Chapter 1

I stayed because of a single sentence from Seraphina after my mission was complete.

But three years into our marriage, her heart changed.

The system told me I was here *for* Seraphina.

The moment she no longer needed me, I would be forced to leave this world.

Later,

The system asked me how I wanted to die.

I said, "On the overpass where we first met."

What I never expected was that the person who hit me would be her, too.

The accident report,

Perhaps my last "gift" to her.

The day I found out Seraphina’s heart had changed was on the night of our third wedding anniversary.

I’d specially cooked her favorite Honey-Glazed Salmon with Roasted Asparagus.

It was then I learned that a table full of warm home-cooked dishes could turn stone cold in just three hours.

I waited from eight o’clock until eleven that night. All I got was a dismissive SnapChat reply from Seraphina.

“Something came up at the office. Won’t be home tonight.”

I only replied:

“What kind of thing?”

She sent a voice message back.

“You wouldn’t understand office stuff, so can you please stop acting like some clingy, jealous husband, always prying and asking questions?”

Her tone was irritable, full of impatience.

And a hint of entitlement.

She sounded like she had a point.

I’d promised to take care of the home after we married, and it probably made me seem out of touch with today’s society.

All I saw around me were the mundane trivialities of daily life.

Everyone envied me for being a kept man at such a young age.

My wife was beautiful, and she was willing to support us.

But they forgot that in the company’s early days, I was the one who helped Seraphina build it up, step by step.

I was the one who drank so much I got a stomach hemorrhage, and I was the one who ended up in the hospital.

It should have been a real power couple setup, a win-win for both of us. But because of one sentence from Seraphina, I willingly stepped back to be the man behind her success.

“My Ash, will you take care of me from now on? I don’t want a cold, empty house. You cook so well, will you cook for me for the rest of my life, please?”

Back then, our love was passionate. She clung to me, whispering sweet nothings.

She looked utterly devoted to me.

*Home* – what a beautiful word.

Because of that sentence, I chose to stay in this world and spend my life with my girl.

But she broke her promise.

Somewhere along the way, the "home" we talked about became a joke, just for me.

She started coming home late, and her attitude towards me worsened daily.

Sometimes, she even brought back the smell of another man’s cigarette smoke.

A woman's love, or lack thereof, is brutally obvious.

She no longer snuggled into my arms, sweetly calling me "My Ash."

She grew cold, speaking sharply, using my full name as if I were a servant, telling me to do this and that.

I wasn’t an idiot. I could clearly see her coldness.

But I refused to believe the woman who’d once promised to build a home with me would change her heart.

Then, the long-absent system voice in my head shattered my last illusion.