The Athenian household in Ikeja had never been large, but it had always been warm. Three bedrooms, a small living room, a kitchen where Sunday meals once filled the air with the smell of jollof rice and fried plantains. Now it felt cavernous, empty despite the three people who still lived there.
Adanna Athen, fifteen years old, sat on her bed with her phone in her hands. The screen glowed with the image of her father—not a recent photo, but one from years ago, before everything fell apart. He was holding her on his shoulders at a birthday party, both of them laughing at something she couldn't remember.
Three years since she'd seen that laugh in person.
Three years since her mother had packed their bags and explained that Daddy couldn't come with them.
Three years of carefully curated s
