Love: Win or Lose

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."