Sitsofe has been told to rid their bedroom of his things. The healing process must start, the quicker the better. Her mothers tell her this, even though they don't know what it is to loose half of you. Kehinde's mother lost a son, not a husband. It's been a month since Kehinde said he would be back from work to make supper. He never showed. She is starved.

She takes deep breathes, begins to wipe Kehinde from a space that was once his. His clothes can wait. In a box, she puts his chargers, notebook and now a toothpick he refused to trash is a souvenir.

His habit of sliding his laptop under the bed every night comes to memory. She kneels by his side of the bed, a spot they once learnt each other bodies, making sounds and saying words their tongues didn't know. Reaching out, her fingers find the cold metal that is his laptop. She blinks rapidly.

Strong, Sitso, strong.

She wills herself.

She holds it in her arm like he would on nights she had to fight for his attention. His wallpaper is of them, on that trip to Lagos when their love was new, almost ten years ago.

At least, we had ten years

An unclosed tab.

His email.

A lot of unread mails.

She scrolls down to the day. 7th February. Seven days and she didn't have a valentine.

In bold letters: NASA CONGRATULATIONS 7 Feb

What could Kehinde possibly be winning from NASA

She clicks

CONGRATULATIONS on being recruited to be a part of our deep space exploration team

What is the meaning of all this?

Frantically skims through.

A sentence catches her eye.

A team will pick you up at 13hrs

Shook, she stands, letting the laptop fall from her lap to the ground.

She rushes to her drawer of documents and finds what she is looking for.

It reads:

KEHINDE OLUWETO

CAUSE OF DEATH: CARDIAC ARREST

TIME OF DEATH: 13H05