He clears his throat. “Gillian…Back when I was in college, I…I saw an ad on campus. It seemed like okay money for something so…simple.” He looks at me, his anxious face on mine like he’s waiting for the penny to drop.

“It didn’t seem like a bad thing,” he goes on. “Helping people who wanted a baby. I didn’t really think that much about it, to be honest. I was just a student. It was all anonymous. We were promised that. It never occurred to me that it would change.”

And boom, there it is, the penny. Dropping like a bomb.

“You donated sperm,” I say.

He looks at me and nods. His face has turned pink, which for some reason infuriates me.

“Now you’re blushing?” I say. I’m sure he wasn’t blushing back when he made his “donation”…or donations; how many times? And he’s never once blushed during those awful, painful conversations I’ve put us both through about IVF and fertility and the future. But now he’s all pink and flushed like the very idea makes him bashful?

He swallows.

“Everything was so different, then, Gillian—this was back when paternity tests were only something that happened on the Jerry Springer Show. It never occurred to me—I never thought anyone would come looking for me.”

“That’s the real reason why you didn’t want to do the DNA test,” I say, and my voice sounds flat and cold. “Isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t even thinking of that. I should have been, but honestly, Gillian, it was so long ago. I had pretty much forgotten I ever”—he flushes again—“donated. To be honest, I sort of just thought it would sit in a sperm bank somewhere forever. I didn’t really imagine someone would choose me. That this would happen.”

“Her name’s Hannah, isn’t it?” I manage to say, and he stares at me.

“I saw an email,” I say. “I saw you writing to her. You wanted to meet her.”

He opens his mouth, closes it.

“She told Jeff she’d like to meet me. And I’d like to. But I…well…”

“You have a daughter,” I say, and as I say them the words slice me open.

He flinches.

“Biologically, yes. But Gillian, I’m just her donor. I’m not her father. She already has two parents. I’m just…”

“You gave her life,” I say, fury suddenly breaking open in me, and right now, weirdly, it’s Hannah I’m furious for. “Stop denying her, Oliver. Stop trying to make it sound like she’s no big deal. She’s a person. You helped make a person.” I close my eyes. Oh, the irony. Here I was just days ago, wondering if Oliver had fertility issues.