Bella was still on the phone with him when she lit the last candle.
'You're late,' she said, smiling at nothing in particular.
'Traffic is mad, babe.' Bryan's voice came warm through the speaker. 'You miss me already?'
'I always miss you.'
She was stretched out on the couch, robe loose around her shoulders, one leg dangling off the cushion, when the knock came. She padded to the door, still holding the phone to her ear — and there he was on the other side. Bryan. Flowers in one hand, gift bag in the other, grinning.
She jumped into his arms.
They kissed. He gave her the flowers and she smelt them, then peered into the bag with wide eyes. 'How did I get so lucky with you?'
He kissed her again and asked to use the bathroom. She pointed the way, told him not to be long — dinner was almost ready. He dropped his bag on the floor and set his phone on the couch.
'This dinner or that dinner?' he asked, already walking away.
'Only one way to find out.'
She watched him go, still smiling. She picked up her phone and found a voice note from Zika waiting.
'Bella, I don't trust that your man. He's too good to be true. He's a Lagos boy and Lagos boys always have one trick or another up their sleeves...'
Bella laughed quietly and pressed record.
'Zika, trust me, Bryan is not like those disgusting Lagos boys. He's different. You need to see how he pampers me, how he showers me with gifts. Girl, I swear this man is heaven-sent.' She glanced at his phone sitting face-up on the couch, unguarded, unbothered. 'Look — he even left his phone here. Like he has nothing to hide. Zika, I think I'm actually fall—'
Bryan's phone buzzed.
She lowered hers.
It buzzed again. Then it rang. The caller ID filled the screen:
MY WORLD.
A woman's face smiled up from the profile photo.
Bella stood over the phone and watched it ring without touching it. Then she looked at Bryan's bag on the floor. She told herself she was only looking. Inside: folded clothes, neatly packed. And underneath — a small photo frame.
The same woman. A child beside her. On the back, in soft handwriting: Hey baby, come home soon. Love, your world.
Bella held the photo. Her breathing came in shallow pulls. God, please. Let this not be what I'm thinking.
The bathroom door opened.
Bryan walked out, unhurried. He looked up and saw her — saw the photo in her hands, the ringing phone pointed towards him — and something moved across his face. Not guilt. Something more like the mild displeasure of a man whose evening had been interrupted.
'Who are they?' Bella's voice was barely audible. 'Who is she?'
'Oh.' He nodded slowly. 'That's my wife and child.'
The word wife landed like a flat, heavy thing.
'You're married.'
'Yeah.' A small pause. 'Beautiful daughter, too.'
'I've been with you for a month.' Her voice was rising now, climbing past the place where she could control it. 'How could you not say something? How?'
He looked at her for a moment. Then he shrugged — a single, easy roll of the shoulders.
'But you didn't ask.'
Bella's mouth opened. No words came.
'Come on.' His voice dropped, turned gentle, almost tender. 'Stop embarrassing yourself. This is Lagos. You need to ask questions.' He stepped closer. 'You know things don't have to end this way. You're fire and we both know it. You're amazing, Bella.' His eyes moved over her — the candles, the music, the dinner still warming on the stove. 'This wasn't supposed to get complicated.'
She looked at him and said nothing.
He picked up his phone from the couch. He picked up the flowers she had just been smelling, the gift bag she had just been grateful for, the photo she was still holding — gently sliding it from her fingers. He picked up his bag from the floor. He walked to the door with the easy, unhurried step of a man who had somewhere better to be.
The door opened.
The door closed.
The voice note was still unfinished on her phone. She had never pressed send. She pressed play instead, and her own voice filled the quiet room.
'...I think I'm actually falling.'
The candles burnt. The music played. Somewhere in the kitchen, dinner finished cooking.
And Bella stood in the middle of the room she had made beautiful for him, tears sliding silently down her face — holding nothing.