I am imprisoned. The fiancé of my heart donor locked me up, saying that this heart belongs to him and that I must live in his dead fiancée’s stead… By “live in his dead fiancée’s stead” he means me to act like her, talk like her, dress like her, and think like her, as if I am just a manipulatable doll, a soulless shell, a vessel for another woman’s heart. You may think the heart throbbing in my chest is yours, but my true heart is never yours!