Shortly after leaving their wedding reception, a bride tragically died and her husband was admitted to the hospital.
It was the day that Samantha Miller and Aric Hutchinson were meant to be enjoying, their best day ever.
Following their official marriage, the newlyweds celebrated with friends and family at the wedding reception.
Tragic events occurred, nevertheless, when they departed in a golf cart with a “Just Married” sign on it.
There has been an overwhelming amount of global support for the announcement.
A commenter says, “This story hurts my heart.” I’m sending love and strength to each and every one of you during this terrible time.
“Aric, our hearts are broken for you,” writes another.
A third says, “It’s unbelievable that you’re no longer with us, Sam.”
Reports state that 25-year-old Jamie Komoroski, an alleged drunk driver, rear-ended Miller and Hutchinson.
In a 25 mph zone, Komoroski was allegedly driving at 65 mph while intoxicated while using a rental Toyota Camry.
The collision happened on Folly Beach, USA, in South Carolina.
After being flung more than a hundred yards, the couple tumbled multiple times before coming to a rest.
Miller’s severe force injuries from the collision caused his instantaneous death.
After the accident, Hutchinson required two reconstructive operations and was in a severe state due to several fractured bones and brain damage.
Ben Garrett, his brother-in-law, and Brogan, his nephew, were also hurt in the wagon that Komoroski struck.
Komoroski was charged with three counts of felony DUI resulting in grave bodily damage or death and reckless vehicular murder while driving alone.
Over $743,000 has been received via a GoFundMe campaign set up by Hutchinson’s mother Annette to pay for Hutchinson’s medical bills and Miller’s funeral expenses.
Hutchinson’s mother posts an emotional message, saying, “Aric has lost the love of his life. I was handed Aric’s wedding ring in a plastic bag at the hospital, five hours after Sam placed it on his finger and they read each other their vows.”
Since the tragedy, a lot of people have shared the couple’s last photos on social media, which feature them laughing and performing a sparkler tunnel as they leave their wedding ceremony.
Since then, Hutchinson has made her voice known in a recent Good Morning America interview.
He talked candidly about that awful day, his journey to rehabilitation, and dealing with such a profound loss.
He added, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it,” in reflection on the event. It’s difficult to attempt and understand that night’s transition from an all-time high to an all-time low.”
He spoke warmly of his late wife, saying, “She was so happy.” As most people are aware, organizing a wedding can be incredibly stressful. And that evening, she simply seemed strangely at ease.
Samantha said, “I do remember the last thing I remember her saying was she wanted the night to never end,” as Aric recalled her final words.
It has been revealed by the Associated Press that Hutchinson would get a partial settlement of around $1 million for the crash.
The Post and Courier reports that Hutchinson will get about $863,300 from a number of sources, including Progressive vehicle insurance, Enterprise Rent-A-Car, and the Folly Beach businesses The Drop-In Bar & Deli, The Crab Shack, and Snapper Jacks.
The driver was allegedly provided alcohol by these establishments, and Enterprise hired her the car.
The entire settlement sum is $1.3 million; but, after attorney and legal fees, Hutchinson’s share will be less.
Currently free on bond, Komoroski is accused with several felonies, including two counts of driving while intoxicated and causing serious bodily injury, reckless homicide, and driving under the influence resulting in death.
The court system is still working on her case.
Now that his mother-in-law is contesting the legality of their marriage, the bereaved groom is engaged in a legal struggle with her over her estate.
At first, Lisa Miller, Samantha’s mother, showed her admiration for Hutchinson, referring to him as her son.
She is now attempting to have him removed from his position as Samantha’s executor, claiming that there may have been “potential fraud” and raising the possibility that the marriage was void.
A potentially large court payout from the wrongful death claim is at the heart of the conflict.
A move to intervene in the case was filed by Lisa Miller, who then withdrew it and filed it again.
She feels Hutchinson is marginalizing her in the settlement process, which she feels goes against her daughter’s interests, she told The Post and Courier.
Given that we are the two most important persons in Sam’s life, “Aric and I agreed several times that Sam would want us to do everything together,” the woman said.
“I never intended to question the marriage’s legality. I never wanted to bring Sam down. However, I believe that by defyney grab,” according to Miller’s lawyer Jerry Meehan, who also claims that Lisa Miller’s main goal is to safeguard Samantha’s fortune and make sure that all legitimate heirs are taken into account.
Due to the fact that Hutchinson’s aunt and uncle signed the marriage license, which was recorded on May 1, three days after the wedding, questions have been raised about the validity of the union.
In addition, there were purported inconsistencies in the license; for example, Miller was only 34 years old, while the aunt and uncle claimed to have known one other for 36 years.
Aric Hutchinson, who said he had given his mother-in-law half of the settlement, expressed regret about the dispute.
His attorneys have deemed Lisa Miller’s move to intervene “morally dubious” and “legally baseless,” and they have rejected the doubts regarding the marriage certificate as unimportant.”
“Aric has been more than generous with Lisa Miller—offering her half of the money—and she has repaid him by threatening to bring a frivolous challenge to the validity of his marriage to Sam,” stated Patrick Wooten, Hutchinson’s attorney. It would seem that Ms. Miller would be too proud of her own daughter to act in that way.
Lisa Miller has been promised by Hutchinson half of the settlement from the wrongful death lawsuit in exchange for her quitting her legal defense of their marriage.
“Lisa Miller does not have a legitimate legal claim, which is why Aric made this settlement offer. He is a generous person who would naturally like to avoid costly, public litigation over the validity of his marriage to Sam,” Wooten stated.
Neighbor Kept Knocking Over My Trash Bins – After 3 HOA Fines, I Taught Him a Lesson in Politeness
When Elise’s trash bins became the target of her bitter neighbor’s antics, she was ready for a fight. But instead of confrontation, she served up banana bread and kindness. What began as a quiet war turned into an unexpected friendship, proving that sometimes, the best revenge is compassion.
When my husband, James, passed away two years ago, I thought I’d weathered the worst storm of my life. Raising three boys, Jason (14), Luke (12), and little Noah (9), on my own wasn’t easy. But we’d eventually found our rhythm.
The house buzzed with the sound of schoolwork being explained, sibling banter, and an endless rotation of chores. We kept the garden alive, argued over who had dish duty, and made a life together that was equal parts chaotic and beautiful.
Things were finally steady. Manageable.
Until the neighbor decided to wage war on my trash bins.
At first, I thought it was the wind or a stray dog. Every trash day, I’d wake up to see the bins overturned, their contents scattered across the street like confetti.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered the next time I saw it. “Not again.”
I’d have no choice but to grab a pair of gloves, a broom, new trash bags, and start cleaning up before the Home Owners Association could swoop in with another fine.
Three fines in two months. The HOA weren’t playing fair. In fact, they’d made it very clear that they weren’t taking my excuses anymore.
But one Tuesday morning, coffee steaming in my hand, I caught him red-handed. From my living room window, I watched as my neighbor, Edwin, a 65-year-old man who lived alone, strolled across the street.
He didn’t even hesitate. With one swift motion, he tipped over my bins and shuffled back to his house like nothing had happened.
My blood boiled.
I was halfway to grabbing my shoes when Noah bounded down the stairs, asking for help with his math homework.
“Mom, please! It’s just two questions. Remember we were talking about it when you were doing dinner last night and we said we’d come back to it but we didn’t,” he rambled.
“Of course, come on,” I said. “I’ll get you some orange juice, and then we can work on that quickly.”
Homework first, trash war later.
The following week, I stood guard.
This time, I was ready.
And sure enough, there he was at 7:04 a.m., knocking the bins down with a strange sort of satisfaction before retreating inside.
That was it. Enough was enough.
I stormed across the street, adrenaline pumping. His porch was stark, no welcome mat, no potted plants, just peeling paint and drawn blinds. I raised my fist to knock, but something stopped me.
The quiet. The stillness of it all.
I hesitated, hand frozen mid-air. What was I even going to say?
“Stop knocking over my bins, you old lunatic?”
Would that even fix anything?
I went home, fuming but thoughtful. What kind of person gets up at the crack of dawn just to mess with their neighbor?
Someone angry. Someone lonely. Someone in pain, maybe?
“You’re just going to let him get away with it?” Jason asked that night, arms crossed and clearly ready to fight for me. “He’s walking all over us, Mom.”
“I’m not letting him get away with anything, love,” I replied, tapping the side of the mixing bowl as I stirred. “I’m showing him that there’s a better way.”
“And when baked goods don’t work, Mom?” Jason asked, eyeing the banana bread batter in the bowl.
“Then, my little love, I’ll set you on him. Do we have a deal?”
My son grinned and then nodded.
But it was during dinner prep, while I was putting together a lasagna, that I thought… instead of fighting fire with fire, what if I fought with something… unexpected?
The next week, I didn’t stand guard.
Instead, I baked.
Banana bread first, specifically James’ favorite recipe. The smell brought back memories I hadn’t let myself linger on in a long time. I wrapped the loaf in foil, tied it with a piece of twine, and left it on Edwin’s porch.
No note, no explanation. Just bread.
For a few days, the banana bread sat untouched on his porch. The bins stayed upright, but I still wasn’t sure what was going through his head.
The next morning, the foil-wrapped loaf was gone. A good sign, maybe.
Emboldened, I doubled down.
A casserole followed the banana bread. Then a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
Days turned into weeks, and not once did I see him open the door or acknowledge the food. But he didn’t tip the bins again, either.
“Mom, you’re going soft,” Jason said one evening, eyeing the plate of cookies I was about to deliver.
“No, I’m not,” I replied, slipping on my sneakers. “I’m being strategic.”
The cookies did the trick. That Saturday, as I placed them on the porch, the door creaked open.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I turned to find him peering out, his face lined with age and what looked like years of solitude. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.
“I made too many cookies,” I said, holding up the plate like a peace offering.
He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed.
“Fine. Come in.”
The inside of his house was dim but surprisingly tidy. Bookshelves lined every wall, stacked high with novels, photo albums, and other trinkets. He motioned for me to sit on the worn sofa, and after a moment of awkward silence, he spoke.
“My wife passed four years ago,” he began, his voice halting. “Cancer. After that, my kids… well, they moved on with their lives. Haven’t seen much of them since.”
I nodded, letting him take his time.
“I’d see you with your boys,” he continued. “Laughing, helping each other. It… hurt. Made me angry, even though it wasn’t your fault. Tipping the bins was stupid, I know. I just didn’t know what to do with it all.”
“You don’t just walk over to your neighbors and tell them you’re miserable,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not how I was raised. You bottle it up and deal with it.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and I felt my frustration melt away. This wasn’t about trash bins. It was about grief. About loneliness.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his head bowed.
“I forgive you,” I replied, meaning every word.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said.
“Elise,” I said. “And I know you’re Edwin. My husband mentioned you once or twice.”
Then, I invited him to join my Saturday book club at the library. He looked at me like I’d suggested he jump off a bridge.
“Book club? With strangers!”
“They’re not strangers,” I said. “Not really. They’re neighbors. Friends you haven’t met yet.”
It took some convincing, but the following Saturday, Edwin shuffled into the library, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t say much that first meeting, but he listened.
By the third, he was recommending novels and trading jokes with the other members.
The real turning point came when one of the ladies, Victoria, a spry widow in her seventies, invited him to her weekly bridge game. He accepted.
From then on, he wasn’t just my cranky neighbor. He was Edwin, the guy who brought homemade scones to book club and always had a dry one-liner up his sleeve.
The bins stayed upright. The HOA fines stopped.
And Edwin? He wasn’t alone anymore.
One evening, as I watched him laughing with Victoria and the other bridge players on her porch, Jason came up beside me.
“Guess you weren’t soft after all,” he said, grinning.
“No,” I said, smiling as I ruffled his hair. “Sometimes, the best revenge is just a little kindness.”
And in that moment, I realized something: We weren’t just helping Edwin heal. He was helping us, too.
The first time Edwin came over for dinner, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He showed up holding a bottle of sparkling cider like it was a rare treasure. His shirt was freshly ironed, but he still tugged at the collar as if it might strangle him at any moment.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said warmly.
He shrugged, his lips twitching into something that resembled a smile.
“Didn’t want to come empty-handed, Elise,” he said. “It’s polite.”
The boys were setting the table, Noah carefully placing forks, Luke arranging the glasses, and Jason lighting a candle in the center. They glanced at Edwin curiously, a little wary.
Dinner was simple but comforting: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots, with a loaf of crusty bread and gravy on the side. It wasn’t fancy, but it was one of James’ favorite meals. It was something that always brought warmth to the table, no matter how chaotic the day had been.
“Smells good in here,” Edwin said as he sat down, his eyes darting around like he was trying to take in every detail of the room.
“Mom’s chicken is famous in our family,” Noah piped up proudly, scooping a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “She makes it the best.”
“High praise,” Edwin said, glancing at me.
We all settled in, and for a while, the only sound was the clink of forks and knives against plates. But soon, the boys started peppering Edwin with questions.
“Do you like chicken or steak better?” Luke asked.
“Chicken,” Edwin replied after a moment of thought. “But only if it’s cooked as well as this.”
Noah giggled.
“What’s your favorite book? Mom says you like to read a lot.”
“That’s a tough one,” Edwin said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe To Kill a Mockingbird. Or Moby Dick.”
Jason, always the skeptic, raised an eyebrow.
“You actually finished Moby Dick?”
That made Edwin laugh, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to surprise even him.
“I won’t lie. It took me a year.”
By dessert, apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Edwin had relaxed completely. The boys were swapping stories about school, and he was chuckling along, even teasing Jason about his upcoming math test.
As I cleared the plates, I glanced over to see Edwin helping Noah cut his pie into bite-sized pieces, patiently showing him the best way to balance the ice cream on the fork. It was such a tender moment, and my heart squeezed a little.
When dinner was over and the boys ran off to finish homework, Edwin lingered in the kitchen, drying dishes as I washed them.
“You have a good family,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” I replied, handing him a plate to dry. “And you’re welcome here anytime. You know that, right?”
He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“I do now.”
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