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Two years after I died, my husband, Asher Whitfield, came knocking again, demanding I make it up to his beloved one, Elodie Fairbanks, by giving her a kidney. "Celeste, get out of here. "If you hadn't pretended to be Elodie, would we have spent all those years apart? Now all I'm asking is for you to donate an organ to make up for what you did. What right do you have to keep making excuses?" Asher banged on the door so loudly that it caught our neighbor Margot's attention. He was about to ask where I was when Margot spoke up. "Stop knocking. Celeste is already dead. She had a massive hemorrhage after donating her liver last time and didn't make it more than two days after surgery." Asher was in disbelief, but quickly decided I'd colluded with Margot to trick him. Frowning, he scoffed, "She only donated a liver. Now she's faking death to avoid me? Tell her she has three days to show up. Otherwise, I'll cut off her parents' money and leave them to fend for themselves." With that, Asher stormed off. Margot watched his retreating back and shook her head helplessly. "But her parents never recovered from losing their child and passed away ages ago, too."