After my husband threw me out of the house after our divorce, I took the old bank card my father had left behind and used it at a branch in the U.S., sending the whole bank lobby into a stir as the staff hurriedly called the manager over, and the words “Look at the name on this account!” revealed a family secret I had never known.

Ironically, all around her, the restaurant patios were coming alive. The aroma of barbecue ribs, fried catfish, and waffle cones floated in the air, making her stomach ache even more. People laughed. Young Black couples walked hand in hand.

Zelica felt like a ghost, invisible, non-existent.

She opened the wallet Quacy had thrown at her. Inside was about ten dollars in cash, not even enough for a night in a cheap motel on the outskirts.

She pulled out her phone. Battery at 5%.

She rushed to open the mobile banking app for their joint account. Balance: zero.

Quacy had cleaned her out, draining every dollar they had together, which also included the savings Zelica had before getting married.

A cold, heavy despair wrapped around her. It was over. She was truly at rock bottom. She would be homeless tonight.

Tears fell without making a sound.

She looked down at the contents of her wallet again. Behind the card slot was a faded photo, a picture of her father. Her father, Tendai Okafor, a simple tobacco farmer and merchant who died ten years ago just before Zelica married Quacy.