On their wedding day, Angela shone in a simple white gown. Yet when Malick entered, the whispers began—his oversized suit looked salvaged from a dumpster, his shoes scuffed and filthy. Guests exchanged mocking glances, stifling laughter. But Angela ignored it all, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

When it was time for vows, Malick’s trembling hands held the microphone. “I know many of you wonder why a man like me stands here with Angela,” he began. “You see me as a homeless drifter. But you’re wrong.”

The hall fell silent. Angela frowned, confused.