Page 22 of One Little Mistake

Max

Cynthia’s little stunt sparks real fury in me.

What was she thinking, telling my mother that I’m living with a woman and that she has a child? A child that isn’t mine.

Did she think my mom would come running to talk some sense into me? That I’m fifteen and will just do whatever my parents say?

I’ve been an adult for a long time now. I have every right to live my life the way I choose.

And Elena isn’t exactly innocent in this either. She’s the only person who knows the real reason behind my divorce, which is why she absolutely loathes my ex-wife.

She doesn’t understand why I keep my parents out of the loop or why I even let Cynthia set foot in my place, but she does know one thing very clearly—if she breathes a word of anything, she’ll lose my trust for good.

So she keeps quiet.

But she doesn’t pass up any opportunity to throw dirt on her former sister-in-law and paint her in the worst light possible. And now, it seems, she decided to twist the knife even deeper—by painting a picture of my happy life without Cynthia.

Women are nothing but trouble. I’m so sick of all this.

What was meant to be just a few weeks of vacation has turned into complete hell.

What am I even supposed to tell my parents now? That it was all a joke? A prank that Elena decided to play along with?

One way or another, I’ll have to explain myself. Because if I don’t, how the hell do I later explain where my supposed son disappeared to?

I look up from my phone, deciding to postpone the conversation with my mother until morning, and immediately lock eyes with Erin.

I take out my earbuds—and that’s when I hear the baby crying.

“Funny how one small lie can spiral into a whole avalanche of chaos,” Erin sighs, walking toward the kitchen cabinet as if she didn’t just say something deeply philosophical.

But I notice something’s off. Her steps are unsteady. She winces, leaning her hands on the granite counter. Stubborn as hell. Still trying to prove she’s fine. But if she really felt okay, she wouldn’t have left the baby crying in the other room alone.

“They discharged you way too early,” I mutter and get up to help. “Move. What do you need me to do?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You’re barely standing.”

I glance at her pale face and shake my head.

“You really should get a nanny. Just for a month, until you get stronger. Honestly, good thing I intercepted you at the hospital. Imagine being alone with the baby right now in your condition.”

Her expression pales even more. Looks like I struck a nerve.

“What was I supposed to do?” she shrugs weakly and reaches for the baby formula.

I catch her wrist before she can grab the bottle—her hand is so small, I could probably wrap both of mine around it twice.

“Sit down,” I say, nodding at the chair, “or better yet, go check on the baby. I’m capable of reading the back of a formula box. Trust me.”

She doesn’t argue. Just gives me a look—some strange mix of defeat and confusion. I guess that says it all.

No matter how cold I might be toward women in general, Erin somehow gets to me. Maybe it’s because I know exactly how she feels right now. I was a wreck, too, when Cynthia left me. But for women… betrayal cuts even deeper.

I boil the water, carefully read the instructions, shake the bottle until the formula is smooth, then head toward the bedroom.

When I get there, I find Erin lying in bed with the baby in her arms. The soft glow from the bedside lamp highlights the copper tones in her hair and doesn’t do much to hide how pale she is. She’s holding Tim close to her chest, quietly humming a lullaby.

I stop dead in the doorway, forgetting why I even came in here. For a moment, I imagine she’s my woman, holding my son in her arms. And just like that, something twists in my chest. A lump rises in my throat, and it suddenly becomes hard to breathe.

I’m not the sentimental type. But once, I used to dream about a real family. A loyal, loving wife. A couple of kids. Someone waiting for me back on land. Someone worth fighting for.

Maybe Elena was right when she told me I should at least try something serious. Something more than just a string of nights and a disappearing act the next morning.

I watch Erin feed her son, and somehow, I feel like a stranger in my own home. But more than that, I can’t wrap my head around how someone could just leave these two behind. No explanation. No support. Just lie—and disappear.

There’s nothing manly about that. And trust me, I’ve seen a lot over the years at sea.

The second officer on our ship has been married for seven years, and for three of them, he’s been keeping a side girl.

Tells his wife he’s shipping out, but really he rents a place in another city and spends three weeks with his mistress before the crew even boards.

Then, when he actually comes home, he lies again—says he’s still out working.

Even has one of the guys send him photos from ports along the way so his wife doesn’t suspect anything.

She’s not stupid—tracks the ship’s location online.

And I just… don’t get it. If you’re done, if the spark is gone, if you’re into someone else—why keep pretending like everything’s fine? Why keep playing house?

Loyalty and trust—that’s the foundation. If you’re not ready to give that, if you still want to screw around, then don’t get married in the first place.

“Vivienne stopped by,” I say, breaking the silence. I grab a pillow and pull a blanket from the closet. “You were asleep, so I sent her home. She said she’ll come by again tomorrow.”

“Really? Thanks,” Erin replies, relaxing a little.

“Don’t think anyone’s mad at you for the mix-up with the name or the address,” I say as I head for the door. “At least I lucked out and ended up with an honest woman who only slightly redecorated my place—instead of walking off with my valuables.”

I throw the joke out casually, but as usual, she doesn’tt laugh. Just knits her brows like I said something offensive.

“Where are you going?” she calls after me.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight. Don’t want to disturb you and the baby.”

“But that couch is… really uncomfortable,” she says, unsure.

I don’t turn around. Just keep my eyes on the dark door ahead.

How the hell do I explain to her that the last thing I want when I lie beside her is to sleep? That the smell of her skin and hair hits me like a drug the moment the lights go out? That even looking pale and exhausted, she’s more attractive than any woman I’ve been with lately?

There’s something about Erin—something that pulls you in, makes you want to look closer. To know more. To touch. To taste.

Or maybe it’s just been too damn long since I had a woman in my bed. Maybe I should hit up Natalie sometime.

“I’ll survive one night,” I grunt, and step out without looking back.

The couch is as awful as I remembered. Actually, scratch that—calling it a couch is generous. It’s a piece of junk, not meant for sleeping on. I toss and turn, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel like torture, then finally give up and move to the floor.

Silence blankets the apartment. Too thick. Too heavy. I switch on the TV, volume down to a whisper. Better. I close my eyes, just starting to drift when—

A loud, high-pitched wail cuts through the air like a siren.

Great. And here I was thinking newborns weren’t that hard. Eat, sleep, chill in their crib.

Yeah, right. Spoke too soon.

I check the time and give it ten minutes. If the kid’s still howling, I’ll go see what’s up. But luckily, he quiets down, and I finally fall asleep again.

Only to be woken up by voices from the kitchen.

I rub my eyes and glance out the window. The storm’s passed, but the streets are still buried and not a snowplow in sight. My back’s killing me; Muscles stiff like I slept on concrete—which I kind of did.

I shuffle toward the kitchen, following the sound of soft chatter—and smile when I see Erin and Vivienne sitting at the table, both with babies in their arms, chatting and laughing over lunch.

I take in the scene. Viviennes’s petite, like a real-life Thumbelina.

Erin, taller, still manages to look delicate somehow.

And today, she looks… better. Fresher. There’s a quiet light in her eyes.

A soft smile. A dimple. She’s leaning back in her chair, cradling the baby with one arm and lazily poking at her salad with the other.

“Morning,” I say to make my presence known. Two sets of eyes turn my way.

“More like lunchtime, sleepyhead,” Vivienne teases. “So, how’s the whole ‘pretend family man’ thing going? Ready to settle down and start a real one? This feels like the perfect warm-up round to me.”

“I’d have married you ages ago, Vivienne,” I smirk, flipping on the coffee machine, “but you won’t go anywhere without Logan. Guess I’ll have to keep looking. I’ll be sure to let you know when I find ‘the one’.”

“And why bother looking,” she counters with a sly grin, “when you’ve already got such an adorable girl and a baby in your apartment?”

I freeze with a cup of hot coffee in my hand, not even noticing how it burns my skin. Erin blushes, shooting an accusing look at the ever-pleased Vivienne. The latter gives me a sly wink in return.

I pretend I didn’t hear her, because what she just said is complete nonsense. I barely know Erin and the kid isn’t mine.

“I’ve arranged for us to see the studio today. The previous tenants haven’t moved out yet, so we can stop by around three.” I clear my throat and glance at Erin. “You feeling up to a short walk around the building?”

“Yes. That’s great news, thank you.” She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and casts another disapproving look at Vivienne, clearly uncomfortable.

“Then I’ll leave you girls to gossip,” I add, and head back to the bedroom for some more sleep.

I fall onto the bed and inhale deeply, catching the faint scent left behind on the sheets.

I think about Natalie, how I always changed the bedding after she left, and realize I have no desire to strip the sheets after Erin.

Suddenly, I remember I never explained the situation to my mother. Good thing the snowstorm hit, otherwise, she probably would’ve been pounding on my door at six in the morning. Well, guess I’ll just say it was a bad joke. A little scheme to make Cynthia jealous and get her off my back.

Sounds believable enough.