Too Late Jerk Novel by Yvelyn Mikey _ Novel



Too Late Jerk Novel by Yvelyn Mikey _ Novel

Too Late Jerk Chapter 01

In the institute's residential compound back in the eighties, everyone noticed the change in Melinda Fuller.
At six in the morning, she no longer got up early to make breakfast for Nathaniel Sanderson, nor did she iron his white lab coat until it was flawless.
At noon, she no longer stood outside the research institute's main gate, holding a thermos and waiting for the man who was perpetually late.
At ten at night, she no longer sat by the window with the light on, waiting for Nathaniel to come home.
This went on for a full week.
On the seventh night, at ten-thirty, Nathaniel finally pushed the door open. He set down his research papers, shed the jacket still carrying the chemical scent of the lab, and finally looked at Melinda. She was sitting under the lamp, reading.
"What's been wrong with you lately?"
It was the first time he had spoken to her all week.
His voice was faint—precise, calm, and stripped of any unnecessary emotion, like a reagent in a beaker.
Melinda paused, turned a page, and looked up at him.
In the shadows of the lamp, he really was handsome—a cold, dignified sort of attractiveness steeped in the academic. He possessed a steadiness beyond his years. The girls in the compound always said that when Nathaniel stood in a room, no one could help but look at him.
Melinda used to be unable to look away, too.
But now, having been reborn into this life, she wanted to do it differently.
In her previous life, everyone had envied Melinda. They said she was incredibly lucky to marry Nathaniel.
He had a bright future, having entered the country's top physics institute young. He was a recognized genius, handsome, charismatic, and always the center of attention. Marrying a man like that was considered incredibly lucky.
She had thought so too, marrying him with a humble, intense devotion.
On their first day of marriage, Nathaniel had told her, "In my heart, research will always come first. I don't have time for romance, and I don't have the energy to manage a family. Make sure you understand that."
Melinda had nodded, blushing. "I understand. You focus on your research. I'll handle the house."
She truly understood, and she truly did it.
He had no time, so she took on all the chores—cooking, laundry, cleaning, taking perfect care of him.
He didn't care for romance, so on birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine's Day, she watched others receive flowers and gifts, telling herself not to be envious. He was a man doing big things; romance was too trivial.
He was obsessed with research, so she called her own ambulance after a car accident, went to the hospital alone for surgery after a miscarriage, and visited family graves by herself.
Later, afraid of disturbing his experiments, she didn't even tell him when she was diagnosed with cancer. She went to chemotherapy in secret, vomiting violently, yet returning home as if nothing had happened, continuing to cook and clean for him.
Meanwhile, he focused entirely on science. He won a top national technology award at thirty, became an academician at thirty-five, and stood on the Nobel Prize podium at forty, watched by the world.
In a globally broadcast interview, the host asked, "Professor Sanderson, your brilliant achievements must rely on the support of your family. Can you talk about your wife?"
Nathaniel, looking as cold and rational as ever in front of the camera, pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke in a flat tone. "My wife was arranged by my family. We've lived together for a lifetime, but I have no feelings for her. I have dedicated all my energy and passion to science."
He added, "Romance is not worth mentioning; science is eternal."
The interview brought praise from home and abroad.
Some called him righteous for sacrificing personal feelings for science; others called him a giant, a true intellect with all of humanity in his heart.
And he truly did bury himself in his next project, never returning home again.
So he didn't know she was vomiting blood until she passed out. He didn't know she was in so much pain from the spreading cancer that she couldn't sleep. He didn't even know that on the day she died, her body lay in the cold house for three days before a neighbor sensed something was wrong and found her.
Melinda's spirit had floated in the air, watching her funeral be hastily arranged, watching Nathaniel receive the notification in the lab, give a simple "Hmm," and hang up the phone.
It took her a lifetime to understand that he had never truly cared about her.
He was a brilliant scientist, but being his wife was too bitter a pill to swallow.
Because in his heart, there was only science, not her.
So, when she realized she had been reborn back to 1983, the first thing Melinda did was go to the courthouse to file for divorce.
The second thing was to dig out her high school textbooks and begin working toward university admission.
She had secretly taken the exam; the results would be out in two days.
Scientists were fine, but she didn't want to be a scientist's wife anymore.
Life was long and good, and this time, she wanted to live for herself.
"It's nothing. I've just been busy." Melinda closed the book in her hands—it was a high school math study guide.
Nathaniel's brow furrowed tighter. "Busy with what?"
His tone was faint, his eyes confused, as if the idea of her being busy was hard to comprehend.
In his mind, she existed to center her life on him—running the household and taking care of everything around him. That was all she was worth.
Melinda felt a sharp sting in her heart, but it quickly went numb.
One had to love oneself before loving anyone else. In her previous life, she had never loved herself—so how could she have expected him, someone so intellectually superior and distant, to love a woman who knew nothing beyond household chores?
Just then, a neighbor's voice drifted in from the window, loud enough to be heard clearly through the glass.
"Melly had done everything right for Professor Sanderson all these years. If she was showing signs of discontent now, it could only mean she'd been hurt or wronged."
"I heard it was her birthday a few days ago. She cooked a whole table of food and waited until midnight, but Professor Sanderson never came back. Who wouldn't be heartbroken?"
"That was really over the line, even for Professor Sanderson..."
Nathaniel frowned even more deeply. He turned to explain to Melinda, "I never celebrate birthdays. That time could be better spent finishing a data comparison."
Melinda stayed silent.
Seeing her reaction, Nathaniel pulled two tickets from his pocket and placed them on the table. "The Institute gave out two movie tickets. I'm taking you. This one's an exception—tomorrow, everything goes back to normal."
Melinda looked at the two tickets.
They were paper, printed with red text—a rare item in this era. In her previous life, she would have been too excited to sleep.
But now, she only found it ironic.
"I'm not going," she said.
Nathaniel froze.
He looked at Melinda with rare surprise.
In three years of marriage, she had never said no to him.

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