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 was tired of my family’s endless questions about my love life, so I had a wild plan. I found and brought a homeless man as my pretend fiancé to the holiday dinner. Everything seemed perfect until my mother’s reaction revealed a shocking connection between them.

I sat in my car, staring at the park entrance, dreading the upcoming weekend with my family. Every holiday visit was the same: my mom’s subtle looks, my dad’s hopeful smiles, and the never-ending barrage of questions.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

When are you getting married? Have you met someone?

It was exhausting, and the thought of another round of it was more than I could handle.

Suddenly, my eyes fell on a man sitting alone on a bench, huddled in a tattered coat. He looked worn out like life had handed him more than his share of troubles. His sad eyes and the deep lines on his face still made him look like a handsome man. That’s when it hit me. Crazy idea!

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

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

It was insane, but it could work. Anything to keep my family off my back. I got out of the car and walked over to him. He looked up, and we stared at each other.

“Hey,” I started, feeling awkward. “I know this is going to sound strange, but… would you be willing to pretend to be my fiancé? Just for a weekend. In return, I can offer you a warm place to stay, new clothes, and a nice meal.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze lingered on mine as if he were trying to understand why someone like me would make such an offer. Then, to my surprise, he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

I was shocked at how easily he agreed. No questions. No hesitation. That made me a little nervous. But at that point, I didn’t care.

“Great,” I said. “Let’s get you ready for the weekend.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

***

After we got back home, I handed the stranger some clothes that belonged to my ex. His things were still in my closet, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a better use for them.

“Here, these should fit you,” I said, offering a clean shirt and jeans. “You can take a shower if you’d like. I’ll make us some dinner.”

“Well, thanks,” he said with a small smile. “A shower sounds amazing.”

As he headed into the bathroom, I kept myself busy chopping vegetables and trying to ignore the nervousness building up inside me.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Sharing my home with a stranger… Mia, what are you doing? You still don’t know his name!

When the stranger emerged from the bathroom, I heard the door creak and turned around. He stood there, a towel slung over his shoulder, his hair still damp, and to my surprise, he looked completely different.

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

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

The awkwardness I’d felt earlier seemed to vanish in an instant.

“Glad to hear it. I hope the dinner will be just as good.”

He glanced at the table, eyeing the plates I’d set out. “Smells incredible. I am Christopher, by the way.” He smiled at me, sitting down at the table.

Feeling a bit shy, I only replied, “Mia.”

As we sat down to eat, he took the first bite and nodded. “It’s perfect. Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

We ate in comfortable silence for a bit, and then the conversation started flowing naturally.

“So,” I said, breaking the quiet. “Any favorite movies or books?”

He thought for a moment before answering. “I always loved old westerns. And books? Probably The Old Man and the Sea. Simple, but there’s something about it.”

“Really? Hemingway? I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said, a little surprised. “I thought you’d go for something darker.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

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

“I get that.”

We spent the rest of the evening talking about random topics that made us laugh. He had a dry sense of humor that caught me off guard, and by the end of dinner, I felt surprisingly comfortable around him.

Late in the evening, I went back into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before bed. I noticed the dishes had already been washed and stacked neatly by the sink.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

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

“Seemed like the least I could do.”

I smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Good night, Christopher.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

***

The next day, everything moved quickly. We had one day left before the weekend with my family, and there was still so much to do.

First, we went to the hair salon. As the stylist worked, Christopher sat quietly, letting the transformation happen. I watched in amazement as his shaggy hair was trimmed into something neat and polished.

“This feels weird,” he muttered, looking at himself in the mirror.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“Good weird or bad weird?” I teased.

“Definitely good,” he said with a smirk.

By the time we hit the shops to pick out new clothes, he was starting to look like a completely different person.

***

The holiday dinner started well enough. My parents were delighted to see Christopher, and I could almost feel my mother’s pride as she glanced at me, finally quieting her usual questions about my personal life.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Christopher played his part perfectly—polite, attentive, and even charming when he spoke. I began to relax, thinking that maybe my crazy plan had worked.

“Christopher, right?” my mother asked, smiling brightly. “You look so familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before? On TV, maybe?”

She laughed lightly as if she had just made a harmless joke.

Christopher politely shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

My father chuckled, clearly amused by my mother’s playful banter. “Well, if you’re on TV, I’ll have to start watching more closely.”

“So, Christopher,” Mom continued, “what did you do before you met Mia? Business, right?”

Christopher paused, glancing at my mother a bit too long before answering.

“Yes, business,” he said quietly, but there was something in his tone that felt different. “But everything changed for me about five years ago.”

My heart skipped a beat.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Wait… This isn’t part of the plan.

I shot him a quick look, hoping he’d catch on, but he continued. “There was an accident. A car accident. It… changed my life completely.”

This definitely isn’t something we talked about.

My mother’s face went pale, her fingers clenched the tablecloth, knuckles turning white. Her expression darkened as if she had just pieced something together.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“A car accident?” she echoed. Her words had sucked the warmth out of the room. “That’s… unfortunate.”

My father glanced at her. “Olivia, are you okay?”

But she wasn’t listening to him. “Not everyone walks away from accidents unscathed, do they?”

Christopher didn’t flinch, quietly sipping his wine.

“He’s not the kind of man you need,” Mom said bluntly, her voice trembling with anger.

I was taken aback. My father’s eyes widened in shock, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Christopher calmly set his glass down. “Excuse me. I’ll step outside for a moment.”

As he left, I turned to my mother. “What was that about? He didn’t do anything wrong!”

“There’s something you need to know, Mia. Five years ago, I was in a car accident,” she began, her voice lowering as though she were afraid someone else might hear.

“It was late at night, outside the city. There were no witnesses. The man I hit… was Christopher.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

My heart dropped. “What?”

“Your Christopher,” she said bitterly, “was under the influence that night. I demanded he get tested, but he refused. No one saw what happened, so I chose not to take him to court. But Mia, you need to understand… He’s dangerous. You can’t trust him.”

Christopher? Under the influence?

Finally, I broke the silence. “I need to talk to him.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

***

Christopher was leaning against the fence, staring off into the night. His expression was calm, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Christopher,” I called softly.

He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “My last name is Hartman. Yes, I was in that accident. I was on sedatives that night—prescribed for my anxiety after my wife died. I was driving carefully.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, simple ring.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“You’re the first woman I’ve met since my wife’s death that I’ve wanted to leave something with. This was hers. Thank you for dinner, Mia. It was… more than I deserved.”

He handed me the ring, then nodded slightly before walking away.

“Wait,” I whispered, but the words got lost in the cold night air.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the ring in my hand. When I walked back inside, my mother was waiting.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

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

She sighed. “No. I didn’t. I was driving too fast that night. I… I was scared, Mia.”

“Is he worth chasing?”

The look in her eyes said it all. Yes. But it was already too late.

***

I couldn’t stop thinking about Christopher. His story, the accident, the weight he carried. It haunted me.

I placed an ad in the local paper, something simple but direct:

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

“Christopher Hartman, if you see this, please meet me at the restaurant where we last had dinner. I eat there every evening. Mia.”

I felt a little foolish, not knowing if he’d ever read it or if he even wanted to see me again. But I had to try. There was too much left unsaid.

***

The day after placing the ad, I arrived at the restaurant early. As the minutes ticked by, doubt started creeping in.

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

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

But then, just as I was about to give up, the door opened. Christopher stepped in, scanning the room until they landed on me. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked over.

“I saw your ad,” he said, sitting down across from me.

We locked eyes for a moment before I spoke. “There’s so much I need to tell you. I found out about your past… about the accident… My mother finally admitted she was at fault, too. And…. she took your money!”

“I didn’t want to blame anyone. After my wife died… nothing mattered.”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

We sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between us.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to be,” he said, his voice soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but still… I want to help. My mother wants to make things right. She’s returning what she took from you.”

We spent the rest of the evening talking. It wasn’t about pretending anymore. It was real. By the end of the night, I realized something. I had fallen in love with Christopher. And the best part? He felt the same.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

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My 5-Year-Old Refused to Cut Her Hair, Saying, ‘I Want My Real Daddy to Recognize Me When He Comes Back’

When my five-year-old daughter refused to cut her hair, I didn’t think much of it until she said she wanted to keep her hair long for her “real daddy.” Those words made my heart skip a beat. Who was she talking about? Was there someone else in my wife’s life that I had no idea about?

Hi, I’m Edward, and this story is about my daughter, Lily.

Lily is the light of our lives. At just five years old, she’s a bundle of energy and curiosity, always asking a million questions and coming up with the funniest observations.

A little girl standing in her house | Source: Midjourney

A little girl standing in her house | Source: Midjourney

She’s sharp, sweet, and has got this laugh that can brighten even the darkest days. My wife, Sara, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.

But last week, something happened that turned our happy little world upside down.

It all started a few months ago when Lily began refusing to let us trim her hair.

Her locks, which she usually loved having brushed and styled, became untouchable.

A little girl looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

A little girl looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

She’d sit cross-legged on the bathroom floor, clutching her hair like it was her most prized possession.

“No, Daddy,” she’d announce. “I want my hair to stay long.”

At first, Sara and I thought it was just a phase. Kids are quirky like that, right?

Sara’s mom, Carol, had always commented about Sara’s pixie cut being “too short for a proper lady,” so we figured maybe Lily wanted to assert her own style.

“Sure,” I told her. “You don’t have to cut your hair.”

A man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney

A man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney

Then came the gum incident.

It was one of those classic parenting moments you hear about, and hope it never happens to you.

Lily had fallen asleep on the couch during a movie night, gum still in her mouth. By the time Sara and I found her, it was too late.

The gum was hopelessly tangled in her hair.

A close-up shot of a girl's hair | Source: Midjourney

A close-up shot of a girl’s hair | Source: Midjourney

We tried everything, including peanut butter, ice, and even that strange online trick with vinegar.

But nothing worked.

That’s when we knew cutting her hair was the only option.

Sara knelt beside Lily with the comb in her hand.

“Sweetheart, we’re going to have to cut a little bit of your hair,” she told Lily. “Just the part with the gum.”

What happened next caught both of us completely off guard.

An upset woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney

Lily’s face twisted in panic, and she bolted upright, clutching her hair like it was a lifeline.

“No!” she cried. “You can’t cut it! I want my real daddy to recognize me when he comes back!”

Sara looked at her with wide eyes while I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

“What did you say, Lily?” I asked carefully, crouching down to her level.

She looked at me with wide, tearful eyes as if she’d just let a big secret slip.

An upset girl | Source: Midjourney

An upset girl | Source: Midjourney

“I… I want my real daddy to know it’s me,” she said quietly.

Sara and I exchanged a stunned glance.

Then, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“Lily, sweetheart, I am your daddy,” I said, my voice as gentle as I could make it. “What makes you think I’m not?”

Her little lip quivered, and she whispered, “Grandma said so.”

What? Why would Carol say that to her? Who was the man Lily was talking about?

“What exactly did Grandma say, honey?” Sara asked gently.

A woman looking at her daughter | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking at her daughter | Source: Midjourney

“She said I have to keep my hair long so my real daddy will know it’s me when he comes back,” Lily explained, clutching her locks even tighter. “She said he’ll be mad if he doesn’t recognize me.”

I couldn’t believe this.

“Sweetheart,” I interrupted. “What do you mean by ‘real daddy’?”

Lily sniffled, looking down at her tiny hands. “Grandma told me you’re not my real daddy. She said my real daddy went away, but he’ll come back someday. And if I look different, he won’t know who I am.”

A little girl standing with her hands clasped together | Source: Pexels

A little girl standing with her hands clasped together | Source: Pexels

“Lily, listen to me,” Sara said, taking Lily’s hands gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not in trouble. But I need you to tell me exactly what Grandma said. Can you do that for me?”

Lily hesitated, then nodded. “She said it’s a secret. That I shouldn’t tell you or Daddy, or he’d get mad. But I didn’t want him to be mad at me.I don’t want anyone to be mad at me.”

My chest tightened, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

A man standing in a dimly lit room | Source: Midjourney

A man standing in a dimly lit room | Source: Midjourney

“Lily,” I said softly, “you are so loved. By me, by Mommy, and by everyone who knows you. No one is mad at you, okay? Grandma shouldn’t have told you something like that.”

Sara’s eyes filled with tears as she hugged Lily tightly. “You’re our daughter, Lily. Your daddy — your real daddy — is right here. He always has been.”

Lily nodded slowly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. But the damage had been done. How could Carol, someone we trusted, say something so confusing to our child?

That night, after Lily fell asleep, Sara and I sat in the living room.

A couple sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

A couple sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

“What the hell was she thinking?” Sara muttered, her voice shaking with anger.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to keep my own frustration in check. “But she crossed a line. We need to talk to her, Sara. Tomorrow.”

The next morning, Sara called her mom and told her to come over. Carol arrived with her usual air of confidence, but Sara wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney

A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney

As soon as Carol stepped inside, Sara’s anger boiled over.

“What the heck is wrong with you, Mom?” she snapped. “Why would you tell Lily that Edward isn’t her real dad? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Carol blinked, clearly taken aback by the hostility.

“Now, hold on,” she said, raising a hand. “You’re making this sound worse than it is. It was just a little story. Nothing to get so worked up about.”

A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney

“A story?” I interjected. “She’s been terrified of cutting her hair for months because of this ‘story.’”

Carol rolled her eyes as if we were being dramatic.

“Oh, come on. I just wanted her to keep her hair long,” she confessed. “She’s a little girl, for heaven’s sake! She shouldn’t have one of those awful short cuts like yours, Sara.”

Sara’s mouth fell open.

“So, you lied to her? You made her think her dad wasn’t her dad just to keep her hair long? Are you hearing yourself right now, Mom?”

A woman talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney

“She won’t even remember it when she’s older. But she would remember looking ridiculous in photos with a boyish haircut.”

“This isn’t about hair, Carol,” I snapped. “You undermined our family. You made Lily think I wasn’t her real father. This isn’t normal, okay?”

Carol pursed her lips, then delivered a line that shattered what little composure we had left. “Well, with Sara’s wild past, who’s to say you are her real dad?”

A woman talking to her daughter and son-in-law | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking to her daughter and son-in-law | Source: Midjourney

What the heck? I thought. What else is she going to say to justify her mistake?

That’s when Sara lost her cool.

“Get out,” she said, pointing to the door. “Get out of my house. You’re not welcome here anymore.”

Carol tried to backtrack, stammering about how she “didn’t mean it that way,” but I wasn’t having it.

I stepped forward, opened the door, and gestured firmly. “Now, Carol. Leave.”

She glared at us, muttering something under her breath as she walked out, but I didn’t care.

After slamming the door behind Carol, Sara and I looked at each other.

A man looking at his wife | Source: Midjourney

A man looking at his wife | Source: Midjourney

Then, she sank into the couch with her face buried in her hands.

I sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“We’ll get through this,” I said quietly, though the anger in my chest was still burning hot.

Sara nodded, but I could see the heartbreak on her face. “I can’t believe my own mother would do something like this.”

We spent the rest of the evening sitting with Lily, explaining everything as gently as we could.

A person holding a child's hand | Source: Pexels

A person holding a child’s hand | Source: Pexels

I held her tiny hands in mine and looked her straight in the eyes. “Lily, I am your daddy. I always have been, and I always will be. Nothing Grandma said is true, okay?”

Lily nodded. “So, you’re my real daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” I smiled. “Always.”

“Grandma was wrong to tell you that,” Sara chimed in. “She shouldn’t have said it, and it’s not your fault. We love you so much, Lily. Don’t ever forget that.”

Lily seemed to relax a little, though she still looked hesitant when Sara brought out the scissors to cut the gum out of her hair.

Yes, the gum was still there.

A man talking to his daughter | Source: Midjourney

A man talking to his daughter | Source: Midjourney

“Do I have to?” Lily asked, clutching the tangled strand.

“It’s just a tiny bit, honey,” Sara explained. “And it’ll grow back so fast, you won’t even notice. Plus, you’ll feel so much better without the gum sticking to everything.”

After a moment, Lily nodded. “Okay, but only a little.”

As Sara snipped away the gum-covered strands, I saw a small smile creep onto Lily’s face.

A woman cutting hair | Source: Pexels

A woman cutting hair | Source: Pexels

“Daddy?” she asked.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“When it grows back, can I make it pink?”

Sara and I laughed.

“If that’s what you want,” I said, ruffling her hair.

Over the next few days, things slowly returned to normal. Lily seemed happier and more relaxed and even asked Sara to braid her hair again. It was something she hadn’t done in months.

As for Carol, we’ve gone no-contact.

Sara and I agreed that she has no place in Lily’s life until she can take responsibility for what she did.

To be honest, it wasn’t an easy decision, but our priority is protecting Lily. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep our little girl happy.

A girl holding her parents' hands | Source: Pexels

A girl holding her parents’ hands | Source: Pexels

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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