A girl’s parents are against her marrying a nice young guy who they think is poor, so his millionaire father pretends to be broke and teaches them a lesson.
When Sam Sutton discovered a way to make an unbreakable sealant for engines everyone wanted, he never imagined that it would one day affect the love life of his then-infant son, Will.
Sam’s discovery brought immediate improvements to the family’s life as it happened. He started making a lot of money on that sealant’s patent. Sam, his wife, and his baby son moved to a lovely house and got a new car.
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As the years passed, there was more money than Sam had ever imagined. His little family was comfortable, and that’s all he cared about. The extraordinary sums his lawyer kept reporting on seemed quite unreal.
Then something terrible happened to Sam and his family, and all those millions piled up in the bank made no difference. Sam’s wife, Rain, became very ill. Sam kept telling doctors money was no object, but they just shook their heads.
There are two things in life that money can’t buy: love and good health. Sam found out about the first in the most painful way when Rain passed away, and he’d find out about the second when Will grew up.
Being a single dad to a growing boy wasn’t easy, so maybe Sam made a few mistakes. Will was so kind, loving, and unspoiled that Sam lavished everything he could afford on him — and Sam could afford anything.
So, in high school, Will’s colleagues quickly realized that his dad was very rich and generous — and so was Will. Quickly, Will became the most popular guy — not because of his kindness or amazing good looks, but because of his dad’s money.
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Girls, in particular, swarmed around Will like bees around a honey pot. At first, Will liked it, but gradually, he realized they didn’t want him. They wanted his dad’s money and all the luxury it could buy.
Will told weeping Sam that the girl he was in love with didn’t really care for him. She just cared about going along on their private plane for the Sutton family trips to Aspen, Veil, and the Bahamas.
Sam comforted his son and encouraged him to break up with that girl. The rest of Will’s senior year in high school was pretty lonely, but he had a plan. “Dad,” he said, “I have a plan.”
Sam grinned. “OK! What’s your plan?””I’m going to Yale in the fall, but I want everyone to think I’m a scholarship student.”
Sam blinked in astonishment. “A scholarship student? You? But why?”
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“Well.” Will said, “if I’m poor and I wear scruffy clothes, people won’t be my friends unless they really like me. Girls won’t want to date me for our money.”
“That’s very true, Will,” Sam said. “I think that’s a brilliant plan!”
And so they put the plan in motion. Will and Sam bought all his clothes and equipment second-hand, and Will was the scruffiest, poorest-looking student you ever saw.
Money can’t buy love and good health.
The plan worked because Will quickly found many great, sincere friends, and he even met a girl he liked, and she felt the same way, too. By his third year at Yale, Will was so in love with that girl.
Her name was Eddy — for Edwina — and he decided he wanted to marry her. Sam was a little worried that Will might be too young, but he married young, too, and he’d been very happy.
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So Will proposed to Eddy, and she said yes. Eddy took Will home to meet her parents that Thanksgiving, which was a disaster. Eddy’s parents, Marta and Farlow, were well-to-do and proud of their social position.
They wanted their beautiful daughter to marry a rich man, not a shabby third-year science major, no matter how smart, handsome, or funny. They were subtly unpleasant to Will but not enough that Eddy could complain.
Eddy, who had accepted Will’s proposal, proudly displayed the tiny diamond he’d given her as if it were the Kohinoor. She insisted that Will and his father join her family for the Christmas celebrations. Marta and Fallow were horrified, but they smiled, agreed, and made their plan.
Will and Sam took a Greyhound from their mansion in New Hampshire to Eddy’s family’s beach house in Narragansett to join the family for Christmas.
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Eddy’s dad picked them up from the bus terminal, and the fun began. Farlow looked Sam up and down and sniffed. (Sam had gone shopping at the local Goodwill store and gone a little overboard.)
Sam didn’t look just poor; he looked almost homeless. Farlow drove them to their big house, and he talked about his wealth, his houses, and his cars. “I’ll have you know,” he said to Sam, “that I’ve done very well by my family. We live in comfort — to be honest, we live in luxury.
“Not everyone is used to that, of course, and we understand that, but we hope you and Will will be able to fit in. Christmas is very important to us.”
“It’s important to us too,” Sam said. As it turned out, Marta and Farlow’s idea of Christmas was to splurge on towers of expensive presents and show everyone they knew how successful they were.
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The next few days were a nightmare. Farlow and Marta didn’t miss a chance to show Sam they believed their daughter was way out of his son’s league.
“Eddy is a wealthy young woman, Sam,” Marta said. “And her husband must be able to give her the same lifestyle. I know you’ve not done as well for Will…”
Eddy became aware of her parents’ campaign to humiliate Sam, and she was furious. So she talked with her parents. “I’m going to marry Will,” she said. “And Sam’s going to be family, so get used to it.”
“But darling,” cried her mother, “the man is a derelict! Have you seen his clothes? He’s an embarrassment.”
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“Believe me, mom,” Eddy said angrily, “you are much more of an embarrassment than Sam could ever be!” Eddy could not have known that Sam was listening, and he smiled. She loved Will! He’d found his one-in-a-million girl.
That night was Christmas Eve, and when the family gathered around the tree at midnight to exchange gifts, Marta said with an unpleasant smile, “You mustn’t feel bad, Sam, we know you’re struggling!”
Marta and Farlow handed Will a box with a car key inside. “It’s an early wedding present,” Farlow said. “We thought you needed a better car. Your old clunker is at least twenty years old, Will!”
Will smiled and thanked Marta and Farlow, and they all went outside to admire the Porsche sitting in the garage with a big red bow on it. Farlow threw Sam a triumphant look and smirked. He knew that Sam could never top that gesture, could he?
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Then Sam took an envelope out of his pocket. “Eddy,” he said. “Will told me you two plan to move to New York when you graduate.”
“That’s right, Sam! You know he has an offer from a New York research facility, and I have an internship at the Met…”
“Well, finding a place to live in Manhattan isn’t easy, so I hope this helps…” Sam gave the envelope to Eddy.
Farlow sneered. “What’s that? A list of homeless shelters in the Upper East Side? A guide to the Best Brooklyn soup kitchens?”
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Eddy opened the envelope and gasped. “Sam!” she whispered. “Is this for real?” She showed Will the sheaf of papers inside the envelope, and Will ran to embrace his dad.
Farlow and Marta looked from one to the other in surprise. Then Eddy turned to her parents. “Sam’s given Will and I the deed to a brownstone in Tribeca. He’s given us a home.”
Marta and Farlow looked at each other, their mouths hanging open. “But…but…but…” gasped Farlow. “You’re POOR…The way you dress…You took the bus…”
“Well, Farlow,” said Sam gently. “I want my son to be loved and accepted for himself, not for the $570 million he will eventually inherit from me.”
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There were no more objections to the wedding from Eddy’s parents. In fact, they became Will’s biggest fans and were very polite and respectful of Sam. The following summer, Will and Eddy married and moved to New York. When they welcomed their little daughter, Rain, three years later, Sam bought himself a house next door so he could be close to them.
What can we learn from this story?
- Money can’t buy love and good health. Sam knew that if people knew he was rich, they’d get close to his son for his money.
- Don’t judge people by their appearance. Farlow and Marta despised Sam for his shabby clothes and never imagined he was a millionaire.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
My Neighbors Left a Note That Shattered My Heart — My Granddaughter Discovered It and Gave Them a Learning Experience
The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
“Oh, Nana,” she said softly, leading me to the couch. “How dare they do this to you? Did you report them?”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss. It’s just… it’s been so hard, sweetie. That piano, it’s all I have left of your grandpa.”
Melissa’s eyes filled with tears. “I know, Nana. We’ll fix this, I promise.”
“How?” I asked, feeling hopeless. “They hate my music. They hate me.”
Melissa took my hands in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. “They can shove their hatred up their butts, Nana. They don’t even know you. These entitled brats are about to learn what happens when you mess with the wrong pianist!”
The next day, Melissa was a whirlwind of activity. She made calls, ordered some supplies, and even enlisted the help of some neighbors I’d known for years.
“Nana, we’re going to teach those Grinches a lesson about respect.”
That evening, Melissa set up small speakers around the Grinches’ property, carefully hidden in the boxwood bushes under their windows.
When their car pulled into the driveway, she winked at me. “Show time, Nana!”
As soon as the Grinches disappeared inside, soft piano music began to play from the hidden speakers, barely audible at first. They rushed out, looking confused. Then suddenly, the music changed to a medley of barking dogs and car alarms.
I couldn’t help but giggle as I watched them run around, trying to find the source of the noise.
Melissa grinned triumphantly. “And now, for the grand finale,” she said, pressing a red button on a remote control-like device.
The air was filled with the most ridiculous assortment of fart sounds I’d ever heard. I doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down my face.
“Melissa!” I gasped between giggles. “You’re terrible!”
She hugged me tight. “Nobody messes with my Nana. Besides, a little harmless payback never hurt anyone.”
As we watched the Grinches frantically searching their yard, I was pleased. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I said softly. “For reminding me to stand up for myself.”
The next morning, a crew arrived at my house. To my amazement, they began converting my piano room into a state-of-the-art soundproof studio.
“Now you can play whenever you want, Nana,” Melissa said, squeezing my hand. “No one will ever tell you to stop again.”
As the workers finished up, I sat down at my newly polished piano. My fingers trembled as they touched the keys, but as soon as I began to play, it was like coming home.
The familiar strains of “Moon River” filled the air, and I closed my eyes, feeling Jerry’s presence all around me.
“That’s my girl,” I could almost hear him say. “Play on, Bessie. Play on.”
Melissa danced around the room, a glass of wine in hand. “You rock, Nana!” she cheered. “Grandpa would be so proud.”
As the last notes faded away, I turned to her with tears in my eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’ve given me back my voice.”
“No, Nana,” Melissa said, kneeling beside me. “You’ve always had your voice. I just helped you remember how to use it.”
All too soon, it was time for Melissa to leave. As we stood in the driveway, waiting for her taxi, she handed me the remote control-like device.
“Just in case those Grinches act up again,” she winked. “One press, and it’s fart city. But I don’t think you’ll need it. The whole neighborhood’s got your back now, Nana!”
I hugged her tightly. “I love you so much, Melissa. Thank you for everything.”
“I love you too, Nana. Promise me you’ll keep playing, no matter what anyone says.”
“I promise,” I said, my voice strong and sure.
As I watched the taxi disappear down the street, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my son: “How are you doing, Mom? Melissa told me everything. I’m so proud of you. Love you. ”
I smiled, tears pricking my eyes as I typed back: “I’m doing better than I have in weeks. Thank you for being there for me. I love you too. ”
Turning back to my house, I could have sworn I saw Jerry standing near the piano, arms wide open, beckoning me to play.
I wiped away a stray tear of joy and walked inside, closing the door behind me. The piano was waiting, and this time, nothing would stop me from playing.
As my fingers touched the keys, I felt whole again. The music swelled, filling every corner of my home and my heart. And somewhere, I knew Jerry was listening, smiling, and dancing along.
“This one’s for you, my love,” I whispered, as the melody of our favorite song carried me away. “And for our family, who never gave up on me!”
The notes of “Moon River” floated through the air. As I played, I felt stronger than ever, surrounded by the love of those who mattered most, both here and beyond.
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