acting. It was authentic. By night’s end, I had come to a realization. I had developed feelings for Christopher. What’s the best thing, then? He had the same thoughts.

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