Sarah Aldrich was born on February 10 in Mission Hills, Los Angeles—a place where the sun always looks a little tired and the palm trees lean in like they’ve heard too many stories. She spent her earliest years there before her family moved north to Yuba City, a quiet patch of California where the evenings stretch long and the dreams come slower. She grew up in a house full of sisters, the kind of household where imagination was cheaper than toys and far more durable. On warm afternoons, she’d herd her sisters into the backyard and stage plays on the grass, but she never imagined it would become more than a childhood pastime. Just kids entertaining the wind.
But something happens when theater sinks its teeth into you. It waits. It lingers. And when Sarah went to college, it came for her. She discovered the stage not as a playground, but as a home. Somewhere between lectures and late-night rehearsals she found out that pretending to be someone else could sometimes tell you more about yourself than any mirror. She ended up at the American Conservatory Theater training program, sharpening her instincts with the kind of discipline that leaves blisters on the soul. After that came UCLA, where she earned her degree in theater and the kind of stubborn resolve that keeps you chasing auditions long after the novelty has worn off.
After college, like thousands of hopefuls before her, she signed with an agent and stepped into the long, bloated audition line that wraps around Los Angeles—the one filled with people dreaming of their first break and terrified their last one has already passed. She landed hers in 1996, guest-starring on Silk Stalkings. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real. The first taste. The first proof that maybe, just maybe, all this wasn’t a delusion.
Then came Days of Our Lives. She joined the soap as Jill Stevens, a con artist—the kind of character who slips lies into conversations the way others slip sugar into tea. It was a recurring role, and Sarah played it like she understood every bad decision the woman had ever made. You don’t forget your first soap: the relentless schedules, the emotional acrobatics, the scripts that drop into your hands before you’ve even had your morning coffee. It’s a trial by fire, and Sarah didn’t flinch.
In 1997, her career took a sharp turn upward when it was announced she’d be taking over the role of Victoria Newman on The Young and the Restless. Victoria wasn’t just any role; she was established, beloved, and previously played by Heather Tom—whose shadow still lingered like perfume on the set. Sarah stepped into the character with grace, fully aware of the weight she was carrying. It lasted until October, when Tom returned to reclaim the role. In Hollywood, sometimes the exit is as significant as the entrance. Sarah left that chapter behind without bitterness, just a quiet, steady forward motion.
That same year she appeared in television films like Born Into Exile and L.A. Johns, maneuvering between gritty drama and network polish with ease. She guest-starred on Diagnosis: Murder and Total Security, showing up in America’s living rooms with the kind of presence you don’t immediately recognize but remember later, like seeing a familiar face in the corner booth of a diner.
In 1998 she landed on Beverly Hills, 90210 as Gwyneth Adair, a role that let her walk into the iconic, sun-bleached universe of beautiful people with complicated problems. She also filmed an episode of Jenny, which never aired—a reminder that in Hollywood, work can vanish as easily as smoke.
Then came the storm: Port Charles. In 1998 she stepped into the ABC soap as Courtney Kanelos, a schemer, a troublemaker, the sort of woman whose lies had a heartbeat of their own. Courtney was messy, wounded, manipulative, and magnetic—everything an actress could chew on. Sarah dug in. For two years she lived inside that chaos until 2000, when the storyline sent her character packing. Soap operas are living organisms. They swallow some people whole. Sarah walked away intact.
Her career moved into a new phase after that, drifting through television like a seasoned nomad who knew exactly how to leave an impact without overstaying her welcome. In 1999 she played Catherine Winters in Roger Corman’s horror miniseries The Phantom Eye, the kind of bizarre Halloween-weekend spectacle that only Corman could conjure. She guest-starred on Partners and then, in 2001, played Angel in Backroad Motel, a film that felt like a dusty postcard from the lost corners of America.
In 2003 she was Cheyenne in Players, running under its alternate titles Pledge of Allegiance and Red Zone. That same year she scattered performances across half a dozen shows—CSI: Miami, Charmed, Strong Medicine, Joan of Arcadia, Karen Sisco. These were the years when she learned the art of being everywhere without letting herself disappear.
In 2004 she played Sophie in the short film The Speeding Ticket and picked up roles on The D.A. and CSI: NY. In 2005 she starred in Trees Grow Tall and Then They Fall—a metaphorical title if ever there was one—and played Mary in Miracle at Sage Creek alongside David Carradine. She appeared in Ordinary Miracles, and she treaded boards onstage in Ascension at the Electric Lodge, grounding herself in live performance again. Theater is unforgiving, and Sarah walked into it like someone who missed the sting.
In 2006 she stepped onto the stage again for Hitchcock Blonde in Costa Mesa, opposite Dakin Matthews. She played against the ghost of Hitchcock himself, or at least the myth of the man—a fitting challenge for someone who understood the power of illusion. That same year she played Gwen Cowley in the horror film Big Bad Wolf and made guest appearances on Bones and Close to Home.
From 2009 to 2014, she became a familiar face on procedural television: Cold Case, Without a Trace, Monk, Criminal Minds, Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior, House, Scandal, NCIS. These shows are the backbone of American TV, and Sarah became one of those actors you trust the moment she walks into a scene.
In 2017 she took on a recurring role in Bosch as Ramona Niese, stepping into the noir-soaked world of Michael Connelly’s Los Angeles. It was a role that felt like she’d been walking toward it her entire career—a city of shadows, secrets, and people who never quite tell the truth.
Her later film work included Adopted in Danger in 2019 and Stressed to Death that same year, where she played women caught in the machinery of fear and unraveling lives.
Sarah Aldrich never became a tabloid celebrity or a red-carpet staple. She became something rarer: a working actress who carved out a career through grit, resilience, and the quiet love of slipping into another person’s skin. She lived between roles the way some people live between breaths—calmly, deliberately, ready for whatever came next.
And that, in Hollywood, is its own kind of success.
