When Nathan heard that his parents were flying in to visit, he made a desperate move. He approached a young woman living on the street and asked her to pretend to be his fiancée—just for one evening.

The moment she stepped into the restaurant, his mother stared in disbelief.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" the young woman gasped, taking a step back as if caught off guard. “You want me to pretend to be your fiancée? Just yesterday I was looking for food in a trash bin.”

Nathan closed the door quietly behind her, leaned against the wall, and spoke with quiet determination:

"You have no reason to say no. I’ll compensate you—far more than you'd expect. One evening. Just one. Play the role for my parents. That’s all it is—a scene. A performance. Or have you forgotten how to act?”

Her fingers, wrapped in worn gloves, trembled. Her heart pounded in her chest. Could this be the beginning of something new? Or simply the closure of old wounds?

So began an unexpected story.

Nathan Berg had a name known across industries—young, driven, reserved. His face often appeared on the covers of financial publications. Success, upbringing, and precision defined him. But his parents, still living in Europe, had one constant question:

“When will we finally meet your girlfriend? Why keep her a secret?”

They gave no notice. They were arriving the next day.

Nathan wasn’t panicked—but unsettled. Not because he feared their reactions, but because he couldn't think of anyone who fit their expectations. He found insincerity tiresome. He didn’t want pretense. He wanted someone real.

That evening, as he drove through the chilly city streets, he noticed her. She was by the metro entrance, guitar in hand, beside a cardboard sign that read: “Not asking for charity. Asking for a chance.”

Nathan pulled over. For once, he didn’t just drive past.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She looked up. Her voice was scratchy, but steady:

“Why do you want to know?”

He gave a faint smile.

“I need someone who’s survived. Someone real. Someone like you.”

Her name was Marta. Twenty-seven. She had grown up in an orphanage, endured life on the streets, gone through recovery programs, and carried her guitar as her one constant.

The following evening, she stood in a luxurious suite at the Emerald Hotel, gazing at her reflection. The velvet dress wrapped her like an entirely new skin. Her freshly styled hair shimmered under the light. Makeup had softened her edges, but inside, her nerves were taut.

“They’ve arrived at the restaurant,” Nathan said, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s time to meet our destiny.”

“You think this will work?”

He looked at her closely.

“I think you’re the only one who can win my mother over.”

At the restaurant, the setting was elegant, poised.

His father remained calm but observant. His mother—graceful, sharp, and impossible to deceive—focused intensely on Marta.

“How did you meet my son?” she asked, her gaze unwavering.

Marta caught Nathan’s glance. He gave a tiny nod.

“At a bookstore,” she replied. “I dropped a book by Schopenhauer, he picked it up… and we laughed.”

“Schopenhauer?” the woman arched an eyebrow. “You read philosophy?”

“As a child. In the orphanage, our librarian let us read anything—so long as we returned it.”

The table fell quiet. Nathan’s mother slowly set down her glass, studying Marta more deeply.

“Orphanage?” she asked, her voice catching on something—perhaps curiosity, or something more personal.

And then, Marta took a deep breath. Her back straightened. She raised her head with quiet dignity.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t true. I didn’t meet him at a bookstore. I’m not his fiancée. I’m a woman who’s lived on the street. Today is the first time in years I’ve felt like a person again.”

There was no outburst. No scandal.

Instead, the woman in the tailored suit stood, walked over, and wrapped her arms around her.

“My dear… I started from the ground up myself. Someone believed in me once. I’m glad you accepted your chance.”

Nathan remained silent. Watching. It was then he realized: this wasn’t pretend anymore. Life had just stepped onto the stage.

The truth didn’t lead to rejection—but to understanding. Marta had revealed her reality, and in return, received something she hadn’t expected: kindness.

His father, however, remained stern.

“This is nonsense, Nathan,” he said coldly. “You’ve taken us into some kind of fairy tale?”

“This is my choice,” Nathan replied. “Not a plea for approval.”

After dinner, Marta slipped outside. She took off her heels, leaned against the building, and let the tears fall. But not from embarrassment—from relief. She’d been honest. And they didn’t turn away.

Nathan approached quietly, holding her coat.

“You’re not going back to the streets,” he said. “You’ll stay with me. As long as it takes. You deserve more.”

“I’m not asking for sympathy,” she whispered.

“I’m not offering sympathy,” he said. “I’m offering a real chance.”

…

Their life together began with uncertainty, but also sincerity.

He worked long hours, relentless in business. She enrolled in courses, borrowed library books, tidied the apartment, and sometimes strummed her guitar—not for money, but because something inside her had begun to bloom again.

Change was happening.

“You’ve changed,” he told her one day.

“I’m just not scared anymore… of being left behind.”

…

A month later, Nathan’s father left. Without words. Just a note:

“If you follow your heart, don’t expect my support.”

Nathan didn’t even read it. He tossed it into the fireplace and said quietly:

“Money can come and go. If you lose yourself, you lose everything.”

…

Three months later, Marta saw the two pink lines.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, sitting on the bathroom floor. “We’re not even a couple…”

When she told Nathan, he didn’t speak at first. Then he pulled her close.

“I don’t know the name for this feeling. But I know it’s right.”

…

There were legal disputes, public scrutiny, rumors online calling it a “charade.” The pregnancy was difficult. There were days of worry, sleepless nights, and quiet strength.

Then came the moment everything changed.

A child was born.

And with her, a new chapter.

Marta began telling her story—no longer as a woman asking for help, but as someone who had journeyed through hardship and emerged stronger. Every time she addressed an audience, she began the same way:

“I once played the part of a ‘fiancée for a night.’ Today, I’m a wife for life. Because one person chose to see me for who I truly was.”

…

Years later, in the same restaurant where it had all begun, Marta sat beside a bright-eyed ten-year-old girl with bouncing curls.

“Right here,” she said, pointing to a corner table, “is where your dad smiled—truly smiled—for the first time. This is where we became more than a story. We became a family.”

Nathan stood nearby. Smiling, his hand resting gently in hers. No trace of regret in his eyes.

He hadn’t fallen for a fantasy. He had chosen a partner. A woman who once held a sign asking for a chance—and turned it into a life