We watched the valet bring our car around. “Luckily, it’s a moot point because neither of us is a cheater.”
“I know.” I smiled, feeling a rush of love and gratitude to be in a secure marriage. “Thank God.”
After he tipped the valet and we were in the car, Ali looked at me with that smug expression that I knew so well. “Now let’s get home and keep it moving in the bedroom, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Now
The kids noticed the new surveillance equipment when they came back for the university’s fall break, which really amounted to a long weekend. They also spotted the new refrigerator.
“Nice,” Adam said while using the internal water dispenser. “How much did this cost?”
“Too much,” I responded.
He nodded his approval. “It’s about time we got a decent fridge.”
I was thrilled to have them home. They might not have bothered to come back for such a short break before Ali died. But now they showed up whenever they could. I was always happy to see them, mostly because I could check on them. Also, the house seemed a lot less scary.
Adam was pretty much his usual self, while Ayla still mostly kept to herself and rarely initiated conversation. They both assumed I installed the new security system because I lived alone. I didn’t tell them about the intrusions.
“Mom, when are we supposed to get a marker for Dad’s grave?” Adam asked while we ate take-out kebab from a nearby Persian place.
“Soon.” The bite of grilled chicken turned rubbery in my mouth. “I need to do that.”
“We went by the cemetery on the way home,” he told me. “Dad deserves better than the little plastic name tag.”
Did he, though? “Yeah, I’ll need to order it soon.”
“Well,Ivisited Dad,” he clarified, “while Ayla stayed in the car. She wouldn’t even get out to see Dad.” Accusation rang out in each word.
Ayla put her plastic fork down. “Whatever,” she mumbled.
Unease squeezed my chest. “Ayla, why didn’t you get out?” I asked. “I mean, I know Dad’s loss has been really hard on you.”
“What’s the big deal?” she retorted. “It’s not like it matters to him anymore.”
“It’s a sign of respect,” Adam said. “He deserves for us to show that we care.”
Acid rose in my throat. How would Adam react if he found out about Lizzie Martins and the secret house? I’d hide the truth from them forever if I could. But it didn’t take long for me to learn that as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my children in a protective bubble indefinitely.
The following morning, I was wiping down the kitchen counters when I heard someone coming down the stairs. From the weight and pace of the tread, I could tell it was my son.
“Wow,” I called out, my focus on an unidentified pink counter stain, “you’re up early. It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning yet.”
“Is it true?” Adam’s voice quavered.
I turned to face him. He wore sweats and a hoodie. His face was ashen, his beautiful dark eyes rimmed in red.
“Habibi, what’s wrong?” Alarm filtered through me. “Is what true?”
“About Dad buying a house for his mistress.”
I felt like I’d been slammed against the wall. “Where did you hear that?”
“From an article on a DC gossip site.”
Dread coiled through me. “It’s online?”
