Chapter 1

I've been able to see ghosts since I was a child. I can't speak to them, only watch.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, I prepared a whole table of food and waited for my husband Ethan to come home. When I looked up, I saw his ghost.

He was curled up in the corner of the living room, his face deathly pale and gray, staring at me intently.

I felt like I'd fallen into an ice pit. Trembling, I reached for my phone, wanting to call him.

Before I could dial, the door opened.

Ethan walked in and hugged me gently like always. "Sorry, honey. I got held up at work."

He held me in his arms. I heard his familiar heartbeat in my ear, warm and strong.

I closed my eyes and told myself: he's alive. But when I opened them again, the spirit in the corner was still there.

My heart sank bit by bit.

If Ethan was already dead, then who was this person wearing his face and embracing me?

I stared hard at Ethan's face.

I'd been looking at that face for twenty years.

From childhood until we got married, he'd been by my side every single day.

Now, I was watching with my own eyes as a ghost with his exact face curled up in the corner.

My whole body trembled. For a long time, I couldn't make a sound.

"Emma, what's wrong?" He walked over and placed his hand on my forehead. "Why are you sweating so much? Do you have a fever?"

His eyes were full of concern, his warm palm pressed against my forehead.

I startled and stumbled back a step. The movement was too sudden and knocked over the glass on the table.

"Crash!"

Water spilled everywhere. He froze, his hand suspended in mid-air, looking at me helplessly with a trace of hurt in his eyes.

"Emma? What's wrong?"

I forcibly suppressed the panic in my heart.

If the ghost in the corner was the real him, then who was this person in front of me?

I absolutely couldn't tip my hand.

I took a deep breath and forced out a smile.

"Nothing," I said, trying to sound casual. "Come eat. The food's getting cold."

I sat down and picked up a piece of pork rib with my fork.

He ladled me a bowl of soup and took out a bottle of red wine from the cabinet. "I came home late today. Let me apologize first."

I looked at the dark red liquid in the glass and spoke as casually as I could:

"Do you remember that time we snuck liquor?" I stared at his face.

He paused for a moment, then smiled. "How could I forget? That day you insisted on trying it. I couldn't stop you. You got blackout drunk after two glasses."

"And then?" My hand holding the fork trembled slightly.

"Then you threw up all over me. I took you home, and your mom smelled the alcohol and thought I'd forced you to drink. She chewed me out." He shook his head. "I didn't dare say you wanted to drink it yourself. I just took it."

My heart tightened. Only the two of us knew about this.

"What were you wearing that day?" I pressed on.

"A white shirt. You threw up all over it. It took forever to wash clean." He smiled and ruffled my hair. "Why are you suddenly asking about this?"

I lowered my eyes without answering. He even remembered this detail.

I glanced at the ghost in the corner. He was still staring at me. My heart lifted again.

No, this wasn't enough.

I cleared my throat and looked back at him, speaking with slight embarrassment. "Today... Mom called and said she's craving the beef stew I make."

He picked up a piece of pork rib for me. "Okay, I'll make it tomorrow and take it to her."

"You'll make it?" I looked up at him.

He laughed. "Haven't I always been the one who makes it? Back then you tried to learn how to make that dish and nearly set the kitchen on fire. I ended up learning it instead. I burned several blisters on my hands."

"The first time I made it, you used salt instead of sugar. After you tasted it, your whole face scrunched up, but you still stubbornly said it was good. I thought to myself, this wife of mine is really cute."

"You even lied to my mom and said you made it," he shook his head. "Then my mom bragged about your cooking to the neighbors. I didn't dare expose you."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it." He patted the back of my hand.

I said nothing more. All the details matched up perfectly, but the ghost was still there.

Could my eyes really be playing tricks on me?

Impossible. I'd been able to see ghosts since childhood. I'd never been wrong about this before.

After dinner, he put on an apron and went into the kitchen.

I followed and leaned against the doorframe, observing him carefully.

His movements handling the ingredients, his technique applying the seasonings, even his posture when sprinkling salt---everything was exactly the same as years ago.

The familiar aroma drifted from the kitchen.

He turned back and smiled at me. "Go sit down. It'll be ready soon."

I didn't move.

When the food was served, I tasted a bite. The flavor was identical.

"Is it good?" He leaned over, his eyes bright as he looked at me.

I nodded. "Yeah, same taste as always."

He smiled and packed the beef into containers to put in the fridge.

Then he took my hand. "Alright, it's been a long day. Let's go rest."

I leaned into his embrace. His body temperature came through his clothes, his steady breathing brushing against my ear.

"Okay."

I closed my eyes. Whether you're human or ghost, I will find out the truth.