New Love on the Wrong Road

Isaac Sanchez's last words were that he wanted to be buried beside the childhood sweetheart who had been his first love.

I served him for ten years, carried his soup and his medicine, and spent half a lifetime living like a widow at his side.

All it earned me, in his final moments, was his hand clutching mine and his voice thin as thread, giving his instructions. "Stella Henson... the hill behind the estate. Put me... and Hilda... together."

My heart went cold all the way through.

On the seventh night after his death, I moved into the side bedroom that had sat empty for years, and in a hidden compartment in his study I dug out a yellowed photograph of the two of them.

On the back, in that handwriting I knew so well: My wife, Hilda. Faithful to her all my life.

Laughable.

So it turned out the one he never let go of had never been me.

When I opened my eyes again, it was the third month after I'd married into the Sanchez family.

Isaac had just come home from the office, in his suit, faintly smelling of drink.

He loosened his tie, careless as ever. "Stella, isn't this jealousy of yours a little much? I only had dinner with a female client, and you smash every vase in the house over it?"

I stared at his young face, at the impatience he hadn't yet managed to hide behind his eyes.

"Isaac."

His fingers paused on his cufflink, and he looked up at me.

"Let's get divorced."

I pushed the agreement I'd already drawn up to the edge of the coffee table. "You're free. Go find your Hilda."

......

Isaac went completely still.

"Stella, what game are you playing now?"

He came over, picked up the divorce agreement, gave it a single glance, and let out a soft, contemptuous snort.

The paper crumpled into a ball between his long fingers and landed dead center in the trash can a few feet away.

"All because I didn't pick up your call and had dinner with a client?"

His tone was full of absurdity and impatience.

"Grown some backbone, have you? Learned to threaten me with divorce?"

I said nothing.

I only looked at him, quietly.

At this face I had loved for ten years, and hated for ten years.

In my last life, he was exactly like this too.

Always up on his pedestal, always taking everything as his due.

Everything I gave, to him, weighed less than a feather.

He was sick for ten years, so I took care of him for ten years.

I went from a girl barely past twenty who still had illusions about the future to a dull, dried-out woman with hands that reeked of medicine.

I used to think everyone's heart was made of flesh.

Ten years. Even a stone should have warmed by then.

But right up until he died, the one he thought of, the one he ached for, was still his first love, Hilda Summers.

So stingy he wouldn't even spare me a grave plot.

What was I even doing it for?

"Isaac, I'm not throwing a tantrum."

My voice was very calm.

So calm it felt foreign even to me.

"I mean it. I don't want any of it. I'll walk away with nothing."

My calm seemed to enrage him.

"Walk away with nothing?"

Isaac seized my wrist, gripping hard enough to frighten me.

"Stella, who are you playing so noble for?"

"Don't you forget how you married into this family in the first place. If your family hadn't come begging to my father, do you think you'd be standing here?"

A sharp pain shot through my wrist.

It hurt enough that my brow creased.

Right. I'd forgotten.

Ours was a business marriage.

The Hensons needed the Sanchez family's money, and Isaac needed a wife.

An obedient one, one who wouldn't cause him trouble, one who would let him pine for his first love in peace outside these walls.

Once, I'd been the perfect candidate.

"So I played along for three years. Now I want it over."

I tried to pull my hand back.

He only gripped tighter.

"Over? Did I agree to that?"

He bent down, his warm breath washing over my face, carrying a trace of liquor and a trace of danger.

"Stella, don't test my patience."

Looking at his face, so close to mine, I suddenly found it laughable.

"Your patience?"

I laughed softly. "Isn't all your patience saved for Hilda Summers?"

"Isaac, let go. Whatever was between us is over."

The instant I said Hilda's name, his expression dropped.

The air seemed to freeze solid.

He stared at me, hard.

"You've been investigating me?"

I couldn't be bothered to explain.

In my last life, that name, Hilda Summers, was a thorn lodged in my heart for ten years.

I listened to him murmur it in his sickbed.

I watched him lose himself staring at that photograph.

I even went up to the hill behind the estate myself and picked out the perfect resting spot where he and his beloved could lie together forever.

What was left for me to investigate?

I was tired.

"Are you letting go or not?"

My voice turned cold.

In the standoff, his phone rang.

That special, gentle ringtone. I remembered it until the day I died.

It was Hilda.

Isaac's expression shifted, and he let go of my hand without thinking.

He walked to the window, turned his back to me, and answered.

The voice that had been all menace a moment ago turned gentle in an instant.

"Hilda? Why are you still up so late?"

"Does your head still hurt? Did you take your medicine on time?"

"Me? I'm at home. It's nothing, don't read too much into it."

I turned and walked upstairs without looking back.

Behind me, Isaac was still soothing the person on the other end.

"Good girl, go to sleep early. I'll come see you tomorrow."

I stepped into the master bedroom and pulled open the closet.

It was packed with clothes of every kind, most of them bought by Isaac's assistant to suit his taste.

I hadn't touched a single one.

From the very bottom of the closet, I dragged out the small suitcase I'd brought with me when I married in.

I opened it. Inside were only a few of my own old clothes.

I lifted them out in silence, then set my few personal things inside, one piece at a time.

Slowly, but without wavering.

Enough.

It really was enough.

When I woke the next morning, Isaac was already gone.

The other side of the bed was empty, without a trace of warmth.

Fine by me.

I dragged my suitcase downstairs. In the living room, my mother-in-law, Brooklyn James, sat straight-backed on the sofa.

Her well-kept face was covered in frost.

"Stop right there."

I halted.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Her voice was cold.

"Mom, I'm divorcing Isaac."

I stated the fact calmly.

Brooklyn looked as if she'd heard the biggest joke in the world.

She set down the pale porcelain teacup in her hand with a sharp clink.

"Divorce? Stella, do you even know what you're saying?"

"Isaac had one dinner with a female client, and you make a scene like this? You go carrying on about divorce like your life depends on it?"

"Have you got any sense at all? A man entertains clients out there, a little playacting, that's perfectly normal, isn't it?"

"You're the daughter-in-law of the Sanchez family. Instead of easing his burdens, you're here dragging him down. What does that look like?"

Her words were exactly the same as the words she'd used to scold me in my past life, the first time I ever fought with Isaac over Hilda Summers.

Back then, I'd cried from the unfairness of it, explaining myself as hard as I could.

Now, I only found it noisy.

"Mom, this isn't playacting."

"This is a problem between him and me."

My composure clearly only made her angrier.

"What problem between you and him? What has Isaac ever done to wrong you? He gave you the title of Mrs. Sanchez, gave you a life without a single worry, and you're still not satisfied?"

"Stella, let me tell you something. The door of the Sanchez family isn't one you walk in and out of whenever you please!"

"If you still recognize me as your mother, you'll put that suitcase right back where it came from, take a lunch to Isaac at his office, and apologize to him. Then we'll let this whole thing pass."

Apologize?

For what?

Why should I apologize for his mistakes?

"I'm not going."

I refused flatly.

"And this divorce is happening. That's final."

Brooklyn shot to her feet, shaking all over with rage.

She jabbed a finger at me.

"You... you ungrateful little thing!"

"Who do you think you are? Away from the Sanchez family, you, Stella Henson, are nothing!"

"Believe me, all it takes is one word from me, and that shaky Henson family of yours will go bankrupt overnight!"

This again.

Using my family to threaten me.

In my past life, this was exactly why I compromised, why I backed down, over and over.

Until the Hensons were safe and sound, and I was the one trapped to death in this cage.

I looked at her, and said it word by word.

"Then go ahead and try."

Brooklyn froze.

She probably never imagined that I, always so meek, could say something like that.

"You... you dare talk to me that way?"

"I'm only stating the facts."

I gripped the handle of my suitcase.

"The title of Mrs. Sanchez, whoever wants it can have it. As for the Hensons, that's my business, and no trouble of yours."

With that, I didn't look at her again. I walked straight for the door.

"Rebellion! This is outright rebellion!"

Brooklyn's shriek rose behind me.

"Stella, if you dare step out that door today, don't ever think about coming back!"

My hand rested on the door handle, pausing for a second.

Then, without hesitation, I pulled it open.

The sunlight was blinding.

I squinted, dragging my suitcase, and walked out one step at a time.

I never looked back.

With the little cash I had on me, I rented a small studio in the city.

Small, old, but clean.

I set out the things from my suitcase one by one, looking at this little space that belonged only to me, and felt steadier than I ever had.

That afternoon, I got a call from my mother.

The moment it connected, her anxious voice came through.

"Stella, what on earth happened between you and Isaac? Mrs. Sanchez called me and said you two are talking about divorce. Child, how can you be so foolish!"

I leaned against the wall, looking out the window.

"Mom, I'm not being foolish. I'm perfectly clear-headed."

"Clear-headed? Being clear-headed means throwing away your own home? Do you know what kind of family the Sanchezes are, what a rare catch Isaac is? Marrying into that family is your good fortune! Why can't you learn to treasure it?"

Good fortune?

Guarding a man who doesn't love me, burning through my whole life for him, that's good fortune?

"Mom, my good fortune, I'll earn myself."

"Did you... did you hear some gossip out there? Is it that woman by Isaac's side, the one called Hilda Summers..."

My mother's words stopped short.

My heart sank.

"Mom, you know about her?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"Stella, listen to your mother. Men, well, who doesn't have a past. That Miss Summers... she's in poor health, and it's only human nature for Isaac to look after her a little more. You're the one who's Mrs. Sanchez, the legitimate wife. Show a little grace, and don't stoop to squabbling with people like that."

Legitimate wife?

I gave a bitter laugh.

In my past life, Isaac's dying wish was to be buried together with that unclear, questionable woman.

And I, the legitimate Mrs. Sanchez, wasn't even fit to sleep beside him in death.

"Mom, I don't want to live that kind of life anymore."

"I'm hanging up."

Giving my mother no chance to keep talking me around, I hung up on the spot.

The phone rang again soon after.

This time, it was Isaac.

I looked at the name flashing on the screen and put it straight on silent.

The world went quiet.

I needed a job.

I'd studied jewelry design in college, but I married Isaac right after graduation, and the skill had gone to waste years ago.

I hadn't forgotten it, though.

In my last life, in the later stretch of his long illness, the Sanchez family business collapsed.

I was the one who picked the pencil back up, quietly taking on design work for a few small brands to help make ends meet, just enough to cover his expensive medical bills and keep the last of the Sanchez family's dignity intact.

I opened a secondhand site and bought a basic set of drawing tools.

Then I started sending out rsums online.

With no work experience, most of my applications sank without a trace.

I didn't let it get to me. I applied to one company after another.

At dusk, while I was bent over a design draft, reworking it, someone knocked on the door.

I assumed it was the landlord and opened it without thinking.

Isaac was standing outside.

He'd traded the suit for casual clothes, but his face looked worse than it had yesterday.

He looked at me, then glanced past me at the small, shabby room, and his brows knotted tight.

"Stella, are you done throwing this tantrum?"

"Come home with me."

His tone was a command, not up for discussion.

I stayed planted in the doorway, no intention of letting him in.

"This is my home."

"Home?"

He looked around like he'd heard a joke.

"You call a place like this fit to live in?"

The contempt in his voice was open, unhidden.

Something in me stung.

Right. The great Isaac Sanchez, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. When would he ever have set foot in a place "not fit to live in"?

"It's no match for the Sanchez mansion. But at least the air here is free."

"Free?"

Isaac gave a cold laugh.

"For this pathetic little scrap of freedom, you'd give up being Mrs. Sanchez? Give up everything?"

"Yes."

I answered without hesitation.

He stared at me, his eyes hard to read.

"All because of Hilda?"

He finally came out and asked it.

"I told you yesterday. She and I are just friends. Her health isn't good, so I look out for her a little more. What's the problem with that?"

"Stella, when did you turn so unreasonable?"

There it was again.

He would always be certain he'd done nothing wrong.

I was the one at fault, always. Making a big deal out of nothing. Being unreasonable.

"Isaac, who you choose to look after is your freedom. Choosing to divorce is mine."

"We stay out of each other's lives."

"You"

My refusal to budge an inch seemed to push him past his limit.

"Stella, I'll give you one last chance. Right now, this second, you come back with me."

"Otherwise, you deal with the consequences yourself."

I looked at him, and all at once I just felt tired.

"Isaac, you don't need to threaten me."

"I'll have my lawyer send you the divorce papers. You sign them, and we part on good terms."

With that, I moved to close the door.

But he slammed a hand against it, holding it open.

"Part on good terms?"

"Stella, you're dreaming."

He pulled my wallet out of his pocket and threw it on the floor.

"Your cards. I've frozen all of them."

"Let's see how many days you last here without my money."

I looked at the wallet on the floor and didn't pick it up.

In my last life, I lived through this exact scene too.

Back then I panicked and begged him.

And he only watched me coldly, savoring the pleasure of holding all the power.

This time, I only looked at him calmly.

"How long I last is no concern of yours."

My calm landed like a fist sinking into cotton.

Isaac's face grew darker and darker.

Just then, a gentle male voice came from behind us.

"Excuse me, is there something I can help with?"

I turned around.

A young man in a white coat stood at the top of the stairs, a medical kit in his hand.

He looked like he had just come back from outside, with soft features and a clean air about him.

He was my next-door neighbor, a doctor.

I'd seen him a few times but never spoken to him.

Isaac turned to look at him too, his eyes turning wary and hostile at once.

"Who are you?"

The man ignored him, his gaze settling on me with a hint of question in it.

"My name is Piers Gilbert. I live next to you. I heard an argument over here just now."

I gave him a nod.

"Thank you. I'm fine."

Piers's eyes swept over Isaac's hand braced against the door, then over the wallet on the floor, and he understood.

He didn't press. He only said to me,

"If you need help, you can knock on my door anytime."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear.

Isaac's face went completely black.

He probably thought I was making eyes at another man right in front of him, wounding his pride.

"Stella, aren't you something."

He said it through his teeth, one word at a time.

"Lined up your next man this fast?"

The insult in that was vicious.

Before I could fire back, Piers spoke first.

"Sir, please show some respect when you speak."

His tone was still gentle, but it carried a force that left no room for argument.

"This lady has already said she's fine. Please stop harassing her."

Isaac's fury shifted onto Piers in an instant.

"I'm talking to my wife. What business is it of yours?"

"Get lost!"

Piers didn't move. He only looked at him calmly.

"If you keep this up, I'm calling the police."

"The police?"

Isaac acted like he'd just heard the biggest joke in the world.

"Do you know who I am? You'd actually dare call the police?"

The two men faced off.

One raging, one calm.

I bent down, picked up the wallet from the floor, and brushed the dust off it.

Then I lifted my head and looked at Isaac.

"Mr. Sanchez, if you think I'm your wife, then please sign the divorce papers."

"If you think I'm not, then please leave my doorstep right now."

"Otherwise, I'll be the one calling the police."

My voice wasn't loud, but every word came down hard.

Isaac stared me down, his eyes all but spitting fire.

In the end he shot Piers a vicious glare, then looked at me again.

"Stella, fine."

"You just wait."

He threw the threat down and turned, striding off.

His heavy footsteps echoed through the stairwell until they faded away.

The tension that had been drawn tight in me finally eased.

My body swayed, and a hand caught me in time.

It was Piers.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"You're very pale."

I shook my head. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

He let go and kept a polite distance from me.

"Is he your husband?"

"Ex-husband," I corrected.

"He will be very soon."

Piers nodded and didn't ask anything more.

"Get some rest."

He gave me a gentle smile, then turned and opened his own door.

I watched him go, and a trace of warmth ran through my heart.

Over the next few days, Isaac didn't show up again.

The rsums I'd sent out still got no reply.

I started to feel some anxiety.

With no income, I couldn't hold out here for long.

That day, I got a call from an unknown number.

The caller said she was from HR at Starlight, the country's top jewelry design company.

"Ms. Henson, we saw some of the design work you posted online. It has real spark."

"Would you be free to come in for an interview tomorrow?"

I froze.

I had only casually posted a few of my sketches on a designers' forum.

I never expected they'd catch Starlight's eye.

This was like a gift falling out of the sky.

I held down the wild joy in my chest.

"Yes! I'm free!"

I hung up and nearly jumped for joy.

It was the best news I'd heard since being reborn.