Chapter 1

Three years after my death, my music mogul husband, Andrew Scott, filed a lawsuit against my estate.

His claim was absurd. He said the bone marrow I donated to his starlet, Molly Clarkson, was failing, causing a relapse of her leukemia. He' d sent legal threats, but of course, received no response.

I' m a ghost, after all. My spirit is tethered to him, unable to move on because a piece of me, my marrow, still lives inside his lover.

To force me out of what he thought was hiding, he held a press conference. It was a theatrical performance, him standing at a podium, his face a mask of pained generosity. He announced he was signing over the master recordings of my entire unreleased song catalog to Molly.

"A gift," he called it, "to support her during this difficult time."

The press ate it up. My songs, my soul, handed over to the woman who was a part of the reason I was dead.

When that stunt didn't work, his patience finally snapped. He drove his sleek, black Mercedes to my family' s modest home in a working-class Nashville suburb. The car looked like a spaceship that had landed on the wrong planet.

A neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was watering her petunias. She eyed his luxury car with suspicion.

"You lookin' for Gabby?" she asked, her voice raspy from years of smoking. "Haven' t seen her since her dad' s funeral. That was years ago."

Andrew ignored her. He stormed up the porch steps, the wood groaning under his weight, and pounded on the door. The whole frame shook.

My younger sister, Stella, a fiery college student who worshipped me, opened it. Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits.

"Andrew Scott?" she said, her voice dripping with venom. "Don' t you know my sister' s been dead for two years?"