“When I married him, everyone said, ’Oh, she married him for the money,’” Salma revealed a few years ago about her marriage to François-Henri Pinault. Despite addressing these rumors, the same hurtful comments still flood her Instagram posts whenever she celebrates her husband.
More than a decade into her marriage, the actress still remembers the stereotypical accusations she faced after marrying billionaire businessman François-Henri Pinault. The couple met in 2006, not realizing their casual conversation would blossom into something serious. Salma and François-Henri have a daughter together, and Salma is also a stepmom to his three kids from a previous relationship.
The Oscar-nominated star has often addressed the misconceptions around her marriage, saying that when she married him, everyone thought it was for the money. Gushing over her husband, she said, “Fifteen years together, and we are strong in love. I don’t even get offended; I’m like, yeah, whatever.” She also mentioned that there’s a lot of unfair judgment against wealthy men, with people assuming that being rich means they might not be good people.
Despite repeatedly addressing the issue, whenever Salma shares moments with her husband, the same accusations of marrying for money resurface. Yet, Salma recently took to Instagram to express her love for François-Henri, posting a captivating carousel of images capturing their intimate moments, including those where they share tender gazes and affectionate gestures on the red carpet.
In a moving tribute for her husband’s birthday, Salma poured out her heart: “God bless the day you were born, mi amor. Thank you for the endless love and laughter you bring me each day. Happy birthday, my king.” This declaration of love resonated deeply, stirring admiration for their profound connection and leaving a lasting impression on all who saw the post on Instagram.
Underneath the carousel of pictures, a commenter playfully remarked: “Got a billion reasons to love him,” cleverly playing with words to suggest Salma’s affection stems from his wealth. Another commenter added a touch of irony, saying, “Money can’t buy hap… wait. It can.” Meanwhile, another person commented, “This is what you can get when you have a LOT of money… 
”
In addition to the remarks about wealth, some comments focused on the age gap, with one person stating, “She’s beautiful. He’s old,” while another sarcastically remarked, “Your Dad looks like a great guy 
,” and others simply referred to Pinault as “Old man.”
Love triumphed over the critics, and the post was flooded with comments defending Salma. Many noted that the 4-year age gap wasn’t significant, with one person saying, “People thinking there’s a big age gap, they’re 4 years apart, people calm down.”
Others expressed support for the couple, like one user who wrote, “The way you look at him 
with so much love 
,” and another who commented, “The secret of eternal youth is a beautiful love that makes you smile every day .”
And in response to allegations that she married for money, one commenter shut down the criticism, saying, “She loves him. She still works and always has. She didn’t marry a wealthy man to retire. She met a man who made her laugh and shared the same ambition and mentality. Bravo.” This comment effectively silenced all the critics.
Recently, people criticized Salma over speculation about her supposed plastic surgery.
I DIDN’T GET WHY MY BEST STUDENT REFUSED TO PERFORM IN THE SCHOOL CONCERT — UNTIL I SAW WHO HIS DAD WAS
The auditorium buzzed with the expectant energy of parents and students, a sea of faces eager for the school’s annual concert. I stood backstage, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Jay, my prodigy, my star pupil, was nowhere to be found.
When I first met Jay, I was a fresh-faced music teacher, barely a week into my new role. The reality of wrangling a classroom of energetic children had quickly shattered my romanticized notions of teaching. I’d begun to question my career choice, wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Then Jay sat at the piano. His small hands, seemingly too delicate for the instrument, moved with a surprising confidence. The music that flowed from him was breathtaking, a complex symphony that belied his age and lack of formal training. He was a natural, a raw talent that shone like a diamond in the rough.
I offered him private lessons, eager to nurture his gift. He hesitated, his eyes darting away, and eventually declined. I noticed his solitary nature, his avoidance of the other children, and a sense of unease settled within me. I suspected there was more to Jay’s quiet demeanor than met the eye.
Determined to help him, I offered to teach him without charge. Over the following weeks, we spent hours together, exploring the world of music. Jay absorbed knowledge like a sponge, mastering complex pieces with an almost uncanny speed. He was ready, more than ready, for his debut performance.
But on the day of the concert, he vanished. I searched frantically, my anxiety escalating with each passing minute. Finally, I found him huddled backstage, his small frame trembling, his eyes wide with fear.
“Jay, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice gentle.
He whispered, his voice choked with terror, “I have to go on… before my father sees me!”
“Why?” I asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t your father want to see you play?”
His eyes widened, and he looked over my shoulder. I turned, and the breath hitched in my throat.
Standing at the entrance to the backstage area was a man I recognized all too well: Richard Thorne, the renowned concert pianist, a man whose name was synonymous with musical genius. He was also Jay’s father.
Richard Thorne was a legend, a figure I had admired from afar for years. His performances were legendary, his technique flawless. But his reputation was also marred by whispers of a cold, demanding perfectionism, a relentless pursuit of excellence that left little room for human frailty.
Suddenly, Jay’s fear, his reluctance to perform, his solitary nature, all made sense. He wasn’t just a talented child; he was the son of a musical titan, a man who likely held his son to impossibly high standards.
Richard’s gaze landed on Jay, and his expression was unreadable. He strode towards us, his presence filling the small backstage area.
“Jay,” he said, his voice low and commanding, “what are you doing here?”
Jay shrank back, his eyes filled with terror. “I… I was going to play,” he stammered.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You were going to play? Without my permission?”
“I… I wanted to,” Jay whispered.
Richard’s expression hardened. “You are not ready,” he said, his voice laced with disdain. “You are not even close.”
Jay’s shoulders slumped, his face crumpling with disappointment. I felt a surge of anger, a protective instinct rising within me.
“Richard,” I said, my voice firm, “Jay is incredibly talented. He’s been working hard, and he’s ready to share his gift.”
Richard turned to me, his eyes cold. “You presume to know my son better than I do?”
“I know he loves music,” I said, my voice unwavering. “And I know he deserves a chance to express himself.”
A tense silence filled the air. Richard’s gaze shifted back to Jay, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability.
“Jay,” he said, his voice softer, “if you truly want to play, then play. But you must understand, you will be judged. You will be compared. And you must be prepared for that.”
Jay looked at his father, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. He nodded, his small frame straightening.
“I’m ready,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, but filled with a quiet strength.
Richard stepped aside, allowing Jay to pass. Jay walked onto the stage, his footsteps echoing in the hushed auditorium. He sat at the piano, his hands trembling slightly.
Then, he began to play.
The music that filled the auditorium was breathtaking. It was Jay’s music, his interpretation, his soul poured into every note. It was not a perfect performance, not a flawless rendition of a master’s work. But it was beautiful, raw, and filled with a passion that resonated with every soul in the room.
When he finished, the auditorium erupted in applause. Richard Thorne stood at the back of the room, his face unreadable. But as Jay walked off the stage, Richard reached out and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“You played well,” he said, his voice low. “But you can do better.”
Jay looked up at his father, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew that his journey had just begun, and he knew that he had the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead. He had found his voice, and he would not be silenced.
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