A stepmother decides to put the children of her dead millionaire husband in an orphanage and embezzle his wealth. A couple years later, she was shocked when she saw a stranger on the doorstep of her house....
#storiesfromthebox #cautionarytale #liveyourbestlife #sadstory #familystory #kindstory #sadlovestory #audiostory #amazingstory #lifestory
Harry Cohen's life could be called happy undoubtedly. Moreover, the man knew that his acquaintances envied him. Some envied him with a smile, while others smiled only at his face, and behind his back, they sucked in the details of his personal life, turning everything inside out.
"Harry bought a new car again... Decent people don't change even their gloves as often as he does his cars. He'd better give the money to orphans!" people complained.
"Have you seen it? Harry gave his wife a trip to Italy for her birthday... Of course, they don't need to work so hard," another acquaintance discussed with discontent.
"Sarah, Harry's wife, had an operation. Did you see how full her lips are? And she has a new nose now!" The girls often discussed his beautiful wife.
Harry knew about these conversations but treated them with philosophical indifference.
Of course, it wasn't always like that. Harry was not born with a golden spoon in his mouth. His mother was an elementary school teacher, and his father was a mechanic. They were practical people, and they couldn't dream. That's why his parents were shocked when their son, a high school student, said, "I want to be a journalist."
"Sonny! Are you kidding?" Mom shook her head, kneading the dough for the pies. "You're a man! You have to learn real professions - the ones that pay money! To be a construction worker, a doctor or a lawyer!"
Harry only laughed, helping his mother to chop cabbage. He didn't take her grumbling seriously. Even if she did not support him, it was only because she was worried that if Harry became a journalist, he would be doomed to poverty. The same fate, which she experienced in his youth, she did not want her child to experience.
"I'll make a great journalist, Mom. You'll see. Everyone will love me. You'll be proud of your son."
The boy, following his dream, passed the necessary exams and got a budget place at the university, majoring in International Journalism. Harry studied a lot in order not only to create excellent articles in journalistic style, but also to master foreign languages, to understand the history, culture, politics, and peculiarities of people in other countries.
Contrary to the stereotypes his family believed in, Harry was able to become a successful journalist. On the recommendation of his professor, he got a job in a fairly popular monthly magazine. The young journalist's publications became a success and resonated with readers. Many prophesied him the place of editor-in-chief, but Harry did not stop there and once took a risk.
During a journalistic event, Harry met Mr.Lewis. The acquaintance was casual, the men got to talking because of an unsuccessful appetizer that was offered to the guests.
"Don't take it!" Harry heard someone else's voice behind his back. The young man just reached for an appetizing-looking canapé with fish but froze. Turning around, he saw an unfamiliar mature man in a tuxedo, with a neat, fashionable beard, which must have been created by a handy barber.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"The taste is terrible!" The bearded stranger complained. "I think this fish was caught many years ago before it was pinned to the bread with a toothpick."
"Well, taste is subjective. What is not to your taste may be good for others," cautiously noted Harry.
The man, snorting cheerfully, sipped his drink: "My business is to warn you." He shrugged his shoulders. "It would be sad to see a man trying to poison himself and not trying to prevent it. Well, my mission is complete, and now it's up to you whether you want to try it or not."
The stranger was peculiar. He remained in place and stared at Harry expectantly. Harry, taking a risk, put the canapé in his mouth. As soon as his taste buds were hit with the flavor, his expression transformed into one of agony.
