Chapter 3: Memories and Mismatches

I’ve known Natalie for five years. I thought I understood her.

The first time I met her was at college orientation. She wore a faded Cubs tee and sneakers, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

A lot of guys checked her out, but when she introduced herself, her thick Southern accent made the room erupt in laughter.

I caught myself about to join in—then saw the tears glistening in her eyes. The laughter stuck in my throat. I never forgot how fast people could wound each other, even by accident.

The second time, we ended up on the same group project. She carried a worn-out purse with a Coach logo. The break room smelled like burnt popcorn and stale coffee. The women by the copier side-eyed her purse, whispering behind their hands.

I hated that kind of office snobbery. Everyone earned the same wage—who could look down on whom?

If your family’s well-off, that’s just luck, not your own merit.

Back then, I just toted my stuff in a Walmart bag, quietly showing solidarity.

My father, who built his fortune from nothing after retiring from the Army, always told me: people are born equal, don’t judge by appearances, never measure a person by their bank account.

He’d say it over Sunday breakfast, sipping black coffee and reading the sports section: "Character counts more than cash."

So even as his only son—the sole heir to Harper Holdings, the city’s wealthiest family—I had to learn humility first.

My dad set me up at a partner company and told them to give me the toughest assignments. I lived in a basement apartment, rode the city bus. Even when my mom begged me to come home for a decent meal, my dad wouldn’t let me.

Because life was tough, Natalie and I teamed up for group buys, hunted for deals, became partners in every buy-one-get-one offer. We’d joke about scoring twenty packs of ramen for five bucks, or splitting grocery runs to double up on coupons. She’d nudge me, laughing, "We’re like Bonnie and Clyde, but for bargains."

As we got closer, I saw she was kind, thoughtful, easygoing, never lost her temper.

After we started dating, my dad did a background check on her family and sighed: "This girl really isn’t suitable to be my daughter-in-law."

I shot back with his own words: Don’t judge by appearances. Don’t measure people by their bank account.

He was silent, then finally said, "Keep dating for now. If she’s good, the family doesn’t matter."