The table was set for three.

Sera had cooked because that was what she did. Jollof rice, fried plantain, grilled chicken. Conrad's favorites. She had stood in that kitchen for two hours making his favorites and she wasn't sure why. Habit maybe. Or the specific exhaustion of a woman who had been pretending so long she had forgotten how to stop.

Zaid arrived at six with a bag over his shoulder and a bottle of wine he handed to Sera at the door. Their eyes met briefly. Then they both looked away.

"Good to have you home," Conrad said, clapping him on the shoulder, pulling him into a hug like...