I never bothered to call him. What would I have to say to him over the phone, anyway? “Do you miss me, honey? Or do you miss our son Ayomah?” I just knew he would be coming to see Ayomah off. He was going abroad. I needed to see him face-to-face anyway, look him in the eyes to see if I see any remorse, any signs of regret or shame. The doorbell is ringing. Ayomah is on the phone. Before I even ask him to know who is on the line, I open the door. Mr. Ambrose Alhassan, alias Mr. AA, is trying to embrace me.