At 34, my single status was a constant topic with my parents. Desperate for grandchildren, they introduced me to countless partners and even withheld my inheritance unless I married by 35. One day, I noticed a woman on the corner with a sign reading, “Need help.” Her eyes held warmth, and on impulse, I made a proposition—marry me to appease my parents, and I’d provide shelter. To my surprise, Jessica agreed. After a swift wedding, I returned home one evening to an immaculate house, a home-cooked meal, and Jessica’s warm smile. “I figured you might be hungry,” she said, placing dinner before me. As we talked, she shared her past. “I just needed someone to truly see me.” Then, she handed me a cloth-wrapped package—her journal, filled with dreams. In that moment, I realized Jessica wasn’t just an arrangement; she had changed—and so had I. The next day, I told my parents the truth. What began as defiance became the most meaningful relationship of my life
