Page 31 of One Little Mistake

Erin

I absentmindedly examine the gerbera in my hand.

It’s quiet and peaceful in my little shop.

My son is asleep nearby in his stroller, and I’m working on a few custom floral arrangements.

Right now, it doesn’t even feel like a real flower shop—just the bare essentials.

Only what I need for today’s work and a few fresh roses.

I haven’t found the courage to hire a nanny yet, so I work just a couple hours a day while Tim is sound asleep.

That’s enough to make three or four hatbox bouquets—and they bring in a decent income.

Thankfully, I’m feeling much better now. Sure, I still get a little dizzy sometimes or feel my blood pressure dip, but compared to how I felt a month ago, it’s nothing.

I’ve started getting used to this new rhythm of life.

I wake up, change a diaper, feed Tim, eat breakfast, and head outside for a walk with the stroller.

Half an hour of fresh air, two hours of work, then lunch.

Diapers again, baby food, another walk, and a quick stop back at the shop to hand off orders to the courier.

In the evening, once Tim’s asleep, I quietly tidy up the apartment, picking up scattered things, washing the dishes, and planning the next day.

I call my mom and grandma, catch up with friends who live in other cities.

And often, I share tea and cake with Max—or I watch as he installs another shelf or fixes something for me.

I admire his toned body, always freshen up a bit before he arrives, and sometimes I can’t help but watch him for ages as he carries Tim around the apartment while I cook or take calls.

A soft grunt comes from the stroller, and I quickly grab the handle, gently rocking it to lull my son back to sleep.

“Just a little longer, baby. Mommy’s almost done. Shh-shh, my sweetheart, we’ll eat soon,” I whisper and flinch when the bell above the front door rings.

A tall man steps inside. I only glance up, vaguely annoyed with myself for forgetting to lock the door from the inside.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” I say without lifting my head.

“That’s too bad. I was hoping to buy flowers for the most charming girl in the world,” comes a familiar voice, and my eyes widen in surprise.

“Max?”

“Why? Don’t I look like myself?” he asks playfully, smiling at me.

“It… it suits you.”

I’m so flustered I start to stammer. I hungrily take in the features of his face he’d been hiding behind that beard all this time.

Max looks young. Much younger than I thought.

Sharp cheekbones, a square jaw. A beautiful face. Strikingly so. A light dusting of dark stubble, and with it, those ice-colored eyes look downright mesmerizing. I can’t take my eyes off him. He was handsome before, sure—but now…

“You look younger,” I say with a smile, feeling my heart race wildly. I just can’t get used to him like this. It’s like there’s a stranger standing in front of me.

“So that means young girls definitely won’t be hitting on me anymore,” he grins. “They usually go for older guys.”

“Your sense of humor’s still intact,” I reply, trying to keep things light, though I’m suddenly flustered and unsure what to do with myself. “Sooo… did you come for flowers or just to stop by?”

“What do you have?” he asks, glancing around the almost-empty shop.

“Roses,” I nod toward a bucket of white ones. “A client was supposed to pick them up, but canceled right before lunch.”

“Perfect. I’ll take them all. How much?”

For some reason, I feel disappointed. Max pulls out his wallet, and all I can think about is who he’s buying those roses for.

When he places several large bills on the counter and silently watches as I wrap up fifty-seven roses in clear cellophane, my eyes almost well up with tears.

I barely manage to hold them back. I’d let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something growing between us—that he was helping me and Tim not out of pity but because he wanted to. And now, it’s all crumbling.

My emotions swirl in chaos. I avoid his gaze at all costs, terrified I’ll betray what I’m feeling. My hands tremble. I just want to go home and hide.

“Here,” I say, handing him the bouquet. Goosebumps race down my arms when our fingers brush.

“Thanks. The flowers are stunning—just like their owner,” he says with a wink, then turns and walks out. I watch him go, stunned, feeling like a fool. I don’t know what to think.

But I don’t get a chance to cry, because the bell above the door rings again.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture. My voice comes out hoarse and subdued.

“No. Here, this is for you,” he says, holding the bouquet out to me again, and I stare at him in confusion. “Let’s pretend we didn’t see each other a minute ago, and that I just came in to invite you to dinner and give you flowers, like I’m supposed to.”

“You bought flowers from me to give them… back to me?” I frown, but already feel the tension inside me start to melt away. A breathy chuckle escapes my lips. God, what a clown.

“It happened spontaneously. I needed flowers, and as a client, I bought them from you. So… how about we go downtown tonight? When do you finish? I know a nice restaurant. I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“I… Oh, yeah. I’m in. I’m almost done, but I need to stop by the apartment to change and feed Tim first.”

“No problem. I’ll wait here and we’ll head home together.”

Max’s presence makes me nervous. He keeps pacing around, peeking into the stroller, then staring at me for long stretches.

I’m tense. His words won’t leave my head.

What does he want to talk about? Did something happen?

What are the flowers for? I sneak a glance at him again, unable to pull my eyes away from his face.

God, that short beard suits him so well. He looks like a damn god.

If he kisses me tonight… if things go further than they should… I won’t stop it this time. I want him. I deserve a little slice of happiness. Even if it’s temporary.

I finish up my work. The courier arrives right on time like always. I hand off the orders, lock up the shop, and head toward the front door of the building with Max at my side.

It’s already warm outside, and I’m wearing a light coat.

A soft breeze whips my hair in all directions.

The grass is turning green, birds are singing.

Everything feels calm and peaceful, but I can’t shake the bad feeling creeping up my spine.

Like a storm cloud is about to roll in and ruin this perfect day in an instant.

Is it because of the talk we’re about to have? Or am I just overthinking again?

Tim starts to fuss, so I pick him up, holding him close while Max walks beside me, pushing the now-empty stroller. He presses the elevator button. We wait, locked in a tense gaze. My chest tightens. The air crackles.

Click.

Ding.

The elevator doors slide open. I exhale slowly, turn to step forward—and freeze.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

I stare wide-eyed at the man standing inside. He stares right back. Shock. Confusion. Disbelief. It floods both our faces. I blink, trying to convince myself it’s just someone who looks like him.

But it’s not.

It’s him.

Max.

The real father of my child. Standing in the same building, within arm’s reach.

No.

No way.

This can’t be happening.

I can’t get air into my lungs. My knees threaten to buckle. I stare at him in disbelief. He stares at me. Then, his gaze drops to Tim in my arms. I clutch my baby tighter, instinctively, protectively. His eyes go wide. He blinks.

“What’s wrong? You feeling okay? Why aren’t you getting in the elevator?” Max asks, oblivious to the man standing inside.

I finally snap out of it. Turn toward him, dazed. He’s holding the stroller with one hand and the bouquet of roses he just gave me with the other. He looks concerned, completely unaware that in a split second, everything might have just changed.

“Erin?”

The other man’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

“Oh my God, where have you been? I thought something happened to you. I’ve been losing my mind! I searched everywhere… Is this… is he our son?”

Max—the other Max—takes a hesitant step forward. He’s so close I can smell his cologne. The same scent. The one from my memories. And it pulls me violently into the past.

“M-Max?” It’s all I can manage to say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the stunned expression on the face of the Max who isn’t mine. And I know nothing will ever be the same again.

“You must be the runaway groom, huh?” Max says with a dry chuckle, cutting the other man off before he can say another word.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” my ex snaps back, glaring him down with growing hostility.

“No one,” Max says coldly. “Erin, let’s go.” He tries to nudge me toward the elevator.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold up, man,” my ex growls, stepping forward. “That’s my fiancée. And my son. So if anyone here’s nobody, it’s you. Thanks for the help with the stroller, but we’ll take it from here.”

They’re standing face to face now. The tension between them thickens like a storm cloud, and I swear—give them one more minute, and they will be at each other's throats.

“Both of you—shut up!” I snap. “No one’s going anywhere until we figure out what the hell, Max, made you send me to the wrong apartment?! And where the hell have you been all this time?”

“Let’s go home. I’m not having this conversation in front of strangers.

First of all. And second—where did you disappear to?

Your flower shop’s closed, all your social media accounts are gone.

I couldn’t even find your friends to ask if you were okay.

I went to the police, imagined a million horrible things, and turns out—you managed to get yourself a man while I was gone. ”

“Watch your mouth,” Max—my Max—takes a step closer, voice low and threatening.

“I disappeared?” I explode. Months of pain, confusion, and sleepless nights come rushing back, rising like a tidal wave inside me.

“You sent me to a stranger’s apartment! You messaged once a month!

Never asked about the baby, never asked how I was doing—and now you’re blaming me because the one person who was there for me actually gave a damn? ”

“What the hell are you talking about—‘wrong apartment’? Are you out of your mind? I gave you my keys. I got back from my deployment, went to my place—and you were gone! No note. No message. Nothing.”

“You gave me the wrong address!” I shout, my voice so loud it jolts Tim awake in my arms.

“I’m telling you one more time—I gave you the keys to my apartment.

What the hell are you talking about? And I couldn’t call you because three months ago my phone went overboard!

I didn’t get a new one until a month later, and none of the numbers were saved.

Not even yours. There was no way to recover the SIM card. ”

“No…” I whisper. “You’re lying…”

“Why the hell would I lie to you, Erin?” His voice softens, but his eyes plead. “What happened, really?”

And just like that, my entire world wavers on a fault line between what I thought I knew… and what might have been the truth all along.

“Here, you texted me this.” I pull my phone out of my purse with trembling hands, my voice catching in my throat as I swipe through the messages. My fingers finally land on the one. “Harbor Street 7, apt. 217.”

“Three-seventeen,” Max, my Max, corrects gently, a quiet weight in his voice now.

“Two-seventeen,” I insist, holding the phone screen toward him.

I watch as his expression changes. The anger drains from his face, replaced by confusion. Then guilt. He furrows his brows and looks at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time.

“Shit... baby, I’m so sorry,” Maxwell murmurs. “My finger must’ve slipped. I didn’t even notice I sent the wrong number. Why didn’t you text me when you realized it was the wrong place?”

“It’s... it’s a long story,” I whisper, suddenly feeling so foolish. God, how did I end up in this mess? It feels like a cruel joke, like some absurd dream. And the worst part is, I don’t even know how to feel about seeing Tim’s father again. Am I relieved? Angry? Scared?

“I need... I need some time alone. I’m going to my place. We’ll talk later.”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” comes Taylor’s cold voice from behind.

“Both,” I say quietly.

“No way, sunshine,” Maxwell cuts in with a hopeful smile, stepping forward. “I finally found you. I’m seeing my son for the first time. I’m not letting you walk away now.”

He wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss to my forehead. It should’ve felt comforting, familiar even. But all I feel is suffocated. Cornered. And guilty—because Taylor is still there, watching. And I can't meet his eyes.

Five minutes ago, I was content. Happy, even. Now I’m standing at a crossroads again, and every direction feels wrong.

I’m too stunned to protest when Maxwell gently guides me into the elevator. He wheels the stroller in beside us, presses the button for 28.

The last thing I see is Max’s cold stare as the elevator doors slide shut in front of me. And in those eyes, I think I catch it—bitterness, pain, anger, and disappointment.