I'd Like My Heart Back, Please

I was Sebastian Aster's girlfriend for three years.

He gave me a Beacon Hill brownstone, a black Amex, and a Tiffany pendant the color of pigeon's blood — and never once touched me.

Everyone said I was the stand-in for his ghost.

The ghost was my twin sister, Annabel Thorne.

The day she flew home from Geneva, Sebastian didn't come back to the brownstone all night.

The next morning, he slid a wire-transfer slip across his desk.

"Sloane. Annabel's home. You should go."

I smiled and took it.

Two nights later, at his and Annabel's engagement gala, I handed him my own end-stage cardiomyopathy letter.

In front of half of Boston I lifted a microphone and said:

"Mr. Aster. Thank you for taking such good care of my sister these past three years."

"I'm dying now. I'd like my heart back, please."

"Oh — I forgot to mention."

"The person you love has always been me. The one who carried you out of that fire three years ago — that was me, too."