I’m 34, and my parents continually harass me about remaining a spinster indefinitely and not getting married. They’ve attempted to pair me up with various suitors, desperate for grandchildren. Then they went too far: they stated that I wouldn’t receive a dime of their inheritance unless I tied the knot by the time I turned 35. With only a few months left, I was feeling pressured.
One day, feeling exasperated, I encountered a homeless man asking for change. He was unkempt, but his gaze was gentle. On a whim, I proposed that I marry him. I was clear: it would be a marriage of convenience. I would provide him with shelter, clothing, and money, and in return, he would act as my husband.
His name was Stan, and he accepted my proposal. I bought him some new clothes. Just three days later, I presented him to my parents as my fiancé, and they were overjoyed.
We tied the knot. Then, only a month later, I returned home and experienced THE SHOCK OF MY LIFE. I stood there, wide-eyed, struggling to comprehend what was unfolding. 
