Page 13 of One Little Mistake

Erin

The man doesn’t say much. He just sits there quietly, staring off into the distance. He’s… strange. He looks dangerous, intimidating even—I mean, I did think he was a criminal when I saw him in the apartment. But in reality, he’s calm. Steady. Almost… gentle.

I bite my lip, trying not to cry in front of him. Not from pain, but from the knot of hurt sitting in my chest.

Max hasn’t messaged me. Not once. He hasn’t called to ask how I’m doing.

I nearly died.

Our baby could’ve been left without a mother while his father’s still very much alive.

And this stranger—he’s right. As much as I want to deny it, the truth is undeniable.

Max left me. Just walked out of my life. But hope is a stubborn thing. My heart wants to believe there’s an explanation. That there was a reason.

Things were good between us—at least, I thought so. We talked about the future. We never even fought. He asked me to move in...

A shaky breath escapes my lips as realization hits me like a wave. That apartment... Maybe it wasn’t his. Or maybe I got it wrong and mixed something up.

I cling to that thought like a life raft, refusing to let myself drown in despair.

“Are you okay?”

His voice cuts through my thoughts. He must’ve read everything on my face, because there’s concern in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I lie, barely audible. “Just... still trying to process everything.”

I don’t know what to say to him. I close my eyes, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave. I know I should be grateful—he saved me. But I’m so bitterly disappointed that it wasn’t Max who walked through that door that I can’t even look at him.

“Max,” I force his name out. It tastes like regret. “Thank you for everything. I promise I’ll pay you back for all the expenses.”

“I’m not billing you for saving your life,” he replies curtly and stands up.

His tone shifts so suddenly it leaves me confused. What did I say?

He walks toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle and glances back at me.

“Vivienne says hi. She’s planning to stop by soon. She was really worried about you. And... my sister sends her regards too. Take care.”

I nod.

Watch the door click shut behind him.

Exhale.

Finally, I let the tears fall.

My grip tightens around the damn phone until my knuckles ache. Everything blurs. I sob silently into the sterile quiet of the room, feeling small. Abandoned.

But this is something I’ll have to get through. I will get through it.

Because now I have a tiny human to live for. A brand-new life who’s become the center of my world. That’s what matters. That’s what I’ll hold on to.

For a moment, a terrifying thought flashes through my mind—what if something happened to him? What if a container fell and crushed him? Or there was a storm. What if he fell overboard?

Being a sailor is a dangerous job.

The idea sends a chill through me.

I don’t want to believe the worst, but there has to be a reason he’s been offline for so long. It’s not like he’s just ignoring me—he’s gone. Completely.

I open my messenger app again and type a short message.

“You’re a father. It’s a boy.”

It doesn’t make me feel any better, but now I can only wait—staring at the screen, praying for that little “delivered” checkmark to pop up.

By evening, I finally gather the courage to call my mom and grandma to tell them I’ve given birth.

I start with Mom.

“Hey, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” comes her sleepy, familiar voice, warm and comforting through the line.

“I’m good, Mom. You’re a grandma now,” I say, holding back tears as the words leave my mouth.

“Oh, baby girl, congratulations! How’s the little one? Will you send me pictures? When did it happen? How are you feeling?”

She bombards me with questions, and I have to bend the truth a little so she doesn’t worry.

Hearing her voice gives me strength—grounds me.

I wish she could be here with me right now. To see her smile, feel her hug, be wrapped in that motherly comfort only she can give. I want to tell her everything that’s been happening. But I don’t want to ruin this moment with the truth—that my son may never know his father.

“We’re doing fine. Tim’s still in the nursery, but once they bring him in, I’ll take tons of pictures. I only just woke up today... everything’s still a blur. How are you?”

We talk for nearly an hour—or rather, we cry to each other through the phone, managing to squeeze in a few sentences here and there between tears.

After saying goodbye to Mom, I glance at the time and, seeing that it’s still early enough, I call Grandma next.

More tears. More joy. And then she says something that makes my whole body freeze in place.

“That boyfriend of yours is quite the looker!” Grandma says with a chuckle. “He should really shave that beard, though—it makes him look like a bandit.”

“Wait—what? Who are you talking about?”

“Who else? Your fiancé. He came by the house.”

“Max came to see you?” I ask in confusion, my mind racing. From the way she describes him, it sounds like the man from the hospital. But what was he doing at my house? How did he even know where to go? Why would he call himself my fiancé?

“Well, of course he did. Who else would I be talking about?”

The rest of our conversation doesn’t flow—it’s hard to focus when my thoughts are spinning in a completely different direction. After we hang up, I lie there for a long time, clutching my phone and staring at his contact name.

Max Taylor.

Should I text him or not?

I roll onto my side and chew on my lip, feeling like a nervous little girl. And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I give in and type:

“Did you go to my grandma’s house? Why?”

I hold my breath while waiting for a reply. What if he is some sort of creep? Someone collecting information on me and my family to gain our trust?

But... why would he?

His response comes instantly.

“You were in the ICU. There was no one to pick up the baby. I was exploring options. I didn’t tell her anything about your condition, don’t worry.”

His words surprise me.

They actually sound... thoughtful. Caring, even.

Suddenly, I feel a bit guilty that he had to worry about me.

And then, like a slap, I remember what I did to his home.

I still haven’t fully processed the fact that it wasn’t my Max’s apartment.

But the shame is already creeping in, prickling under my skin.

I feel so stupid. My face heats up at the thought of how completely I took over his space.

Not just rearranging his things—living there for months.

“I’m sorry. About the nursery. I’ll pay you back, I promise. Please don’t throw out the furniture—I’ll come get it.”

I shove the phone under my pillow, afraid of what he might say back.

It buzzes with a message almost immediately, but it takes me a full thirty minutes to work up the nerve to check it. I finally cave, unlock the screen in the dark, and squint against the glow.

“Forget it.”

I smile.

He’s a weird guy.

Anyone else in his position would’ve flipped out—probably demanded I pay for the damage or threatened legal action.

But not him. He acts like none of it even matters.

Though, to be fair, that first night when he found me in his apartment... he looked pissed.

And I get it.

I really do.

***

On the third day after I woke up, they move me from the ICU to a regular room, but they still won’t let me see my son. I’m going crazy with impatience.

Once, I even lose it a little with the attending doctor, begging for just a few minutes with my baby—but all I get in return is a curt refusal.

It’s unbearable, knowing he’s so close—just in the next building—and not even being allowed to catch a glimpse of him.

So I lie.

I know I shouldn’t mess with my health, and honestly, I’m still not feeling great, but I don’t tell anyone. All I want is to get out of here as soon as possible and finally hold my baby in my arms.

On the fifth day, a snowstorm starts outside. The snow falls so thick that I can’t see a thing past the white veil.

I’m alone in my room. I feel pathetic, completely falling apart.

In all this time, the only person who came to visit me was Vivienne.

She probably knows what a fool I’ve been and how badly I messed things up with Max, which is why I can’t even look her in the eye. I told her so much about him—and she thought I was talking about her neighbor.

It turned out... badly.

Vivienne barely spoke when she visited. The tension between us was almost physical, and neither of us brought up the subject directly. It hurts to know that our friendship might be over because of this.

She really is an amazing person, and I’m beyond grateful that she was willing to take responsibility for my baby when I couldn’t.

It’s midnight, and I still can’t sleep.

I stare up at the ceiling, thinking about the future.

Making plans.

At least I have some savings—that should be enough to get us started.

It’s a shame I can’t work from home. I read somewhere that babies can have allergies to flower pollen, so my shop won’t be an option. It’ll have to be a nanny or my mom. Either way, I’ll have to work.

My thoughts are interrupted by the soft buzz of my phone vibrating.

I reach for it and freeze when I see a new message from Max Taylor.

“How are you feeling?”