Page 11 of One Little Mistake

Max

Thanks to Cynthia, our family dinner ends up feeling a bit... strained.

Mom brings her up every ten minutes like clockwork—praising her, gushing about her new job title, how smart and ambitious she is—and keeps glancing at me, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction.

I finally snap a little sharper than I should, asking her to drop the subject. The less I know about my ex-wife’s life, the less I think about her—and the better I feel.

Thankfully, Dad steps in and steers the conversation in another direction, and the rest of the evening flows peacefully, even warmly. Like old times. Just... without Cynthia.

At the door, as I’m putting on my coat to leave, Mom suddenly decides it’s time to speak her mind.

“Max,” she says gently, “you’ve been alone for so long, never in a serious relationship, never remarried... I honestly thought it was because you still loved Cynthia. But if that’s not the case, then what’s really going on? Are your father and I ever going to have grandkids?”

“Mom, come on,” I say with a sigh. “That’s Elena’s job. Go bug her for grandkids. I’m not ready yet. And for the record, there is someone. A woman. So you really don’t need to worry about that.”

Not a total lie. Almost.

“Really?” Her eyes light up with curiosity. “Then why haven’t you said anything? We should have a family dinner!”

“Too soon, Mom. But once things are serious, I’ll be the first to let you know.”

I kiss her cheek, say my goodbyes, and head out of their apartment building.

For a while, I just sit in my car, watching the lights flicker in their windows. And then I realize I’ve been staring at Cynthia’s apartment for several minutes.

That pisses me off.

I hadn’t thought about her in forever. But tonight… it’s like something snapped loose, and the damn floodgates opened.

I fire up the engine and take off, wishing more than anything that my ex would move to another continent and stop popping up in my life.

By the time I get home, I’m in a foul mood—drained and running on fumes. I collapse on the bed, shut my eyes for maybe ten seconds, when the doorbell rings through the apartment like a fire alarm.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter, dragging myself off the mattress.

When I open the door, I’m surprised to see Logan and Vivienne standing there with grim faces.

“Something happen?” I ask, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Can we come in? We need to talk,” Logan says. He looks uneasy, hands buried deep in his pockets, shooting nervous glances at Vivienne, who’s clearly upset. And I have zero clue what kind of conversation needs to happen at eleven p.m.

“Sure,” I step aside, letting them in and closing the door behind them. “So… what’s going on?”

They hesitate for a moment, then Logan starts talking.

“We went to see Erin,” he says, and my whole body tenses. My lungs feel tight, like all the air has suddenly disappeared. Weird reaction for someone who’s supposed to be a stranger.

“She’s still unconscious. I talked to the doctors. No one’s giving any real answers. But if no family comes forward soon—or if she doesn’t wake up— Child Protective Services will get involved. The baby might end up in temporary care until something’s figured out.”

“Well… damn,” I exhale, running a hand down my face.

“Max,” Vivienne jumps in, her tone firm and final. “Logan and I decided to take the baby in. Just until Erin’s out of the hospital.”

My eyebrows shoot up. That was not what I was expecting to hear.

“Erin only had her grandmother, and she lives hours from here. Her mom’s abroad. Someone needs to step in now.”

“Yeah, I know,” I nod. “I went out there—found the address in her documents. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth. No point stressing an elderly woman. Maybe Erin wakes up in a day or two and this all blows over. Why upset her for nothing?” I look away.

“I just know if it were my kid in there, I’d want someone to take care of them. I really think Erin would want this,” Vivienne says.

“That’s a good idea,” I nod, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. At least the kid’s not my problem anymore.

But Logan and Vivienne don’t move. They’re still standing there, looking at me with something in their eyes I can’t quite place. Expectation? Hope?

“Something else?” I ask.

Logan shifts his weight. “Thing is... we can’t take the baby legally. Not without parental permission. But the hospital and everyone at the maternity ward already think you’re the dad. So we were hoping... you’d help us get him released.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” I cut him off before he can even finish.

“Max, we wouldn’t be asking if we could handle this ourselves,” Logan starts to lose his cool, and now I fully recognize the stubborn neighbor I know so well.

We lock eyes, both equally hardheaded. For him, it’s all simple: take the kid, sign some papers, and they’ll look after him.

But no one’s thinking about the fact that if something goes wrong, I’m the one legally responsible.

And who’s to say Vivienne won’t show up at my door tomorrow telling me to take the baby back?

“I’ve got her mother’s number. I was planning to call her in the morning. Let her come sort all this out,” I say, my tone sharper than I intended, but I’m getting the sinking feeling that if I don’t act fast, I might accidentally become someone’s dad.

“Seriously?” Vivienne’s eyes light up with hope.

“Yeah. Anything else? If not, good night.” I pull the door open and motion for them to leave.

Why is everyone so determined to hand me this baby?

It’s like this whole situation will never end.

I might as well pack up and leave town, just to get away from people who are convinced Erin’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to play daddy now.

“Keep us posted if anything changes,” Logan says as they walk out. “And if you need help—anything at all—just say the word.”

I shut the door firmly behind them.

I’m so done with all of this.

I start toward the bedroom but stop in front of the nursery door—the one that’s been haunting me for days. First thing tomorrow, I’m calling the designer who remodeled my place last year. He’s going to turn that room back into my office.

I switch off all the lights, and the second my head hits the pillow, I’m out.

***

I sleep until noon. It’s gray and rainy outside. I force myself out of bed and into motion—because the sooner I deal with all of this, the sooner I can shut up that nagging voice in my head.

I brew a strong coffee and walk to the panoramic window.

The city is completely swallowed by the thick curtain of rain, and I clench Erin’s phone tightly in my hand.

Turns out her mom was saved in the contacts by name, which is why I couldn’t find the number earlier.

I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and hit call.

The ringtone echoes in my ears while I mentally rehearse what I’m going to say to Ellie. I’m tense. Pacing. Every muscle in my body tightens as I wait for a stranger’s voice to answer on the other end.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Silence.

Voicemail.

I hang up and try again. I’m not stopping until someone picks up.

Finally, maybe on the fifth try, I hear some static… and then a rough male voice.

“Hello?”

“Uh—sorry, is this Ellie’s number? Did I dial right?”

There’s a pause, like he’s weighing something.

“Where’s Erin? Who is this?” He speaks with a noticeable accent, and I instantly assume he’s the man Ellie stayed overseas for.

“I’m Max. And who are you? I’m calling for Erin’s mother.”

Another pause. A loud exhale from the other side of the line.

“Ellie had a stroke. She’s in the hospital. Don’t tell Erin—she shouldn’t know right now. She’s doing better, but the doctors want to keep her under observation a while.”

“Erin had the baby,” I say quietly, matching his tone. “She’s in the ICU. I thought her mom might be able to come get the kid.”

More silence. I shut my eyes. Could this whole situation possibly get any worse?

“Then…” I hesitate, not sure what else to say, “just let me know if Ellie improves. I’ll keep this phone on me. Call anytime. I’ll keep you updated on Erin too.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

“Yeah.” I hang up first and sink to the floor.

Then I call Erin’s doctor, hoping for some kind of miracle.

But no miracle comes.

The entire day I can’t sit still. No appetite. Not even my favorite video game can take the edge off. Eventually, I yank the cord out of the wall, slam the laptop shut, and storm out of the apartment. I head straight for the one next door.

“Max? Is something wrong?” Vivienne asks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah. What do I have to do to take the kid?” I ask before I can second-guess it.

Two hours later, I’m sitting in the maternity ward chief’s office.

“Alright,” she says sternly, peering at me over the rim of her glasses. “As I understand it, Mr. Taylor, you and Miss Hale aren’t legally married. Which means, under state law, I’m not authorized to release the child to you.”

“I know,” I reply through clenched teeth, hoping like hell we can find a workaround. Vivienne and Logan are waiting in the car, and judging by the determined look on their faces, they’re not leaving without a baby.

“And to be honest, you really ought to make up your mind,” she adds with a sharp edge in her voice. “One day you’re the father, next you’re a neighbor, then an Uber driver, and now you’re back to being the father. It’s hard to keep up.”

“Is there a way around it?” I ask cautiously.

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Technically, yes. Since the mother is currently incapacitated and the biological father hasn’t been legally established, you can apply for temporary kinship care—but only if you’re willing to sign an affidavit stating you are the presumed father.”

“Great,” I say, my throat suddenly dry. My palms sweat at the thought of writing that down, but I just want this over with.

“Here,” she slides a piece of paper across the desk. “Write a statement acknowledging that you, Max Taylor, are in a domestic relationship with Miss Hale and accept responsibility for the child. This allows the hospital to release the baby into your care under provisional supervision.”

“What?” My eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to put that in writing?”

“Yes,” she says, already reaching for a hospital form. “And I’ll need a copy of your government-issued ID.”

“Of course. Just a sec.” I pull out my wallet, hand her my driver’s license, and stare down at the blank sheet of paper. My fingers curl around the pen. This feels like a trap—like a lifetime contract disguised as a hospital form. But my hand still moves.

It’s not too late to walk out. I could drop the pen, mumble some excuse, and pretend this never happened. But instead, I find myself scribbling line after line, essentially sentencing myself to fatherhood.

Then suddenly—

“Hold on,” she says sharply.

I glance up. Her eyes are narrowed, scanning my ID. The warmth in her voice vanishes.

“This says your name is Max Taylor,” she says slowly.

At that moment, my phone rings. Unknown number. I silence it with a flick of my thumb.

“Yes?” I ask, suddenly tense. “Is there a problem?”

“Everything’s wrong,” she says sharply, setting my ID down on the desk with a thud and sliding it back toward me.

Another call buzzes from the unknown number. The phone vibrates like an angry wasp on the table. I finally shut it off.

“According to Miss Hale’s patient file, the father’s name is Maximilian Jack Taylor.”

“Must be a mistake,” I reply with a strained chuckle, realizing I just exposed myself over something so damn trivial.

“A mistake where only the last name magically lines up?”

I exhale hard through my nose, fixing my stare on her. My mind is racing, flipping through every possible escape route.

“Look,” I say, doubling down, “I’m the kid’s father, and I want to take him home—at least until Erin’s out of the hospital. What do I need to do to make that happen?”

“Simple,” she replies coldly. “Take a paternity test.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not violating state policy just because you’re feeling heroic,” she snaps.

“If the father can’t be verified through family confirmation or legal documents, then we need genetic confirmation before releasing the child.

I’ll refer you to a certified lab. Until then, the baby stays under hospital custody. ”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I snap, my voice rising. “A few days ago, you practically tried to hand me this kid to cover your own screw-up—now that I’m ready to take him, you’re demanding a paternity test?”

“Keep your voice down, Mr. Taylor,” the head of the maternity ward cuts me off sharply.

“For the record, I would’ve asked for documentation last time too, before letting you walk out of here with an infant.

Make no mistake about that. And second—what mistake, exactly, are you referring to?

Miss Hale was brought in when it was already too late for a C-section.

That wasn’t our call. She likely ignored the early signs of labor, and by the time she got here, we were out of time. ”

“That’s bullshit,” I spit out. “And you know it. Keep pushing, and I swear you’ll have inspectors crawling all over this place by next week.”

“I suggest you calm down and get the paternity test done,” she says with a sugar-sweet smile that doesn’tt reach her eyes.

“If you’re telling the truth and this child is yours, why so defensive?

You were the one begging us to hold on to the baby a few more days—so I’m sure you can wait a few more now. ”

Damn it.

I try to keep a straight face, hiding my disappointment, but in my head—I’ve already lost this battle. We lock eyes, irritated and unyielding, and I’m ready to say a dozen sharp things when the shrill ring of her office phone slices through the tension.

“Yes?” she answers curtly, her gaze still fixed on me. “Really? And her condition? … Uh-huh. Right. No, but he’s in my office right now. Yes, of course.”

The way she looks at me shifts slightly, and I immediately know—it’s about Erin. My chest tightens, heart skipping a beat. I brace myself for the worst.

“She’s awake,” she says flatly. “Congratulations. You’ll be able to take the child home—with the mother. Not today, obviously, but soon enough.”

“What?” I blink, not sure I heard her right.

“Your wife woke up,” Mrs. Gray repeats louder, lacing her words with sarcasm, clearly calling my bluff about the whole father act. And just like that, it’s as if a mountain rolls off my chest. Breathing suddenly becomes easier.