Max called out from the door, "Honey, Chloe, are you home?"

I didn't respond.

Seeing me sitting on the couch, he asked, "Why didn't you turn on the lights?"

I directly asked, "What's the name of your illegitimate daughter?"

His smile faltered, and after a moment of silence, he asked, "Did she come to see you?"

Ignoring his question, I repeated, "What's the name of your illegitimate daughter?"

This wasn't a question he could avoid or dodge.

She was ten years old, while our daughter was only three.

By my calculations, they must have been together during our junior or senior year.

"She took her mother's surname. Her name is Zoey Smith," Max said.

I laughed. I was completely speechless with this man. "Zoey? Does that mean 'the first child'? Based on the timeline, Zoey must have been conceived during our junior or senior year."

"That's not true. I didn't name her," he explained.

How laughable.

I looked at him coldly and asked, "So the child isn't yours, is she? Zoey now has leukemia. What do you plan to do?"

The panic on his face was gone. He knelt beside me on one knee, taking my already cold hand in his.

"Mandy, it's all my fault. I know I've wronged you."

"But the fault lies with the adults. The child is innocent."

I shoved his hand away in frustration and coldly asked, "Max, you think the child is innocent. What about our child? Am I not innocent?"

"Let our daughter try the match. It might not work, but at least it's giving her a chance. I've tried many people, but none were a match. If our daughter isn't a match, then I'll have my parents try," Max said.

I looked at the man in front of me, feeling like I was seeing him for the first time today.

He seemed so unfamiliar.

I asked, "Do you know how old Chloe is?"

He froze.

Of course, he knew. He was the one who changed her first diaper when she was born, and he was the one who made her first bottle of formula.

He was incredibly attentive to our daughter.

Max and my in-laws treated Chloe like the apple of their eye.

I had no doubt that Chloe is the darling of our entire family.

But all of this came with conditions.

"Three years old, Chloe is three this year," Max said dejectedly.

I pressed on, "What's the ideal age for bone marrow donation?"

"Eighteen to forty-five is best, but it doesn't say a three-year-old can't. Nowadays, donating bone marrow isn't about extracting marrow, just drawing blood. As long as we ensure she gets enough nutrients, there's no problem after the donation," he explained eagerly.

I slapped him across the face and asked, "If Zoey's mother hadn't come today, how were you planning to tell me?"

Max ignored the pain on his face and explained, "Zoey's birth was an accident. The one I've always loved is you. Otherwise, why would I have married you right after you finished grad school?"

There was no denying that he did love me, but in the end, love relied on conscience.

By then, we had already been together for ten years, and he said that not marrying me wouldn't look good.

A devoted husband gains respect, and he did use that title to become quite successful in his circle.

Today, I was really tired. That slap took all the strength I had left.

"Whether it's true or not, you know in your heart. Don't deceive yourself after deceiving others. I no longer care how much genuine affection was involved in our marriage."

Max held me and said in my ear, "I'm sorry, truly sorry."

But men were like that. They could slap themselves, kneel and apologize, and beg for your forgiveness.

After I fell asleep, he took Chloe to the hospital for the bone marrow compatibility test.

The next day, when my daughter came home, she kept complaining that her arm hurt.

My mind was already in turmoil, and seeing the nanny's guilty expression, I immediately rolled up my daughter's sleeve to find a bruised area around a needle mark.

I had a suspicion of what had happened.

"Baby, what happened to your arm?"

My daughter blinked her big eyes and thought for a moment before saying, "Daddy, Daddy knows."

I turned on the recorder and gently coaxed her, "Did Daddy take you to the hospital?"

Chloe nodded without hesitation and said, "Yes, Daddy took me. The nurse drew my blood."

"What else did Daddy say to you?" I continued to ask.

My daughter, growing a bit impatient, asked to be held before continuing, "Daddy said I could help save the little sister."

"Do you want to save the little sister?" I asked.

She hesitated this time before saying, "I want to save her, but the blood draw hurt so much. I kept crying, and Daddy held me down."

I comforted her, saying, "It's okay. Mommy will think of something."

She nodded.

I turned off the recording, naturally not intending to send it to my in-laws.

A granddaughter is precious, but can she be more important than a son? Even if they now cherish their granddaughter, with enough explanations from their son, this matter will eventually be downplayed.

I won't allow that.

As for divorce, it's not an option now. No one will get off easy.

I called Max, and he was surprised to hear from me. He answered quickly.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked solicitously.

"Send the driver to pick me up. I want to go to the hospital to see Zoey."

There was silence on the other end.

I continued, "You took Chloe to the hospital for a blood test all by yourself, but kept Zoey so tightly wrapped up, didn't you?"

Max finally spoke, "She's undergoing chemotherapy. She doesn't even know... that she's an illegitimate child."

This man never ceased to amaze me. First, the mistress came knocking with a ten-year-old daughter, insisting that she was an accident, and now it turns out Zoey doesn't even know she's an illegitimate child.

Clearly, as a father, he hadn't neglected her company.

I reiterated, "Now, send the driver to pick me up."

Max was still hesitant, "Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on seeing her?"

"Well, you're still my husband in name, and since she's your daughter, I suppose I ought to meet her, shouldn't I?"

Max said, "You..."

Half an hour later, he showed up downstairs, his face sour.

I pretended not to notice and got into the car, my expression even darker than his.

We tacitly agreed not to mention the divorce.

I just didn't mention it now. After all, every penny he spent on them still counts as marital assets, and I would make sure she pays back every bit of it.

When we arrived at the hospital, Max, seemingly afraid that I might cause a scene, cautiously said, "Zoey is undergoing chemotherapy now. If you're angry, don't take it out on the child."

I ignored him. His words made it sound like I couldn't tell right from wrong.

He kept insisting that it wasn't the child's fault.

In the elevator, I couldn't hold back anymore and shouted, "Shut up!"

Max, a boss of a mid-sized company, hadn't been told to shut up in years.

"Mandy, don't be angry."

Ten years ago, when they planted this seed, did they ever think about whether I'd be angry?

Four years ago, when we got married and Zoey was already five or six, did he think about whether I'd be angry?

Even yesterday, when he took our daughter to the hospital for a blood test without consulting me, did he think about whether I'd be angry?

Now, he finally remembered.

The smell of disinfectant filled the hospital, a scent I despised. When we reached the room, I saw the little girl lying in a deep sleep.

There was no mistaking that she was Max's child. Her nose, mouth, and even the shape of her face was just like his.

Her hair had been shaved off due to chemotherapy, her face was sallow, and not just her face—her whole body had a sickly yellow hue.

It was hard to imagine what Zoey looked like when she was healthy.

Her mother was nowhere to be seen, but I doubted she had gone far.

I turned to Max and asked, "What's your child's mother's name?"

Max, seeing the coldness in my eyes, bit his lip before replying, "Aria Smith."

I continued, "Where is she? Call her in."

Max, trying to sound reasonable, admitted, "I just told Aria to leave because I was afraid you two would have an argument here at the hospital."

I rolled my eyes internally, cursing him silently.

"An incapable woman deals with the mistress, but a capable one deals with the man. Does she not know whether you have another woman? Don't you know yourself?"

Max's face tightened, but since there was no one else in the room, he snapped back at me, "Do you think you're blameless? You insist on remaining pure, and since my girlfriend is off-limits, I had to find someone. This is my first child, and it's not like I can't afford to raise her. I had to keep her. If you hadn't clung to your purity back then, none of this would have happened. And now you wouldn't have the nerve to criticize me."

His absurdity made my blood boil.

"I think you've taken the skin off your left cheek and slapped it on your right. You're thick-skinned and shameless! Everyone knows the bank has money, and it has security guards too. Why don't you blame the guards for not handing the money over to you?"

Max glanced at the child on the bed and said, "I won't argue with you in front of the kid. You've seen her, now let's go."

Ignoring his anger, I countered, "Go? Go where? Bring your child's mother out here."

Max's expression darkened, but he still lowered his voice, "What exactly do you want?"

I calmly repeated, "I'll say it one last time. I want to see her. If you make me repeat myself again, you can get lost."