Page 21 of One Little Mistake

Erin

“Erin, are you okay?”

I flinch at the sound of Max’s voice and his knock on the door. For a moment, I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t alone.

“Yeah, I’ll be right out,” I call back, forcing my voice to sound cheerful.

I quickly turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face, hoping to wash away any trace of tears.

Max doesn’t say anything else. He stands there for a few seconds, then tells me breakfast will be ready soon before walking away.

I stay put, staring at my reflection in the mirror: pale, thinner than I remember, with dark circles bruising the skin under my eyes.

Am I even beautiful? Could I ever be enough for a man to truly love me? Maybe it’s the awful color of my hair. Maybe it was never meant to be between Max and me from the start.

Am I just... boring? Not smart enough? What’s wrong with me? Why wasn’t I enough to make him stay—to make him want a life with me?

Why did he leave me, leave us?

A bitter smile twists my lips. Before I can change my mind, driven by emotion, I grab my phone and start deleting every social media account I own.

No more refreshing Max’s page every five minutes. No more wondering where he is, who he’s with. No more clinging to hope like a fool, only to one day see a smiling photo of him with someone else.

And just to finish it off, I block his number too.

I exhale sharply. It feels good. Really good.

Like the first step into a new life—one without him.

I have a future to build. I have someone tiny and precious to live for. I’m not a scared little girl anymore. I have a job. I’m independent. I’m grateful for my baby.

And as for Max... there will be other men in my life.

Better ones.

I push the door open and march toward the kitchen. The rich smell of toasted bread fills the air.

I stop in the doorway, watching Max’s broad back. He’s fiddling with the coffeemaker, getting breakfast ready, and a wave of guilt crashes over me. As if crashing at his place uninvited wasn’t enough, now I’m just here being completely useless.

“Let me help,” I offer, stepping closer, but freeze when he shoots me a pointed look.

I quickly change course and sit down at the table instead.

“Is Tim still sleeping?” I ask awkwardly, glancing around the room.

God, what must he think of me? Some mother—handing her newborn to a stranger and locking herself in the bathroom.

“Yeah, I put him down in his crib,” Max says.

“Thank you.”

“Any news about your boyfriend?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the phone clutched in my hand before turning back around.

“No. Nothing yet.”

My voice sinks lower. I scramble for another topic.

“Do you think the roads will be cleared by evening?”

“Maybe,” he says. “But they’re calling for the weather to get worse this afternoon. So, chances are, we’re getting snowed in again.”

He sets a plate down in front of me, then places a mug of tea beside it.

“Hope this is okay. I’m not sure if there are any things you’re supposed to avoid.”

“It’s fine,” I say, pulling the plate closer.

I can’t help but watch him again—something about him keeps drawing my eyes, and I can’t quite figure out what.

“We could invite Vivienne over,” Max says after a beat, flashing a tense little smirk. “I’m sure you two would have plenty to talk about.”

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I stammer, feeling heat creep up my neck. “It would just be…awkward.”

“What exactly would be awkward?”

He arches a brow at me, waiting.

I look away, chewing the inside of my cheek, feeling that awful embarrassment rise up again.

“I spent all that time telling Vivienne about Max,” I blurt out, dropping my fork with a clatter.

“About our trip, about how romantic he was. I shared everything—my hopes, my fears. I honestly believed we’d live next door to each other forever.

And now she knows…it was all a mistake. All that time, I was telling her stories about the wrong guy. She thought I was carrying your baby!”

The last part comes out in a half-laugh, half-groan, and I collapse back into my chair, mortified.

“Did you two become friends just because of me?” Max asks, his voice sharp enough to snap me out of my pity party. “Did anything about your friendship change once the truth came out?”

“No, but—”

“Did you lie to her?”

“No, but—”

“You’re the one who got tricked here, not Vivienne,” he says sharply. “And for the record, so did I.”

The corners of his mouth lift into a faint smile, and I realize he’s no longer as angry as he was during our first meeting.

“I still feel awful,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of tea. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of, don’t worry,” Max says. “Although, maybe it would just be easier to have another kid—preferably a boy—so we wouldn’t have to redo the nursery.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious, so I don’t comment.

“So what’s your plan now?” Max asks after a short pause.

“Well, I’ll have to completely rethink everything,” I admit. “I was planning to rent a small storefront right downstairs—close to home and the baby—but now I have to start over.”

“You could rent an apartment here, in this building,” Max suggests suddenly, and honestly, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. “I’ll see if I can get the building manager’s number. Maybe he knows someone who’s renting.”

“Yeah, that could work. Thank you,” I say, and try to lighten the mood.

“At least we won’t have to haul the crib too far.”

I catch myself smiling at him—at his faint, almost sad, but genuine smile—and it surprises me how much I like it. There’s a kindness to him, something steady and solid that makes me want to learn more about his life.

What happened between him and his ex? Why did they split up? What went wrong? Because from where I’m standing, Max seems like a good man.

We trade a few more casual remarks.

He won’t let me touch the dishes—orders me to rest instead—but sleep is the last thing on my mind after the message from Collin.

I fight to push thoughts of my ex away, but they creep back in when I least expect it, pulling me out of the moment.

I try to stay busy: picking up my things scattered around the apartment, sticking to the schedule to feed my son, avoiding Max whenever I can. I collapse on the bed, exhausted, just as another snowstorm starts to swirl outside the window.

It almost feels like this apartment—this bedroom—is doing everything it can to make me stay. Holding me here just a little bit longer.

By evening, I suddenly start feeling off. Dizzy, cramping low in my abdomen, so weak I can barely push myself out of bed to dig through the closet for a blood pressure monitor.

Max walks into the room without knocking just as I’m checking my pressure.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, squinting at me, studying my face closely.

“I’m fine. Just keeping an eye on things,” I rush to reassure him, but he’s not buying it.

In a few quick steps, he’s crossing the room and taking the monitor out of my hands.

“Your blood pressure’s low,” he states after glancing at the screen.

I sigh and shrug, but something in me snaps. I yank the device back from him with a sudden burst of irritation.

“It’s normal for me right now. No big deal. What did you want, anyway?”

I hate that he’s seeing me like this—weak, fragile, so far from the girl I used to be.

No manicure, no decent clothes, extra weight from the pregnancy still clinging to me. And now this: too weak to even take care of myself properly.

“The delivery service isn’t running,” Max says, ignoring my outburst. “So dinner’s not happening. I can’t cook. At all.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I blurt out, already feeling guilty.

I should’ve thought of it myself. The least I can do is thank him for everything he’s done—for his hospitality, for putting up with me.

“Sit down,” Max mutters irritably, pressing his hand firmly against my shoulder to stop me from getting up. “I’ll figure something out.”

He turns on his heel and leaves the bedroom without another word.

I pull the blanket up over myself, sinking into the bed, and without even realizing it, I fall into a deep sleep. I wake up to the sound of a baby crying somewhere in the apartment.

My heart jumps—it’s Tim. How long has he been crying while I was passed out like this?

I shoot up from the bed, and dark spots dance before my eyes. The dizziness is still there, clinging to me.

Holding onto the wall for support, I follow the sound down the hallway, open the door to the nursery—and freeze in the doorway.

Max doesn’t see me. He’s holding Tim in his arms, gently rocking him, trying to calm him down. And it looks… it looks so incredibly sweet that my heart twists painfully in my chest.

It hits me then. I miss this.

A man.

A partner.

Someone in the house, in my life.

I think about how I set up the nursery all by myself.

How I hired movers, arranged for the furniture to be built, found someone to paint the walls.

How, in the final months of my pregnancy, I struggled to carry groceries up to the apartment alone.

How now, I’m facing endless sleepless nights—just me and my son.

And it all could have been so different if I had a loving husband by my side.

“Easy there, buddy,” Max murmurs. “You don’t want to wake up Mom, right? You’re a little man, not a crybaby, so pull it together, huh? Don’t even think about getting a song out of me.”

The man is really trying his best to calm the baby down, but it’s not working.

“Probably needs a diaper change,” I say, giving away my presence, and carefully take my son from him. “Hey there, little guy, Mommy’s here. Shh, don’t cry, sweetheart.”

While I’m fussing over Tim, Max stays close, quietly watching everything I do.

“There’s a studio available on the sixth floor,” he suddenly announces, catching me off guard. “I got the landlord’s number. You can call tomorrow if you want to check it out.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, throwing him a confused glance.

“No big deal.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and shifts awkwardly, like he wants to say something else but isn’t sure if he should.

“Did you manage to cook something?” I jump in, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Found some dumplings in the freezer,” he says almost apologetically. “Tasted them. Pretty close to homemade.”

“If they were in the pink bag, then yeah, they are homemade. I made them a few weeks before Tim was born,” I smile.

“In that case, you’re a great cook. Here, let me take him. You really shouldn’t be carrying anything yet. Actually, you should be resting. Come on, I found a few good movies. I’ll bring dinner to you in bed. Since we’re stuck here together, might as well pass the time.”

While I settle into bed with Tim, who’s now wide awake but not crying anymore, Max brings over a tray with two plates.

A comedy is playing on TV, the room is dimly lit, the wind howls outside.

Max and I lie on opposite sides of the bed, Tim between us. If I let myself forget for just a second that we’re practically strangers, it would be easy to believe we were a real family.

Warmth and comfort fill the room, and it’s so overwhelming, so right, that it terrifies me.

Somewhere around the middle of the movie, I drift off to sleep, right after my son. Through the haze of sleep, I feel someone tucking the blanket around me and hear a soft whisper.

When I crack my eyes open for a second, I catch sight of a stroller beside the bed and realize Max must’ve brought it here so I wouldn’t have to get up at night.

Around midnight, I’m jolted awake by Tim’s loud cries. I have no choice but to get up and feed him. Max isn’t in the bedroom anymore. I find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, wearing headphones, a glass of whiskey in front of him, scrolling through his phone.

When he notices me, he lifts his head, his gaze sweeping over me. He pulls one earbud out and hits me with unexpected news:

“Cynthia couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She told my mom about you and the baby. And Elena—wanting to get a dig in at Cynthia, I guess—kind of… embellished the story. Now my mom’s dying to meet you two. Wants to make sure it’s all real.”