The nurse was just about to say that the only person who died in the crash was Edward—me.

But before she could, Clara cut her off. "I don't care who died in that crash. It's none of my business."

The nurse glanced at Clara's cold expression, swallowing her words.

The meeting ended, and not long after, Clara got a call from Julian.

He suggested they go out for dinner after she finished work, and Clara agreed.

I didn't want to follow her, didn't want to see them together.

But I had no choice. My soul couldn't stray too far from Clara, no matter how much I wanted to escape.

After work, they went to a nice restaurant.

When they got home, Clara clutched her stomach, sinking into a chair.

Concern filled Julian's voice. "What's wrong?"

Clara shook her head. "I've probably just been eating too much takeout lately. My stomach issues are acting up again."

Clara had a sensitive stomach. Anything too spicy or greasy, and she'd be in pain for hours.

For years, I'd cooked for her, making sure every meal fit her appetite.

It had taken a long time, but I'd finally gotten her stomach issues under control.

But in the last month, with Julian, it was all takeout and restaurant meals. She wasn't careful about what she ate anymore, and now, her stomach was paying the price.

6

"What should I do?"

Julian had no idea how to take care of her. He was great with sweet words and charm, but beyond that, he was useless.

Clara pointed toward the cabinet near the coffee table. "Check over there. Edward used to keep my stomach meds in that drawer."

Julian nodded and shuffled over to the cabinet, rummaging around until he finally found the bottle.

But the pills had expired.

With no other choice, Clara reluctantly unblocked me from her social media and sent a message.

Clara: My meds have expired.

She waited, but when there was no reply, she sent another, her patience wearing thin.

Clara: My stomach really hurts. Where did you keep the rest of the meds?

Still nothing.

Frustrated, Clara threw her phone down.

Julian, seeing her pain, suddenly got an idea. "Hold on. I'll go buy you meds."

He rushed out the door and returned with an armful of over-the-counter meds.

Clara, clearly touched, smiled up at him. "Thank you, Julian."

Julian shook his head, playing the hero. "It's the least I could do."

Watching Clara's gratitude, I couldn't help but feel bitter.

I had done so much for her, more than she ever knew, and it never seemed to matter.

But Julian? He bought a few meds, and suddenly, she was overflowing with gratitude.

Clara took the meds Julian bought and quickly fell asleep.

But it didn't last. In the middle of the night, she woke up again, clutching her stomach in agony. Her phone buzzed. It was a reply from "me."

Edward: You deserve this.

I didn't know who was impersonating me, but I had to admit—at that moment, the words fit my mood perfectly.

Clara's brows furrowed into a tight line. She thought about replying but was in too much pain to even type.

Instead, she nudged Julian, who was sleeping beside her. "Julian... my stomach hurts..."

"Just sleep it off," he mumbled, half-asleep. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Clara nudged him again, desperate for some comfort. This time, Julian pushed her hand away, annoyed. "Quit bothering me."

Clara froze, clearly stunned by his sudden irritation. She couldn't believe that the man she loved so much, the one she'd left everything for, was brushing her off so coldly.

When the pain became unbearable, Clara had no choice but to drag herself to the hospital. Alone.

She managed to check herself in, see a doctor, and get a prescription—all without help.

Sitting in the hospital hallway afterward, exhausted and drained, Clara pulled out her phone again.

She sent a message to "me."

Clara: I need more time to think about the divorce.

Clara: Edward, can we meet? Let's talk this over.

But after a long pause, she still couldn't bring herself to send it.

Was she starting to regret everything?

Too bad it was far too late. I was already dead.

7

Three days later...

Clara showed up at city hall early in the morning.

She was determined to settle things, just like we'd supposedly agreed.

She waited from morning until night, but I never showed up.

Frustrated, she tried calling me. The phone rang twice before the call was abruptly cut off.

She tried again, this time with a video call. Same result. Two rings, and then nothing.

With no other option, Clara sent me a message.

Clara: Weren't we supposed to meet at city hall? Where are you? I can't see you.

The reply came quickly.

Edward: I told you, three million, or no deal. Half a million isn't going to cut it. You think you can just buy me off with that?

The greed in the message was glaring, so obvious that the person behind it forgot one important thing—how to mimic me properly.

I always ended my sentences with an ellipsis.

But this time, they forgot.

Clara finally sensed something was off.

She sent three question marks and then followed up with another text.

Clara: Are you really Edward? You don't sound like him.

After that, there was no response.

A flicker of panic crossed Clara's face. She whispered to herself, "No... this can't be happening. Edward wouldn't disappear. Someone must've hacked his account..."

That night, Clara went straight to the police station.

She reported that someone had hacked my social media account and scammed her out of half a million dollars.

The police immediately locked down my account.

With that done, Clara headed home.

Julian was there waiting, eager to know where she'd been.

Clara explained everything, her voice trembling with frustration. Julian tried to comfort her.

"Don't worry, Clara. They'll get your money back. But do you really believe it was a hack? What if Edward's just faking it, trying to scam you?"

Clara's eyes narrowed. "I didn't know Edward well, even after all these years of marriage. But the only thing I can be sure of is—he wouldn't go that far. He'd never scam me."

"Alright, if you say so." Julian scratched his nose, looking nervous.

I had studied psychology for a while.

When someone was nervous or lying, they tended to touch their face, especially their nose.

My instincts were screaming that Julian was hiding something.

"Oh, by the way," Julian said, quickly changing the subject.

"The other night, when you weren't feeling well, I shouldn't have been so short with you. I'm just anxious about Edward dragging out the divorce. I've been in a bad mood. I'm sorry if I took it out on you. Please forgive me, okay?"

Julian rested his chin on Clara's shoulder, his voice low and apologetic.

Clara softened instantly, her annoyance melting away. She gave a small laugh. "Alright, alright. I forgive you this time. But no more being mean to me, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Julian raised his hand in a mock salute, which made Clara laugh even harder.

Watching them, I felt a deep, twisted sense of irony.

"One day, Clara, you'll realize that I was the one who died in that crash. Will you still be laughing then?"

After their little moment, Julian suggested hiring a maid.

"Someone to help with your stomach issues, and, let's be honest, to keep the place tidy."

Clara agreed.

It didn't take long for Julian to find someone—a young, attractive woman.

Clara wasn't thrilled about the maid's looks, doubting whether she was really cut out for the job. But Julian reassured her, promising that everything would be fine, and eventually, Clara gave in. The maid was hired.

8

The next day...

The sky was bright and clear.

On her way to work, Clara ran into the neighbor from next door.

"Where's your husband?" the neighbor asked. "He used to drive you to work, didn't he? Now that come to think of it, I haven't seen him in over three months—not since that day he drove out in a hurry."

The neighbor's words jolted Clara. She realized it had indeed been over three months since she'd last seen me.

Even if I had gone on a trip, I should have come home at some point to grab clothes. But I hadn't—not once.

Everything in the house was still in its place. Only I was missing.

After the neighbor left, Clara quickly pulled out her phone and called my best friend.

"Hey, have you seen Edward recently?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of anxiety.

My friend sounded just as confused. "I was going to ask you the same thing. It's been three months since I last saw him. Where has he been?"

Clara didn't know how to respond. Her grip on the phone tightened, her unease growing.

"Maybe he went to visit his grandpa?" my friend suggested.

Clara suddenly remembered—there was one person I still had in my life: my grandfather, who lived in my hometown, Riverton.

My parents had both passed away shortly after Clara and I got married. Apart from Clara, my grandfather was the only family I had left.

Clara bought a train ticket to Riverton.

When she arrived, she found my elderly grandfather, but no sign of me anywhere.

As Clara was preparing to leave, the police contacted her.

They had traced the IP address used to log into my social media account. The location? My and Clara's home.

"That's impossible," Clara said, disbelief etched across her face.

I felt the same disbelief.

But I quickly came to a chilling conclusion.

If someone had been using my account and their location was traced to our home... that person could only be Julian.