Too Late, Mr. Sanchez

"Crack!"

Watching Jocelyn Winfield crumple onto the floor, Judy Winfield was the first to rush over.

Her hands and feet had gone ice-cold. She struck Sarah Winfield hard across the face, her voice shrill. "Jocelyn already knelt down and apologized to you. What more revenge do you want? How can you be so vicious? How did I ever end up with a daughter like you? Get out of my sight!"

"If anything happens to Jocelyn, I will never let you off!"

A high-pitched ringing filled Sarah's ears, and for a moment she couldn't hear. She cupped her cheek and sank to the floor, as if she'd been thrown back to that hopeless afternoon five years ago.

Everyone's faces twisted as they accused her, screaming curses until their voices broke.

It was the nightmare she would never forget.

"It wasn't me!"

Sarah convulsed slightly, as if from shock. Why, when she'd already swallowed her grievance, would these people still not let her go?

She snapped back to herself, pulling free of the collapse rising inside her, and said coldly, "I didn't push her!"

Sarah pressed the recorder gently. She was waiting for the scene to blow up a little more. She wanted every single person to see Jocelyn Winfield's true face.

The commotion swelled. Judy wouldn't hear a word of it. Eyes red, she clawed at Sarah. "You think Jocelyn's insane? That she'd just throw herself down the stairs?"

"Enough."

A cool, faintly hoarse voice cut through the uproar. Ralph Sanchez stood at the third-floor railing, leaning against it, his expression somber.

"Ralph, you're up there?"

Judy looked up, startled, and every gaze in the room turned to Ralph.

Judy let out a cold laugh. "Sarah won't admit it no matter what. Ralph, you tell us. Did Jocelyn fall on her own, or did Sarah push her? Let's put her to rest for good."

Ralph had been on the second floor. From there he must have seen exactly what happened at the turn of the staircase!

Sarah rose and looked straight at him, her voice soft. "You were on the third floor the whole time. You saw everything, didn't you? I didn't push Jocelyn."

Her eyes were rimmed red, and she looked utterly helpless, yet her other hand pressed the recorder on again.

Ralph steadied her, smoothing her gown, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes. But when he lifted his gaze, he saw Jocelyn lying in Judy's arms.

Her face was terrified and bloodless, as though she might shatter in the next breath. She was, after all, the girl he'd carried in his heart for so many years, and she was carrying a child now. Ralph couldn't help but hesitate.

He gripped Sarah's shoulder, his expression gentle, and told himself that even if the Winfields despised Sarah, she was still their true daughter by blood, and blood could not be changed.

But Jocelyn was only their adopted daughter. If she fell out of their favor, she'd be finished for life.

After a moment's thought, Ralph pressed his lips together and said, one word at a time, "I saw it. Sarah pushed Jocelyn."

What? The color drained from Sarah's face in an instant. She tilted her head up in disbelief, as if she had never known Ralph at all.

So whether it was five years ago or five years later, Ralph's heart would never lean toward her.

She had always thought all the torment and pain of her past life, and Ralph's hatred of her, were because she had pushed Jocelyn.

But only now did she understand. That wasn't it.

"Crack!" Sarah lifted her hand and slapped Ralph across the face.

Sarah defended herself one last time, then silently switched off the recorder in her pocket. That one line was enough.

"Sarah Winfield!"

Rolf Winfield's face was livid. Nothing mattered more to him than his reputation, and to have his own daughter harm his beloved adopted daughter in front of all the elite of the Capital's north side enraged him all the more.

If this wasn't handled properly, wouldn't everyone learn that the Winfield family had no proper upbringing?

Rolf's hand came down across her face.

"What did your sister ever do to you, that you keep bullying her again and again? Come home with me!"

One of the wealthy wives let out a cold sneer. "Raised in the slums. No wonder that wildness can't be scrubbed out of her. She needs a good, hard lesson."

The birthday banquet had been thrown into chaos, yet Old Mr. Harris showed no anger. He only urged Rolf, "Sarah isn't that kind of child."

But Rolf wouldn't listen. He forced Sarah home and brought out the rattan cane.

"There's a Sanchez grandchild in your sister's belly. If anything happens to it, can you bear the consequences?"

Sarah struggled, unwilling to yield. "Dad, have you forgotten? I'm your real daughter! I'll say it one more time. I didn't push her. She threw herself down!"