Beep-beep. A red light flashed. Access Denied.

I frowned, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple. I tapped it again, harder this time. Beep-beep.

“Strange,” I murmured, the first thread of unease tightening in my stomach. “Maybe the magnetic strip is worn.”

I rang the doorbell. Silence stretched for a moment, thick and heavy. Then, the soft click of the lock turning from the inside.

The heavy door swung open. There stood Kwesi, my husband. But he wasn’t the Kwesi I knew—the man who usually greeted me with a warm hug and questions about my mother. His eyes were glacial. He wore a silk robe I didn’t recognize, and on his neck, glowing like a beacon under the hallway lights, was a fresh mark of bright red lipstick.