Too Late, Mr. Sanchez

Among the elite families on the north side of the Capital, everyone agreed on one thing: the true heiress the Winfields had newly taken back was an absolute lunatic—arrogant, spoiled, and impossible to tame.

With so many promising young bachelors to choose from, she'd set her sights on her sister's fiancé, the Sanchez family's extraordinary heir.

She'd cried, thrown fits, threatened to kill herself, and clawed her way into that engagement. And after the wedding, she wouldn't let any other woman near Ralph Sanchez.

So when Ralph, saving the fake heiress Jocelyn Winfield, let Sarah Winfield tumble down the stairs and lose her baby, the whole north-side elite waited to see the scene Sarah would surely make once she woke.

But the Sarah who woke seemed like a different person—calm and gentle. She never once mentioned the child, never once mentioned Ralph. She only made a single request of her parents.

"Dad, Mom, I want to divorce Ralph."

Ralph had just stepped into the hospital room when he heard it.

He frowned, his expression tightening, his cold eyes narrowing. "What did you say? Sarah, you want to divorce me?"

Sarah's face stayed calm. "Not allowed?"

"Just because I didn't grab you in time?" Ralph pressed two fingers to his brow, weariness in his voice. "I told you, it was an accident. It was an emergency, and Jocelyn was closest to me."

He took two steps closer, reaching to touch her shoulder as if offering a compromise. "The villa down south or the jewelry from Europe—whatever you want, I've already bought it for you. Sarah, stop sulking."

"As for the child, we'll have others later."

"Are you deaf? I want a divorce." Sarah didn't so much as blink.

Her parents exchanged a glance and sighed. "Sarah, stop making a scene. It was just an accident. After all the years those two go back, were you really going to make Ralph watch Jocelyn die? Ralph still cares about you. Marriage isn't child's play—how can you talk about divorce like it's nothing?"

"That's right, Sarah. Ralph didn't choose not to save you. It's my fault, all my fault. If only it had been me who fell down those stairs."

The girl behind Ralph spoke up meekly, eyes brimming with tears as she looked at Sarah.

The moment she made a sound, her parents, who'd just been crowding around Sarah, hurried over to comfort her.

"Jocelyn, how could this be your fault?"

Even Ralph lowered his voice. "It wasn't your fault. She was the one trying to push you. You don't need to feel guilty."

Sarah laughed coldly to herself. Jocelyn had pushed her on purpose. She'd counted on the fact that no one would blame her—after all, she looked so sweet and fragile in front of everyone.

"But—but Sarah lost the baby because of me..."

Jocelyn bit her lip, then suddenly threw herself down at Sarah's feet, sobbing. "Sarah, if you're still angry, then let my child pay for your child's life!"

Jocelyn was pregnant. The news dropped like a bomb. She was waiting for Sarah to fly into a rage, waiting for her to go mad with revenge the way she always had, and then be despised by everyone.

"Jocelyn! What nonsense are you talking about!"

Ralph watched Sarah warily, folding Jocelyn tightly into his arms.

Everyone braced for Sarah's explosion. What no one expected was that Sarah only smiled faintly. "No need. Since you're pregnant, hurry up and push Ralph to divorce me. I'll clear the spot for you right away. A child can't be without a father, after all."

The words landed, and everyone was stunned. For a moment the hospital room fell dead silent.

Sarah brushed her hair back, unbothered. No one knew that the woman standing here now was the Sarah from five years later.

In her memory, that year, when she'd heard Jocelyn was pregnant, she'd dragged her freshly miscarried body over and slapped Jocelyn across the face, then grabbed her by the hair and shoved her off the third floor.

Jocelyn had crumpled into a pool of blood, lost her baby on the spot, and would never be able to conceive again. When she woke, depression consumed her, and she slit her wrists.

After that, Sarah's whole world changed.

Her parents, grief-stricken and furious, drove her out of the Winfield house, cut off all ties, and declared they no longer had such a vicious daughter.

Ralph came to hate her with a poison that ran deep. He wouldn't divorce her—still kept her as Mrs. Sanchez—yet used every means he had to make her pay.

He gave Sarah no living allowance, forbade any industry from hiring her. She could only live in the dampest basement, eat expired bread, take the most grueling odd jobs. Her body carried countless scars, and every single day she had to fight with everything she had just to stay alive.

For five years Sarah drank the dregs of suffering, sick and aching all over, until at last, unable to bear the weight, she collapsed in a hospital.

When she woke again, it was now.

Heaven had shown her mercy—she could return to the past. This time, she would stay far away from Ralph, far away from the Winfields.

"Sarah, say that again." Ralph snapped back to himself, his face darkening. "You really want to divorce me?"

"What else? Let the baby in her belly be a bastard?" Sarah's tone was cold and remote.

Ralph's long eyes narrowed slightly, as if certain she was still sulking. His manner softened, and he took hold of her shoulders, easing the strain that had drawn taut in the room.

"All right, stop being angry. Don't worry, the place of Mrs. Sanchez will always be yours. Even with Jocelyn pregnant, that won't change. Once you've healed, I'll take you to the Maldives to clear your head."

His palm was dry and warm, gripping hard—the very warmth she'd once craved most.

Sarah didn't pull away. She only looked into Ralph's eyes and found the whole thing a little funny.

Ralph was so sure she'd never actually leave, because the old Sarah had threatened divorce every time, and every time she couldn't bring herself to go through with it.

But the Sarah standing here now was the Sarah who'd been ground down for five years.

She pulled out the IV line and walked out of the room without a backward glance. "Suit yourself. I'll draw up the divorce agreement and send it to your email. Be sure to check for it."

A small string of blood beads came out with the needle. Sarah didn't even glance at it.

Once she'd left the hospital, she opened her chat with her old advisor.

"Professor, that geological survey team—I'd like to sign up."

Her advisor replied quickly.

"Sarah, think this through. This time the team is heading to the Alps. The conditions are brutal, and once you're in, it's three years. Do your husband and parents agree to this?"

Sarah typed out a few words without hesitation.

"Professor, no one can stand in my way."

"All right. You're my most gifted student, and the survey team welcomes you. I'll see you at the airport in seven days."

Sarah shut off her screen. She wouldn't look back again. But before that, she had every score to settle.