Marcus called that evening.
I was sitting on Sade's couch with a bowl of rice I had made from whatever she had in her kitchen and a television programme playing that I was not really watching. When his name came up on my screen I turned the volume down and answered.
"Where are you staying," he said.
"Why," I said.
"Because I went to check on you and you were not home." A pause. "Our home. The house."
I noticed he corrected himself. Like he was already aware that the word home meant something different now.
"I am with a friend," I said.
"Sade's place," he said.
It was not a question. Of course he knew. Three years of marriage meant he knew my habits and my people. I did not bother confirming it.
"What do you want Marcus," I said.
He was quiet for a moment. I could hear him breathi
