Three years after I died, my husband came asking for my kidney again. He showed up at my old apartment with the donation papers. The unit had new tenants. Desperate, he tracked down the landlord. "Ivy? She's dead. Died months ago. Something about a kidney transplant, couldn't afford the anti-rejection meds. Infection took her," the landlord told him. My husband didn't believe it. He decided the landlord and I were running a con. His brows snapped together. "Cut the bullshit. It's one kidney. Who the fuck dies from donating a kidney?" He squared his shoulders and turned to leave. His expensive Derby shoes hammered the floorboards, grinding his fury into the wood. The landlord watched him go and sighed. "The girl's ashes are still at the funeral home. Her father hasn't claimed them." *** I drifted in the air. I watched Ashford Lynch shove through the apartment building door, jaw tight, each step meant to crush the floor beneath him. Three years. He still looked infuriatingly good. The cruelty around his mouth had only sharpened. "Ivy Shaw. I went to her unit. The new people said she moved." Ashford was still fuming about the two new tenants who'd slammed the door in his face. He grabbed the landlord on his way out. The questions came like an indictment, like he was pouring every grievance he'd ever had onto this one old man. "Where is Ivy Shaw living now? Don't tell me you don't know." The landlord was pushing seventy. The brute force of Ashford's demand rattled him. He frowned. "Ivy Shaw? She…" "Spit it out," Ashford said, his voice a blade. "I have urgent business with her." "Your business doesn't matter," the landlord said, his voice flat. "Ivy's dead. Something about a kidney transplant, couldn't afford the anti-rejection meds afterward. A full-body infection took her." "Wha… what? Dead?" Ashford's face went rigid. The words didn't land. But only for a moment. He rebuilt his sneer in seconds. "You two cooked this up together," he said, pulling out his phone and stabbing at a voice message. "Let me play you something." Whitney Vance's voice spilled out. Soft. Calculated. Caring. "Ash, I spoke with the lead surgeon. The procedure went beautifully. Ivy moved to a regular room the next day. I know she's always had issues with me… but I really hoped this time, for the sake of how far back we go, she wouldn't disappear on you again. I'm just… scared. Terrified something might still go wrong." Ashford finished listening. He shoved the screen in the landlord's face. "You hear that? The doctors at Johns Hopkins said she was fine. You think this fairy tale is funny?" "Why would I lie?" The landlord's face went pale. "Ivy is definitely…" "Shut up," Ashford cut him off. "Ivy Shaw is a selfish, crazy bitch. Not only does she let people die, she hires actors to sell the lie. Whitney needs her kidney. What right does she have to hide?" "Young man, what is wrong with you?" the landlord said, his patience snapping. "The woman is dead. Stop making a scene." Ashford wasn't listening. His mind was a locked room with Whitney inside it. "Tell her this. If I don't see her at NewYork-Presbyterian tomorrow, she'll never see another dime of child support for that little brat." He turned and walked. His Maison Margiela boots cracked against the floor like he wanted to split the boards with his rage. The landlord watched his back disappear. He shook his head. His voice dropped to a murmur. "The girl's ashes are still at the funeral home. Her father hasn't claimed them." *** I floated in the hallway. The words hit me like the cold of the morgue, seeping through my transparent body. I saw the little blanket I'd knitted for Luna, sitting alone on a nameless shelf, covered in dust. Luna. My daughter. She died without her mother ever looking back at her. Ashford was outside now. He pulled out his phone and dialed Whitney. His voice went soft in an instant. "Whit, don't worry. I'll make Ivy donate that kidney. If she tries to hide, I'll make sure she never sees that little thing again." On the other end, Whitney coughed weakly. Her voice dripped with false concern. "Ash, don't be too hard on her… she is still your wife. On paper, at least." Ashford laughed. "Wife? She wishes. If your family hadn't moved to the West Coast, do you think I ever would've married a venomous woman like her?" I floated behind him, listening. My soul shuddered. So that's what I was to him. I didn't even deserve the word wife.
"Mommy…" A small voice pulled me from the ache. I looked down. Luna was floating beside me. Her tiny hand tugged at the edge of my shirt. She tilted her face up. Her big eyes were full of confusion. "Why does Daddy call me 'that little thing'? Does he not like me?" My chest seized. I shook my head. "No. Of course Daddy likes you." "Then why has Daddy never come to the preschool picnic?" Luna's lip quivered. Her voice shrank. "All the other kids have their daddies there…" My throat closed. I couldn't speak. The memories rushed in. Ashford and I did love each other once. Real love. We met in college, at an entrepreneurship competition. Like something scripted. Instant. Irreversible. The dating. The wedding. It all felt inevitable. I still remember the first pregnancy test. My hands were shaking around that plastic stick. I threw myself into his arms. Shy. Electric. "Ash, we're going to be parents." He held me so tight. He whispered in my ear about his deepest childhood scar. Being abandoned by his father. He swore he would be the best father in the world. He would never abandon anyone. I believed him. I thought I had found the love of my life. I was four months pregnant when Whitney came back from the London School of Economics. Back to New York. He got the call and dropped his glass of Jack Daniel's on the floor. He was that excited. I'd heard the name before, here and there. I told myself it was the past. He'd chosen me. He'd married me. He would know where the line was. He would protect our family. I was wrong. After that call, he went cold. He started finding excuses to leave. Then he just started leaving. Early mornings. Late nights. Then no nights at all. The worst moment came when he booked me an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. He wanted me to get rid of the baby. That killed whatever was left. The man I loved was dead. But the child inside me was innocent. I could lose my husband. I would not lose my child. That baby was mine. Nobody would take her from me. "I'm having this baby. You can leave. But you will never make me sign those papers." He backed down. Not out of love. I threatened to tell his father. Ashford's greatest terror in life was becoming the man who raised him. After that, he always smelled like someone else's perfume. Seven months in, a car hit me. Luna came early. She lay in the NICU, so tiny, so fragile, like a little kitten. He never came. Whitney had him trapped. He didn't visit once. She told him the baby didn't make it. She lied. He believed her. He even looked relieved. I will never forget the words he said. "That's probably for the best. Whitney doesn't like kids. We can start over." That was the moment. The final freeze. I took Luna home in secret. I decided he would never know the truth. I was terrified that his idea of love would lead him to hurt my child. But fate is cruel. Luna was eighteen months old when Ashford ran into us at Bloomingdale's. He froze in place. His face went white. He charged at me with no facts, just fury. "Ivy Shaw, whose kid is that? You've been seeing someone else?" I begged him to understand she was our daughter. He refused to listen. Whitney was there, fanning the flames. "Ash, her eyes look nothing like yours. How could she possibly be yours?" From that day on, he called Luna "that little thing." I showed him the birth certificate. He said it was proof I'd cheated. "Mommy?" Luna's voice pulled me back. She tilted her head. "Why are you crying?" I realized my soul was shaking. Ghosts can still feel heartache. Good to know. I crouched to hold her. My arms closed around nothing. "Luna, Daddy doesn't dislike you. He just… forgot." "Then let's go tell him." Luna's eyes went bright. "We'll tell him I'm his daughter. He'll remember." I looked at her face, so full of hope. My chest burned with words I couldn't say. Ashford's phone rang. Whitney's weak voice spilled from the speaker. "Ash, my creatinine is over 600. The doctor says I need the surgery by tomorrow." Ashford gripped the phone. His eyes went hard. "Don't worry. I'll turn this whole city upside down. I will find Ivy Shaw." I floated there, watching them. Father and daughter. One full of hope. One full of hate. A force grabbed me. Invisible. Magnetic. It pulled me after Ashford's car. My soul was still tethered to this cruel man. No escape yet.
I followed Ashford to the hospital. My transparent body passed through the walls. I hovered by the door. Whitney lay in the bed. Her face was paper-white. She saw him walk in. Her hand lifted, fragile. "Ash…" Tears fell from his eyes instantly. He threw himself to the bedside and gripped her hand. "Whit, don't be scared. I will save you." I floated near the ceiling, watching. The heat from the ICU vents passed right through me. I felt nothing. Last time he demanded my kidney, it was the same scene. Whitney in the bed, playing fragile. Him drowning in pity. I was in the next room, my body screaming from the surgery. He didn't even glance at my door. Love and its absence. Impossible to hide. "Ash, about the kidney…" Whitney's voice was soft. Her eyes were full of expectation. His face twitched. His gaze slid away. "I… I haven't found her yet." She understood immediately. She gave a bitter little smile and arranged her face into something generous. "Maybe we should stop. She hates me for taking you away. I understand why she wouldn't want to save me. This life with you has been enough. I just hope we find each other sooner in the next one." Ashford shattered at her words. He gripped the sheets. "I won't let you die. I'll tear apart all of Manhattan. I will find her. And if I can't, I'll find someone else." He wiped his face. He walked out without looking back. I followed him out of the hospital. He drove straight to the children's hospital. The one where Luna spent her life. He stormed into the inpatient wing. He shoved his phone at the front desk nurse. An old photo of Luna. He forced his voice calm. "My daughter. Luna Lynch. What room is she in?" The nurse checked the computer. Her face changed. "Sir… Luna Lynch… she passed away three years ago." "Don't waste my time. Take me to her." He slammed the desk. The nurse jumped back. "Sir, the child did pass away three years ago. Her medical records state…" "Bullshit." That word was a trigger. Ashford exploded. He swept a rack of patient files off the counter. They crashed to the floor. "You're all in on it with Ivy Shaw. She's alive. Last time she…" His voice died. He couldn't pinpoint when "last time" was. Security rushed in. They grabbed him. Dragged him toward the door. Ashford struggled, wild, screaming. "Liars. All of you. Give me my daughter. I need her to make Ivy Shaw give up her kidney." They threw him out the front doors. He landed on the steps, a mess. I floated behind him. His carefully styled hair was a wreck. His custom suit was covered in grime. The irony was suffocating. He had no idea his wife was dead. He didn't even care that his own child was gone. There was only one person in his world. Whitney. He cursed under his breath. Then an idea hit him. He grabbed his phone. "O'Brien. I'm suing NewYork-Presbyterian. They're colluding with Ivy Shaw." The voice on the other end tried to soothe him. Ashford just got louder. "I'm not crazy. My daughter is alive. Ivy paid off the hospital." I floated in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot. The tragedy of it was almost funny. He still didn't know that the "little thing" he kept cursing was his own flesh and blood. He hung up. He wobbled to his feet. His mouth kept moving. "It's fine. I have other options. Whitney needs the kidney. Ivy will show herself." A smile cracked his face. Wrong. Unhinged. "Yes. She cares so much about that kid. I'll just use the kid as leverage." I watched his unraveling. And I understood. In his eyes, me and Luna would never matter. Not compared to Whitney. Not ever.
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