The Shape of a Missing Heart

To save his childhood sweetheart, who had a congenital heart condition, my husband tricked me into signing an organ donation agreement. Then he got into a truck and ran me over right in front of the hospital.

Barely clinging to life, Elliot Carter tore my heart from my chest.

When my body was wheeled out of the operating room, Alan Yates came crashing to my side like a man gone mad.

Seeing the gaping hole where my heart used to be, he screamed and wept:

"I'm sorry… I was too late… If there's another life, I'll never let you suffer like this again…"

Tears fell exactly where my heart had been, and somehow, I even felt a flicker of warmth.

He spun around and ran back into the operating room. When he came out again, Elliot and Jessica Foster were lying in a pool of blood.

Alan, meanwhile, had slashed his own wrist to die with me. On his deathbed, he ordered that we be buried together.

Then I opened my eyes. I had been reborn.

Before me stood Elliot, dressed in a wedding gown, holding a bouquet, and proposing. I flung the flowers in his face and turned to embrace Alan in the crowd.

However, only a year and a half into our marriage, he changed.

Alan began openly pairing up with Jessica, letting her move into our home. Worse, he claimed that our cat's mating season had disturbed Jessica's sleep, and so he allowed her to run over the cat I had raised for seven years.

I could not believe it. This was not the man who had loved me so deeply in my previous life. My eyes blazing, I demanded, "What's wrong with you?"

However, Alan's gaze was icy.

"Nothing. I just don't love you anymore."

I had just finished burying my cat, and on the way home, I swung by the print store to make two copies of the divorce papers.

No sooner had I walked through the door than the nanny was at my side, whispering, "Mrs. Yates, Mr. Yates has been slaving away in the kitchen all morning. Looks like he's gearing up to make amends. He still cares deeply for you."

All I managed was a forced, icy smile as I clutched the divorce papers and headed for the kitchen.

Alan Yates was there, tidying up the aftermath of his cooking spree. The kitchen looked like a culinary warzone.

He paused when he saw me, apron in hand, and said, "I'll go change. Could you finish packing this up? Help yourself to whatever's on the table. We'll take the meal to Jessica together in a bit."

All the fuss was for Jessica Foster's sake.

Typical Alan, never the type to whip up an apology meal for me.

I blocked his path as he tried to breeze past, divorce papers in hand. "Sign this."

He glanced at me, annoyance creasing his brow, and scribbled his signature on the last page.

He shoved the papers