Inaya’s eyes swept over me, lingering on my travel-worn clothes, my tired face, my cheap suitcase. Her lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts pity and malice. “Oh,” she said. “It’s not a solicitor. Turns out it’s the ex-wife.”

“Ex-wife?” I whispered. The words felt like shards of glass in my throat. “Kwesi, what is this? Why is she wearing my clothes?”

Kwesi sighed, a sound of profound irritation. “Listen, Zalika, this is over. Better we talk downstairs. Don’t make a scene here.”

He stepped out, closing the door behind him, sealing my life away with a soft thud.