Mattress Full of Money Changed The Life of a Homeless Man—EPISODE 3

• That afternoon, as he straightened again, sweat dripping from his chin, he whispered under his breath, “Grace! One day! One day we will rise again!” He tightened his grip on the sack, his eyes scanning the endless pile of waste. He did not know what tomorrow held. He did not know that fate was already moving pieces in silence, preparing a strange gift that would cross his path.
• For now, he was just a man in the refuge dump, scavenging plastic and metal to stay alive. But destiny was watching. And the mattress, the mattress that carried another man’s secret fortune, was waiting for him, just around the corner of fate. The afternoon sun baked the city in relentless heat. Inside the mansion, the air was hotter still, thick with rage and bitter words.
• Three nights again, Richard. Vanessa’s voice rose like fire. She stood in the middle of the living room, her arms crossed, her eyes sharp with fury. You disappear whenever you please, then stroll back here, smelling of perfume that is not mine. Do you take me for a fool? Richard loosened his tie with a scowl.
• His shirt was crumpled, his steps unsteady from drink. I told you, Vanessa. I had meetings. You will not question me like a child. Meetings? She scoffed. In another woman’s bed, perhaps. Do you think money blinds me? Do you think this mansion hides your filth? The servants froze in the corners, their faces lowered, afraid to move. Richard’s jaw tightened. His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. Enough, woman.
• I provide for you. I built this house. I put food in your mouth, and still you nag like a market woman. Vanessa stepped closer, trembling with rage. Food, cars, clothes. What use are they when you shame me in this city? You call yourself a man, but you are nothing but a cheat and a coward. Richard’s hand shot up.
• A sharp slap echoed across the marble floor. Vanessa staggered back, her cheek burning red, but her pride held her upright. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You will not break me, Richard,” she hissed. You can hit me, but you will never silence me. Richard’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling.
• With a roar, he snatched his car keys. I will not waste my time with your madness. He stormed out of the mansion, slamming the door so hard the chandelier trembled. Tires screeched as his car tore out of the compound, leaving a trail of dust. The silence that followed was deafening.
• Vanessa stood alone in the grand living room, her chest rising and falling, her hands trembling with rage, her eyes swept across the room, the broken vase on the floor, the glass table gleaming in the sunlight, the expensive television glowing darkly. Suddenly, her fury erupted. With a scream, she hurled the remote at the TV. The screen shattered with a sharp crack, sparks flashing as glass spilled to the marble.
• Servants gasped in shock, but dared not move. Her rage drove her outside into the compound. She seized a heavy flower pot and flung it with all her strength at Richard’s black SUV. The windshield cracked with a deafening smash. She grabbed a stone from the garden path and hurled it at another car.
• The glass exploded into glittering fragments. “You will feel my pain, Richard!” she shouted into the hot air. “You will know what it means to destroy a home.” Guards stood rooted by the gate, exchanging nervous glances, but none dared interfere. They had seen enough storms in this mansion to know when to stay silent.
• Vanessa’s chest heaved, her eyes blazing. Then, as though possessed, she turned back into the house, her fury led her to the master bedroom. The wide mattress sat on the frame, innocent and still. Without a second thought, Vanessa gripped it and dragged with wild strength. Foam scraped against the tiles.
• Sweat streamed down her face, but she would not stop. Step by step, she pulled it down the staircase, across the corridor, and out into the blazing sun. “Let him come back and meet nothing,” she spat, her voice breaking. With one final shove, she toppled the mattress onto the refuge’s heap by the roadside.
• Dust rose in thick clouds. Flies circled lazily. Vanessa wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand, then turned and stormed back into the mansion, slamming the gate behind her. The mattress lay abandoned on the trash, baking in the afternoon heat. What she did not know was that hidden deep inside its layers were bundles of foreign currency, Richard’s secret lifeline, his millions in pounds, euros, and dollars.
• The next day, under the same scorching sun, David dragged his sack of scraps along the roadside. His shirt clung to his back with sweat. His face weary but determined. He bent to pick rusted cans, plastic bottles, and iron rods. Anything that could earn him a few coins. Then he saw it. By the refuge’s heap, lying awkwardly in the dust, was a mattress.
• David stopped, blinking against the sunlight. His tired heart quickened. He dropped his sack and walked closer. The surface was dusty, but still firm. He pressed his hand against it, and his lips parted in awe. “A mattress,” he whispered. For weeks, he and Grace had slept on bare cement in the uncompleted building they now called home.