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.