Now, in hindsight, it was laughably absurd.
I was not a saint.
But I also didn't want to let a life slip away.
A mother kneeling on the street, pleading desperately for her daughter, had already caught the attention of many passersby.
People started to stare, and some even took out their phones to record.
Motherly love was indeed great.
But I couldn't accept it. I ignored her as she knelt and walked home, dazed.
I asked the nanny to take our daughter to her grandparents' house. I needed to have a conversation.
I was 31 this year, and I'd accomplished nothing. My life is a joke.
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.