I walked through the front door of our apartment in Lagos feeling like my skin was too tight. Six months. Six long months since Roman left us that night in the hotel room, since the shouting, the slammed doors, and the cold silence that followed. 

Lena and I hadn’t touched each other since. Not once. My body remembered every second of what I had lost, and tonight it was screaming for release.

Lena was waiting in the living room, her legs crossed on the leather couch, wearing that short silk robe I loved, the one that barely covered her thighs. She looked up from her phone, her eyes bright with...