Page 14 of One Little Mistake

Erin

For a split second—before I even register the sender’s name—my eyes widen in surprise, and my heart flutters wildly in my chest. The bright light from the phone screen stings my eyes in the darkness, and I don’t immediately notice the last name next to “Max”.

At first, I think it’s my Max. I hold my breath, feeling goosebumps ripple across my skin, a rush of endorphins blocking out both the physical and emotional pain.

But then my vision adjusts to the light. I look closer, and it hits me—it’s not that Max.

A wave of disappointment crashes over me, as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

My fingers grip the phone tightly. I clutch it to my chest and close my eyes.

I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for false hope again, but every time I hear a notification ding, my heart squeezes painfully and whispers, “It could be him.”

After a few minutes, I finally open the message and stare for a long time at the simple but meaningful words.

I imagine what I would say if it were really my Max texting me. Then I shake off the thought—stupid—and remind myself I owe this man an answer, at the very least, out of gratitude.

If it weren’t for this stranger, things might have ended very differently.

And now, even the fact that I still haven’t seen my son seems a little less crushing compared to the thought that I might not have lived to meet him at all.

I type back:

“Thank you, I’m feeling better.”

It sounds a little dry, but honestly, what else can I say to a man I’ve only met twice?

Max Taylor: “Glad to hear it. I’ll come by tomorrow if the weather clears up. Need anything?”

Me: “Why?”

Max Taylor: “Need to bring a few things for your baby. The hospital staff asked me to.”

I realize he’s probably talking about picking up some essentials, so I quickly start typing:

“In the nursery...”

But I delete it, not wanting to remind him of the disaster I created in his apartment.

I rewrite:

Me: “There’s an envelope with cash under the crib mattress. Please take whatever you spent and anything else you need to get. Thank you.”

He starts typing. Then stops. Then starts again.

The typing indicator bounces for so long that I figure the conversation is over.

I tuck the phone under my pillow... and immediately feel it buzz again.

Max Taylor: “You’re gonna need that money. Don’t worry about it.”

Me: “No, I can’t accept that.”

It just feels wrong—to accept money from a stranger.

Especially for someone like me, who’s been taking care of herself for years.

Or maybe it’s because I’m just not used to people helping without expecting something in return. Before Max, none of my boyfriends were exactly generous, so whenever he paid for something during our trips, it always made me uncomfortable.

Max Taylor: “I can.”

While I’m still thinking about what to say, another message pops up.

Max Taylor: “You should’ve been asleep by now. Stick to your schedule.”

Me: “I can’t fall asleep. I still haven’t seen Tim.”

I finally spill the thing that’s been gnawing at me all day.

Max Taylor: “Who’s Tim? Thought your runaway fiancé’s name was Max.”

Me: “I named my son Tim.”

There’s a pause. I hold my breath, staring at the phone screen without blinking.

Max Taylor: “Good name. Good night.”

I toss and turn in bed, unable to find a comfortable position.

My whole body aches, and I still feel unbearably weak, yet sleep won’t come.

I try to get up and walk to the window. It doesn’t happen on the first try.

Until now, the nurses have been helping me make it to the bathroom and back, and even that short trip feels like running a marathon.

I brace myself against the windowsill to keep from collapsing to the floor, and stare out at the city, blanketed in snow.

Thanks to the streetlights and glowing windows, it looks almost magical.

The last few snowflakes swirl gently in the air before disappearing into the thick white cover on the ground. It’s like something out of a fairytale.

I lift my gaze to the dark sky—no stars in sight, not even the moon. Not that you usually see stars in a big city, anyway.

The memory of my small hometown hits me hard: summer nights, the smell of fresh grass, and a sky so full of stars it looked like someone had tossed handfuls of gold across it.

A pang of homesickness tightens in my chest.

For a brief moment, I wonder if I should take Tim and go back there for a while. Escape the city noise. Cut away the painful memories. Start over.

The buzz of my phone pulls me away from the snow-covered streets and back to bed. It’s Max Taylor again.

Max Taylor: “I tossed the teddy bear—sorry if that’s a problem. It was getting on my nerves. Everything else is still there. You can pick it up once you’re discharged.”

I chuckle. It feels like a sign. Out with the old life, time to clear space for the new—one filled with warmth, light, and comfort. Even if right now I don’t even have a place to live. It’s fine. What matters is that we’re healthy.

Me: “Thanks for the favor. It was a gift from Max. I would’ve tossed it, anyway.”

Max Taylor: “No wonder I hated that bear from the moment I saw it.”

Word by word, short texts, and silly stickers—

I don’t even realize we’ve ended up texting all night.

It’s that “stranger on a train” effect, when two people, knowing they’ll probably never meet again, tell each other things they’ve kept bottled up for years—fears, regrets, heartaches.

I needed this conversation.

I needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t pity me, wouldn’t call me foolish, wouldn’t mock or gloat.

Sometimes it’s easier to share your failures with a stranger you think you’ll never see again.

That’s how it was supposed to go with us, too. But something went wrong. Because when I wake up the next morning, I find a man standing beside my hospital bed, a baby blanket in his hands.

I stare at the man in confusion. He carries the chill of the winter air with him, the scent of frost clinging to his clothes.

Snowflakes are melting on his warm jacket, his hair is tousled, his nose red from the cold, and his gaze is locked onto me.

His expression gives nothing away; in fact, he unsettles me a little, especially with his sudden appearance in my hospital room.

But in that moment, my heart flutters with disbelief—because I recognize the blanket in his hands. The same one I had bought weeks ago at the baby store.

I open my mouth to say something, to ask if it’s really what I think it is—but the fear of being wrong chokes off the words.

He doesn’t say anything either. Just stands there, studying me, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

My cheeks burn.

I remember all too clearly the things I shared with him during our late-night chat.

Far too much for someone who’s practically a stranger.

“I... is that...?” I stammer, nodding toward the bundle in his arms.

The man hugs the bundle a little closer to his chest and takes a step toward my bed.

“Your Tim. Or at least I hope it’s him,” he mutters, leaning down to hand me the bundle.

I take it with trembling hands. I barely notice when his cold fingers brush against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Because my baby is here. Wrapped tightly in a warm blanket, the corner pulled up to cover his tiny face.

“How did you manage that?” I lift my gaze to him, feeling my vision blur with tears.

“Snuck him out when no one was looking,” he says with a crooked smirk.

“What?”

I yelp louder than I should have, then lower my voice to a hiss.

“What do you mean, you snuck him out?”

“Half the staff couldn’t make it in because of the snowstorm. Only two nurses were left covering the whole floor, so I just slipped into the nursery and grabbed the kid.” He shrugs, completely unfazed.

“Hopefully I didn’t mix him up with someone else—they all kinda look the same.”

My eyes widen. He can’t be serious.

I glance down at the bundle in my arms, then back at him.

“You... you actually kidnapped a baby?” I whisper in disbelief.

“You wanted to see your son, didn’t you?” he says, voice low and steady.

A pause stretches between us. The little bundle in my arms squirms and lets out a soft grunt, and I instinctively pull him closer, rocking gently.

“Relax. I’m kidding,” he finally says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“I’ll go talk to your doctor. You two... have some bonding time. But he’s gotta be back in about thirty minutes.”

He tugs off his scarf, exhales sharply, and shoots me a strange look before turning toward the door, unzipping his jacket as he walks away.

“Why?”

The question bursts out before I can stop it.

“Why what?” He pauses at the door, glancing back at me. He knows exactly what I’m asking—but he makes me say it out loud.

“Why are you helping me? I’m nobody to you.”

He smirks. “Got a little bored on vacation,” he says, then slips out.

I don’t know whether to believe him or not. He’s impossible to read—sometimes gruff and angry, sometimes oddly patient.

I swallow the lump in my throat and run my fingers along the corner of the baby blanket, still too nervous to look at my son’s face.

This moment feels overwhelming. Huge.

I take a deep breath. Then another. Slowly, I pull the blanket back... and the breath catches painfully in my chest.

Tiny nose. Long lashes. A few wispy strands of light hair peek out beneath a cap;

A sleeping angel. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

“Hi, little one,” I whisper through my tears, rocking him gently. “Mommy missed you so much.”

I lose track of time. I could sit like this forever, just memorizing every perfect detail of his tiny face.

I wait, hoping he’ll open his eyes, look at me, recognize me somehow—know that I’m here, that I never left, that I love him with everything I have.

But he keeps sleeping peacefully, even as Max returns, knocking quietly before stepping into the room.

He stops beside me, looking down at the two of us.

“He needs to go back now,” he says softly, almost apologetically.

“Already?” I exhale in disappointment.

“You’re recovering fast,” he says. “If all your tests come back clean, they’ll discharge you in about five days—on the condition that you take it easy, stick to a strict routine, and come in for weekly checkups. So, you’ll be together again soon.”

“You’re weird.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. Sorry,” he smirks.

“No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just meant… anyone else would’ve forgotten about me by now.”

“You’re hard to forget. Your stuff’s still all over my apartment,” he says with a dry chuckle.

“Oh my God, please don’t remind me,” I groan, my cheeks burning. “I feel so embarrassed. Not only with you, but also with Vivienne, and your sister. I can’t even look them in the eye. I mean, how dumb do you have to be not to realize something was wrong?”

I turn away from him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.

“Not gonna lie and say no harm was done,” he says, sounding almost amused.

“Simmons’ already blabbed to half our friends about my ‘adorable, sweet, pregnant fiancée’, and now I have to explain to everyone it was just a huge misunderstanding.

Thankfully, Elena had the sense to keep her mouth shut and not tell our parents the ‘good news’. ”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the full weight of everything sinking in.

I barged into his life, turned it upside down—and now I have no idea how to fix any of it.

How did this even happen?

What were the odds that I’d end up in the wrong apartment, with a sailor who just happened to have the same name as my boyfriend?

Or… was it really a coincidence? Maybe my Max meant to send me there? I don’t know what to think anymore.

“If you want,” he says, almost reading my mind, “I can track down your Max. Just give me more info on him.”

“No. I don’t want to know anything about him. It’s just the two of us now.” I clutch my baby to my chest, unwilling to let him go. But I have no choice.

Max promises they’ll bring him back to me for an hour tomorrow—and the day after that, too. Reluctantly, I hand Tim over, feeling like I’m abandoning him forever; betraying him. My mother’s heart shatters at the thought of even a short separation.

“Get well soon,” the strange man says with a nod before disappearing through the door, my son in his arms, leaving me alone once again.