Page 32 of One Little Mistake

Erin

I’m still in a daze. I don’t believe a single word he says, but somehow, I follow him on pure emotion.

I need to make sure—did I really mix up the apartments?

Does he really live here? Is he telling the truth?

Though I’m not sure that’ll make things any easier.

If anything, it only complicates everything.

It was so much simpler to believe he was a jerk than to admit I might’ve been wrong and have to start trusting him again.

My temples are pounding, my chest tight with anxiety.

I watch Max walking down the hallway with confident strides, and I tremble.

How long has it been since we last saw each other?

He feels like a stranger now. I don’t even know how to act around him.

Tim must sense the shift in me too—he squirms and starts crying.

I pull him tighter into my arms, whisper something softly just to soothe us both, trying to make sense of this madness.

“Come in,” Max says, opening the door for me, and I peer into the apartment warily.

A few pairs of sneakers by the door. Unpacked suitcases.

Minimal furniture. An open-plan kitchen, a bedroom, a small office.

The layout is almost identical to Max’s place in apartment 217.

It’s small, not yet lived in. A nervous chuckle escapes my lips when I spot the bookshelf along the wall—technical manuals, a reference dictionary.

This is insane. Like someone’s playing a cruel joke on us.

Max watches me closely as I take everything in, not taking his eyes off me.

“When did you come back?” I ask in a whisper, avoiding his gaze.

“A week ago.”

“I see.”

“And where have you been all this time?” he asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“I…” I want to tell him I was living in someone else’s apartment, the one I thought was his, but I decide he doesn’t need that much detail. “A neighbor helped me into a vacant apartment—I thought it was yours. Later, I rented a studio on the sixth floor.”

We stare at each other in silence. I search his familiar features, trying to understand what I feel toward him now. Suddenly, Max closes the distance between us in a few quick steps and pulls me into his arms.

“My girl… I was so worried,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. I freeze. His touch, his nearness—none of it stirs the same storm of emotions it once did.

“And who was that guy with you?” he suddenly asks, looking me straight in the eyes.

“That’s… just a neighbor,” I lie boldly, not wanting him to know anything about the other Max. “He knows I live alone with the baby and helps me out sometimes.”

“He touched you? Did something happen between you two?” Max’s voice suddenly hardens, his eyes turning sharp.

“What? Of course not,” I laugh nervously, instinctively taking a step back.

“Are you sure?”

“Max, I was pregnant. I was just recently discharged from the hospital because the delivery had complications—I could’ve died. And you think I was chasing guys during all that?” My voice rises, anger bubbling up. “And anyway, why didn’t you call or text me more often?”

“Come on, babe, you know how shitty the signal is in the middle of the ocean—if there’s even a signal at all. And you could’ve called me, right? You had my number, unlike me. You erased every trace of yourself. Deleted your socials, too.”

“Don’t flip this on me.”

“Alright, alright, calm down.” He exhales. “Damn, I still can’t believe I’m a dad.” He walks over to the couch where Tim is peacefully lying. “He looks like me,” Max says with a soft smile.

I wrap my arms around myself, feeling awkward and out of place.

I want to close my eyes and rewind everything.

I had finally made peace with being alone, with Max being a liar.

And now… what? How am I supposed to shift gears in five minutes and forget everything I went through while he was gone?

How am I supposed to forget there’s another man out there—someone I could’ve spent tonight with, someone I actually like?

I feel awful. The father of my child, the man I once said I loved, is right next to me, and all I can think about is someone else. But how can I trust this Max again? How do I know he’s telling the truth? It all sounds convincing, yes, but a seed of doubt has already been planted deep inside me.

Max walks me back to my apartment, and I’m relieved when he doesn’t insist I stay with him. He scans everything in the apartment with jealous eyes, even opens the closet doors like he expects to find another guy hiding inside. He’s in no rush to leave.

“Do you need money? Maybe something for the kid?” he suddenly asks, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“No, we have everything we need. Thanks.”

“I’ll leave some cash just in case. You never know—I might have to visit my parents or something.”

He pulls out his wallet and counts out several hundred-dollar bills. Lays them on the table. I want to hand them back, but I don’t have the strength to argue right now. Besides, he is Tim’s father—he should take part in raising his son.

“Well, I’ll get going,” he mumbles, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. We’ll talk then. I’ve got a meeting at four today, so I have to run.”

“Yeah, of course,” I exhale with relief. I desperately need some space. Some silence to process Max’s sudden return.

“Don’t disappear on me again, baby.” He gives me a quick kiss on the lips, then walks over to Tim, gently touches his tiny hand, lingers for a moment, just looking at his son—and finally rushes out the door.

I slide down the wall and sit on the floor. My head is spinning. No clear thoughts. I don’t know what to do first. Everything is slipping from my hands. I’m nowhere near calm.

And then a message pops up. It’s from Max—the one in apartment 217—asking if I’m okay.

And I don’t know what to say. That I’m confused? That I can’t tell truth from lies anymore? That I’m not even sure I’m happy Tim’s father is back? That I’m not sure I want him in our lives? That I really wanted that elevator moment with Max? That I’m sorry his plans went off track because of me?

I barely sleep that night. Tim keeps crying, needing attention. And in the morning, I wake up to drops of water splashing on my face.

I open my eyes and freeze in horror. We’re being flooded. The upstairs neighbors, apparently.

I jump up, panicked, hands trembling as I grab my phone. I call Max. Not the father of my child Max. At the same time, I scoop Tim out of his crib—his clothes are damp, too.

“Max?” My voice cracks. “Our apartment’s flooding. Can you please come over?”

I’m holding back tears. It feels like the universe is throwing test after test at me, seeing how much more I can take. How much longer is this black cloud going to follow me?

I’m on the verge of a full-blown breakdown as I take in the extent of the disaster. Water is everywhere. Ceiling. Walls. Floor. Max shows up five minutes later, scans the room silently, then bolts upstairs without a word.

He’s gone for a good half hour.

Meanwhile, the water keeps seeping into the apartment.

I start packing a bag for Tim—just the essentials. I’ll drop him off at Vivienne’s for now. After this kind of flooding, the whole place will need serious repairs. Which means… we’re basically homeless again.

I angrily toss a pile of soaked baby clothes to the floor and flinch when a strong, familiar hand lands gently on my shoulder.

“Hey, calm down. This isn’t your fault. The neighbors upstairs left for vacation,” Max says quietly. “Building manager had to call them to get permission to break in and send a plumber. I’ll talk to your landlord. We’ll sort it out.”

I spin around to face him. I probably look like a wreck—and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel even worse.

“Thanks. I’m fine. It’s just… this whole thing came out of nowhere,” I say hoarsely, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

“I know. I get it.” He hesitates, then adds, “So… have you decided anything about… him?”

“Not yet,” I murmur, quickly looking away. Shame creeps up my neck.

“You’re not some naive girl, Erin,” he says, reaching out and gently gripping my chin, turning my face toward him. His eyes are the same deep blue that used to disarm me so easily. “You didn’t actually believe the crap he was spouting in the elevator, did you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore,” I whisper, shaking my head and pulling away from his touch. I take a step back and cross my arms tightly over my chest—shielding myself from his words, his stare, his logic.

“I just… I need time to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

His explanation sounded convincing, but not completely.

I know he could’ve found a way to reach me if he really wanted to.

But still… he’s Tim’s father, Max. I don’t want to take that away from my son.

And he’s not… I mean, he wasn’t a bad person.

At least, he used to be someone I believed in. ”

I don’t even know who I’m trying to convince—him or myself.

“Just promise me you won’t make any decisions yet,” Max says, his voice low but firm. “I asked a few people to look into this Max Taylor guy. In a couple days, I’ll have everything—where he was, when he came back, what he’s really up to.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly. “Why do you care so much?”

I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. Deep down, I know if he said he had feelings for me, if he said he wanted to try being something more—I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d say yes.

I’m so tired of being strong. Tired of carrying everything on my shoulders. The complicated pregnancy, work, the apartment, labor, the hospital… and the only person who’s been there for me through it all is the man standing in front of me. A man who, by all logic, should’ve never cared.

Max frowns, his eyes searching mine. He scratches his jaw, his gaze drifting to the stroller and then back to me.

“Erin, I…”

“Whoa—what happened here?” a voice interrupts from the door, and I groan in frustration. The front door wasn’t locked, and Max—the other Max—walks right in.

“Flooded,” I mutter, gesturing around at the soaked floor and walls.

He glares at the man beside me, who returns the look just as sharply.

“Did you do this?” Max nods at the puddles forming beneath our feet.

“No, he didn’t,” I say quickly.

“Alright. Erin, start packing. You can’t stay here with the baby. You’re coming to my place.”

“What?” My eyes widen at the sudden announcement—even if, technically, it makes sense. We do have a child together.

“What do you mean, what?” he shoots back. “You really thought I’d leave the two of you here? We also need to figure out this repair situation. Do the upstairs tenants cover it or is it coming out of pocket?” He gestures toward the ceiling.

“I haven’t talked to anyone yet.”

“Good. I’ll handle it. That your bag?” He nods toward the duffel on the bed.

“Yeah, just the basics.”

“Grab whatever else you might need. Let’s not have you running back and forth. I’ll carry everything down.”

I sneak a glance at Max-from-217—yeah, that’s what I call him in my head. He’s standing there, watching the other Max’s every move, saying nothing. Then finally, he speaks.

“Don’t forget what we talked about, Erin,” he says with a dry chuckle, his tone colder than I expected.

His eyes pierce right through me, and a chill runs down my spine.

He looks… disappointed. But why? What did I do wrong?

Because I didn’t refuse to leave with Max?

Where else was I supposed to go? I can’t exactly show up at his door with a baby and a suitcase.

Tim’s father is back, and he’s supposed to help now. I shouldn’t be dumping everything on someone who owes us nothing. That’s what I keep telling myself—even when the door closes behind Max-from-217, and my chest tightens in guilt. Even then, I repeat: I’m doing the right thing.

“I’ll call a cleaning service. They’ll take care of the mess,” Max says.

“Great, you handle it,” I snap, my nerves fraying. “All I need now is for the front window of my shop to shatter for this to be a full-blown disaster.”

I’m losing it. I just got settled into this apartment, started to feel like my life was coming together—and it’s all falling apart again.

What drives me crazy the most is that instead of soaking up the joy of motherhood, focusing fully on my baby, I’m constantly stuck in survival mode. Worrying about money, scrambling for solutions, watching every dime. I can’t even afford the time to fully recover my own health.

All I wanted was a few months of peace and quiet. Just a little time to breathe. But life keeps throwing bricks at me, one after the other, like it’s trying to crush me into the ground. That’s why I let Max take control. Let him do what he should’ve been doing from the beginning—taking care of us.

I hand over two suitcases, push the stroller ahead, and leave the apartment behind.

I tell myself I trust him—that he’ll actually call the cleaning company.

But as the elevator passes the floor with apartment 217, my chest tightens again.

Bitterness rises in the back of my throat, sharp and lingering.