Ali’s tablet was connected to his phone. “But I went through Dad’s tablet after he died. I didn’t see anything weird or suspicious.”
“I deleted the whole text exchange after I read it. I even deleted the app from the tablet. I didn’t want you to see it.”
My throat ached at the thought of Ayla trying to protect me from a devastating revelation. “What did the texts say?”
“That he needed to see her immediately.” She sniffled. “How gross is that?”
“I can see why that would be upsetting. How did the woman respond?”
“She asked if it could wait, that she was busy, but he texted back that he needed to see her right away.” Disgust waved over her face. “She answered that she was staying at the Parkview and he could come there. I wanted to gag.”
“Did they arrange a time to meet?”
“Dad told her that he had a work thing and could come over after, at around eleven o’clock. That he’d text her when he was on the way.”
“Did you recognize the woman? I couldn’t see her face on the surveillance tape.” I wasn’t worried about another potential affair now that my faith in Ali was completely restored.
She shook her head. “No, I’d never seen her before. But you’re way prettier than she is.”
I impulsively hugged her for her staunch defense of me. “What about on the text chain? What was her name on Dad’s tablet?”
“No name. Just initials.”
“What were they?”
She blinked, another tear falling down her cheek. “LM.”
Lizzie Martins.The last person to talk to Ali before he died. And she’d never mentioned seeing Ali that night. Fury flared in my belly. What was she still hiding?
I squeezed Ayla’s hand. “It might not feel like it now, but everything is going to be OK. I promise.”
“No, it’s not. It’ll never be OK.” She started to sob. “It’s my fault that Dad’s dead.”
“What?” I froze. “No, it’s not!”
“I said horrible things to him, Mom,” she cried, her face swollen and red, “really horrible things. And now that woman says they never had an affair. That makes everything worse.”
I gave her a side hug. “He would understand. You know Dad.”
“I asked him if you knew he was meeting another woman late at night at a hotel.”
“And what did he say?”
“That you didn’t know but that it wasn’t what it looked like. He said he just needed to talk to the woman. I told him it was gross, what he was doing, and that I hated him. Then I ran out. He followed me into the lobby and told me that it wasn’t safe to drive when I was so upset. When I got to my car, I was crying so hard that I couldn’t see anything. I just sat there for a couple of minutes trying to calm down.”
I felt a wave of gratitude that one of Ali’s last acts was an attempt to protect our daughter. “Thank goodness that you did.”
“But then I saw Dad run out of the hotel and get into that loaner he was driving. I started my car right away to get away from him. I knew he was coming after me because I was upset.” Tears streamed down Ayla’s face, grief contorting her features to the extent that she was almost unrecognizable. “Dad died because of me. Because he was chasing after me. He was probably driving too fast and that’s what caused the accident.”
“Oh,habibti, no, it’s not your fault.” I hugged her hard, my heart breaking for all the months she’d secretly lived with misplaced guilt about her father’s death.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said between hiccupy sobs. “I’m so messed up. I can’t sleep; I can’t study.”
“I am not just saying that to cheer you up.” My voice was firm. “The police did not say that speed was a factor in the accident. And remember that Dad had Xanax in his system that might have caused him to fall asleep at the wheel. Youdid notdo this.”
“When I first heard that Dad had Xanax in his system, I was a little relieved. I thought maybe it wasn’t my fault that Dad crashed after all.”
“It wasn’t,” I reiterated.
