As Clara ate, a bit of soup splashed onto the corner of her lips.
I thought he would simply tell her. But instead, he reached out and gently wiped the stain from the corner of her mouth with his fingers.
Then what did that make me to him? I was his girlfriend, yet he treated Clara as if she were the one.
I clenched my fists tightly.
No wonder Shawn always frowned when I wore red dresses but smiled when I wore white ones.
It turned out—he was just searching for traces of Clara in me.
I put down the cutlery and looked at Shawn.
However, he didn’t notice anything—he was still carefully placing food onto Clara’s plate.
Who would have thought that this was the same man who once wiped his hands for half an hour after accidentally brushing against my fingers?
Turns out, his so-called aversion to physical contact only ever applied to me.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the thermometer.
At that moment, without looking at me, Shawn suddenly announced, "Clara just got back to the country. She’s alone, and I’m worried about her. So I won’t be coming home tonight to accompany her."
In the past, whenever Shawn spoke, I would obey without question.
But this time, I suddenly didn’t want to move.