Chapter 3

"We'll talk outside," Amanda said.

She rose from her seat, tucking Alana's blanket up to ensure the child wouldn't get cold before she left. Amanda then led the way out, followed by Henry. She had deliberately chosen to speak outside so Alana wouldn't wake up and overhear their conversation—especially since the discussion was about her.

They walked to a hospital garden just behind Alana's ward. Amanda sat on a park bench. Henry remained standing for a moment, knowing his ex-wife would likely shift away if he dared to sit close.

"Manda, answer my question honestly!" Henry's voice was tight. "Is Alana my daughter?" he asked again, echoing the many times he'd already asked it, hoping for a different answer this time.

Amanda paused, letting out a rough exhale before answering firmly. "She's not your daughter!" she confirmed once more. "She is my daughter!"

"She is our child, Manda. Alana is mine and yours, isn't she?" Henry pleaded, desperately wishing for confirmation.

"Can't you understand what I'm saying? Alana is not your daughter!" Amanda snapped, the annoyance evident in her tone.

"But her blood type and mine are the same, Amanda. Are you lying to me?"

"I'm not lying. I'm telling you the truth. Alana is not your child!" she insisted, resolute in her conviction that she would never tire of denying his claim.

"If she's not my daughter, why is her blood type the same?" Henry pressed, unconvinced by her words. He needed her to be honest; his gut told him Alana was his flesh and blood.

"Are you the only person in the world with AB blood type?" Amanda countered, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "But I'm still grateful, and I thank you very much for helping Alana."

"If she's not my daughter, then whose is she? We haven't been separated for six years, but you already have a five-year-old child. That means she is my child, Manda!" Henry persisted.

"If I say no, that means no!" Amanda answered firmly, but she couldn't bring herself to meet the eyes of the man standing before her.

"Look me in the eye and tell me she is not my daughter!" he ordered.

Amanda remained silent, lowering her head instead of meeting his gaze.

"You're not brave enough?" Henry asked, his voice now laced with light mockery.

The challenge ignited a spark of anger in Amanda. She finally looked up, staring directly into his eyes. "You want the real answer? Fine, I'll answer. She is not your child!"

Even with the eye contact, Henry didn't fully believe her. He continued to push, wanting a 'yes' to his unasked question.

"Alana is my child with my new husband," Amanda declared.

"You've remarried?" Henry stared intently at his ex-wife.

"After divorcing you, it wasn't long before I got married and became pregnant with Alana. She is only four years old, not five," Amanda corrected, shattering his original timeline.

"After the divorce, you immediately got married? You're incredible!" Henry's voice was heavily sarcastic. He finally dared to sit next to her, and Amanda immediately shifted slightly away.

"Yes, I am. It wasn't difficult for me to find a replacement husband after our divorce." She was forcing herself to say the most hurtful things to make Henry stop questioning her daughter's parentage.

Henry gave a mocking smile. "Is she the daughter of your mistress?"

"You're absolutely right. Alana is the daughter of my first affair," Amanda said emphatically. "So, don't ask again about Alana because she is not your child!"

Inside, Amanda felt a surge of guilt for lying, but she felt she had no other choice.

They sat in silence for a long time, their thoughts racing. Henry's mind was still consumed with lingering questions about Alana.

"I will still be responsible for paying the hospital administration fees," Henry finally broke the silence. He stood up, preparing to leave.

"You don't have to!" Amanda replied spontaneously, rising to stand in his path. Henry frowned at her.

"I have to," Henry insisted, using the opportunity as an excuse to get closer to Alana and find the truth for himself. "She's my responsibility."

"But she's not your child," Amanda countered.

"Yes, she is not my daughter, but I hit her with my car. So, I am responsible for taking care of Alana's entire administration."

"No need. I can do it myself. You should go home!" Amanda said, trying to move around him, but her ex-husband blocked her way and gently held her arm.

"Amanda, I only have good intentions. I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, but I must do this. Hospital fees are expensive, you—"

"You think I'm incapable? Do you think I'm still poor?" Amanda interrupted, curling a corner of her lips in a scornful smile. "Don't forget! I already have a husband. He will be responsible for me and Alana."

Memories flooded Amanda's mind—the rejection she faced years ago when her in-laws disliked her for being poor. Now, he seemed to be insulting her, suggesting she couldn't afford the bills.

"Amanda, that's not what I meant. I only—"

"Even if I'm a 'poor woman,' I can work hard for my child. And I have a husband, so you don't have to do it," Amanda explained, cutting him off again.

"What's wrong if I pay? Don't be stubborn, Amanda," Henry said, raising his voice slightly.

"Alana is my daughter. She is my responsibility," Amanda said with emphasis, snatching her arm from his grip.

It wasn't that Amanda didn't want his help; it was that she couldn't allow the girl's identity to be revealed. She didn't want Henry to discover that Alana was his biological child. Amanda had raised her child alone for years, fighting for happiness for both Alana and her twin, Alan. Now Henry had reappeared, and Amanda was unwilling to risk him taking her children away.

She quickly walked towards the administrative center to pay for her daughter's medication. Tears immediately pricked her eyes when she saw the size of the hospital bill.

"Where can I get this much money?"