Clara was still abroad, together with Steve.

Although I already knew from Instagram that they had met, I still felt hurt when seeing it for real.

Fortunately, I was already dead and wouldn't die again.

They were having dinner at a restaurant by the seaside.

It seemed like a romantic vacation destination here. Most customers were couples.

Steve gazed tenderly at Clara.

"Steve, why are you looking at me?"

Clara seemed a bit shy as she spoke, with a hint of coquetry in her tone.

I used to watch her like this.

But one time she got really angry and swept the food I made for her off the floor.

She told me not to look at her like that anymore.

It turned out that my gaze reminded her of Steve.

The violinist in the restaurant probably saw their ambiguous atmosphere and came over.

"Sir, would you like to choose a song for your wife?"

Clara looked a bit awkward and wanted to explain.

But Steve was faster and chose a song, saying it was for his beloved.

Their ambiguous gazes intertwined and Clara agreed.

As the melodious sound of the violin played, the dishes were also served.

I saw minced celery in the dish. Clara was allergic to it.

I waved my hands trying to stop Clara from eating this dish, but now I was just a soul, and no one could see me.

I watched helplessly as Clara took a bite of the food containing minced celery.

Soon, allergy symptoms appeared and Clara couldn't breathe.

An ambulance rushed in the chaos.

In the hospital, after treatment, Clara woke up.

Steve looked at her with blame and anxiety, "Do you know you are allergic to celery? Why didn't you pay attention? You almost died."

Clara was stunned, with a strange look in her eyes.

How could she not remember what she was allergic to? It was just that she was used to being cared about.

In these five years, I had taken care of her in every detail. Every time we had dinner outside, I always reminded the waiters not to put celery as seasoning.

Gradually she had become accustomed to me considering everything for her in advance.

She said, "I have forgotten."

Steve lowered his eyes, hiding his expression, "It seems that he has taken good care of you, and I have neglected it."

Clara stared at the light above her head quietly.

Steve seemed dissatisfied, "Have you already fallen in love with him?"

I looked eagerly at Clara. I wanted to know the answer more than Steve did.

Her lips moved, but she ultimately didn't speak.

Steve became anxious, "Clara, if it weren't for them forcing me to leave you back then, we should have had a happy marriage. How could you fall in love with him?'

Listening to Steve's righteous nonsense, I angrily swung my fist at him, but it just passed through his body.

I slumped my arms and clenched my fists tightly. He was just a latecomer. Who gave him the right?

Clara turned to look at Steve, "I didn't. I just got used to him. It's as normal as having a pet for five years."

Steve bent down and hugged her.

Yes, Clara's love gave him the right.

I couldn't bear to watch anymore and walked to the farthest place from them.

They came back.

Clara returned to our little home.

"Why is it so dark?" She murmured.

Because I was already dead, there was no one to leave a little lamp for her anymore.

She searched everywhere in the condo but couldn't find a trace of me.

Impatiently, she took out her phone and wanted to call me.

It had been many days since we last contacted. She scrolled for a long time before finding our chat box.

Looking at the chat history still stuck on the last call, she was stunned. She seldom contacted me during business trips, but I would share a lot of information with her on my own.

But now she couldn't see a single message.

The light from the screen illuminated her face, making her expression look a bit gloomy.

She was about to send me a voice message, but a dialogue box popped up.

Steve asked her out for a meal.

She agreed, and then hurriedly left.

Our home returned to silence.

Steve was waiting for her downstairs. She saw him and ran over.

"Clara, you live in such a place. How did the Chambers family become so shabby?"

When we got married, Clara said she liked a cozy little home, so we chose a regular two-bedroom condo in the city center close to her company.

I personally designed the decoration of our home, pouring my longing for a home into it.

Clara looked at Steve with a complicated expression, "In college, you once said that small-sized houses feel more like home."

Steve hesitated for a moment and immediately said, "I'm sorry. It has been too long and I forgot. I just subconsciously thought you deserved better."

Clara's expression softened a bit.

But I felt a pang of heartache.

I thought that she wanted an ordinary and common little home. Actually it was their wish. I was just a clown.