I was sick of it.
Every holiday dinner with my family turned into the same exhausting routine—subtle stares from my mom, hopeful smiles from my dad, and the never-ending interrogation about my love life.
“When are you getting married?”
“Have you met someone yet?”
They said it like clockwork, each time stabbing my patience just a little deeper.
So, sitting in my car at the park one chilly afternoon, staring at the weekend ahead, I knew I couldn’t face another round. My hands gripped the steering wheel. There has to be a way out.
That’s when I saw him.
A man sat alone on a bench, wrapped in a tattered coat that had definitely seen better days. His shoulders slumped as if the world had piled all its troubles on his back. His face was rugged, handsome even, though time and hardship had carved deep lines into it. His eyes—sad, distant—seemed like they’d witnessed a lifetime in silence.
And then it hit me. A ridiculous, completely insane idea.
“What if… he pretended to be my fiancé for the weekend?” I whispered to myself.
It was wild. Stupid. Risky. But it could work. At least it would shut my family up.
I took a deep breath, stepped out of my car, and walked toward him. He noticed me right away, his gaze wary but calm.
“Hey,” I said, feeling my voice wobble. “This is going to sound really strange, but… would you be willing to pretend to be my fiancé? Just for a weekend. I can offer you a warm place to stay, new clothes, and good food.”
He stared at me for a moment, eyes searching mine as if trying to figure out if this was some kind of prank. Then, without even asking questions, he gave a slow nod.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
I blinked. That was it? No hesitation? No suspicious look? Just okay? It made me nervous… but my relief outweighed my doubts.
“Great,” I said quickly. “Let’s get you ready for the weekend.”
Back at my apartment, I pulled out some of my ex’s old clothes from the closet. They’d been gathering dust, and honestly, this was the best use I could think of for them.
“Here, try these,” I said, handing him a clean shirt and jeans. “You can take a shower while I make dinner.”
“Thanks,” he replied with a small smile. “A shower sounds… amazing.”
While he disappeared into the bathroom, I busied myself chopping vegetables. But my thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.
You don’t even know his name, Mia. What are you doing?
The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled me from my thoughts. He stepped out, hair damp, a towel slung over his shoulder, and for a second, I hardly recognized him.
“Well,” he said, smirking a little, “that’s the best shower I’ve had in years.”
I laughed, my nerves easing. “Glad to hear it. I hope dinner’s just as good.”
As he sat down at the table, he finally introduced himself. “I’m Christopher, by the way.”
“Mia,” I replied, feeling a little shy.
We ate, and he complimented the food between bites. “It’s perfect. Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”
We talked easily—about old western movies, Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, and life’s simpler pleasures. He had a dry humor that caught me off guard. By the end of the night, I felt… comfortable.
Later, when I went to grab a glass of water before bed, I noticed something surprising. The dishes were washed and stacked neatly.
“Did you… do the dishes?” I asked.
“Seemed like the least I could do.”
That small act of kindness stayed with me.
The next day, we prepared for the family weekend. First, the hair salon. Christopher sat quietly as the stylist trimmed away years of neglect, revealing a neater, more polished version of the man I’d met yesterday.
“This feels weird,” he admitted, glancing in the mirror.
“Good weird or bad weird?” I teased.
“Definitely good,” he said with a smirk.
A shopping trip followed, and by the end of it, Christopher looked like someone who belonged in glossy holiday family photos.
The holiday dinner started perfectly. My parents seemed genuinely pleased, especially my mother, who gave me approving glances I hadn’t seen in years. Christopher was charming, polite, and attentive. I began to think my insane plan might actually work.
Then my mother tilted her head, studying him.
“Christopher, right?” she asked. “You look so familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before? On TV, maybe?”
Christopher smiled politely. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
My father chuckled. “If you’re on TV, I’ll start watching more closely.”
“So,” my mother continued, “what did you do before meeting Mia? Business, right?”
Christopher paused. His eyes lingered on hers for just a fraction too long.
“Yes. Business,” he said finally. “But everything changed for me about five years ago. There was… an accident. A car accident.”
The warmth in the room instantly chilled. My mother’s fingers gripped the tablecloth.
“A car accident?” she echoed. “That’s… unfortunate.”
Her voice had changed—sharp, cold.
“Not everyone walks away from accidents unscathed, do they?”
Christopher didn’t react. He just sipped his wine.
“He’s not the kind of man you need,” she said suddenly, her voice trembling with restrained anger.
Christopher excused himself and stepped outside. My father and I both stared at her.
“What was that about?” I demanded. “He didn’t do anything wrong!”
My mother’s jaw tightened. “Five years ago, I was in a car accident. The man I hit… was Christopher.”
I froze.
“He was under the influence,” she insisted. “I wanted him tested, but he refused. I could’ve taken him to court, but I didn’t. Mia, you have to believe me—he’s dangerous.”
Outside, Christopher leaned against the fence, staring at the dark sky.
“Christopher,” I called softly.
He turned. “My last name is Hartman. Yes, I was in that accident. But I wasn’t drunk. I was on sedatives—prescribed for anxiety after my wife died. I was driving carefully.”
He pulled a small ring from his pocket.
“This was my wife’s. You’re the first woman since she passed that I’ve wanted to give it to, even for a moment. Thank you for dinner, Mia.”
Before I could respond, he walked away into the night.
Back inside, I confronted my mother.
“You didn’t tell me the whole truth,” I said.
She looked down. “No. I was speeding that night. I… was scared. And yes, I took money from him as part of a settlement. It wasn’t fair.”
Her eyes softened. “Is he worth chasing?”
The answer was clear. Yes. But he was already gone.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. So, I placed an ad in the local paper:
“Christopher Hartman, if you see this, please meet me at the restaurant where we last had dinner. I eat there every evening. – Mia”
The next day, I waited at the restaurant, nerves twisting in my stomach. Minutes felt like hours. Just as I was ready to give up, the door opened.
Christopher stepped inside, scanning the room until he saw me.
“I saw your ad,” he said, sitting down.
I leaned forward. “I know the truth now. My mother admitted she was at fault… and that she took your money. She wants to give it back.”
He gave a faint smile. “I never cared about the money. After my wife died… nothing mattered.”
We talked for hours—really talked. No pretending this time. By the end of the night, I knew one thing for certain. I had fallen in love with Christopher. And the best part? He felt the same.