Page 33 of One Little Mistake

Erin

Max heads out to deal with my rental situation, and I quickly scan the apartment, feed my son, and realize—I can’t stay here. Thankfully, I’ve got a few flower orders to fulfill today, so I strap Tim into the stroller and hurry to the elevator.

The air outside is crisp and clean, with just the right amount of sun. A perfect day to take a family trip somewhere. Perhaps walk in the park, a riverside stroll, or even a spontaneous picnic out of town.

I tilt my head up, searching for the windows of the apartment where I lived for the past six months.

Maybe it would’ve been better if neither man had ever come into my life.

I’m so tired of the emotional back-and-forth, the fear of being let down again.

I just want to say to hell with it all—pack a bag and go to the countryside, or better yet, visit my mom.

I hadn’t seen her since Christmas. I remember surprising her with a flight and a suitcase full of gifts.

Just thinking of her makes my chest ache. She’s worked overseas for so many years that I barely remember anything different. But one thing I know for sure: I don’t want my kids growing up without me the way I did without her.

I delay going back upstairs as long as I can. I stroll through the courtyard, wander aimlessly in the baby section of a store, picking out clothes and toys for Tim. But when I finish the second thermos of formula, I’m out of excuses.

The walk helped clear my head. I realized that when it comes to Maxwell…

at this point, I want nothing more than friendship.

The time we spent apart changed something in me.

The love I thought I held onto all this time—it’s faded, leaving only memories.

Or maybe it wasn’t love at all? Maybe it was the fear of being alone.

The pregnancy. The way a guy like him actually noticed someone like me.

As soon as I step into the apartment, the smell of cigarette smoke hits my nose. I wince.

“Maxwell, could you not smoke in here? There’s a baby.” I only call him by his full name when I’m mad at him.

“Sorry, babe. I’ll air it out.” He jumps off the couch and cracks open a window. That “babe” makes my skin crawl.

I study the man I once loved, the one I suffered for, the father of my child—and all I feel now is emptiness. Bitter, with a strange aftertaste of disappointment and burnt oatmeal.

“The apartment’s cleaned, by the way, so don’t stress,” he says, walking over to peek into the stroller. “Wanna go grab dinner somewhere?”

“No, I’m tired. Let’s just order in.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be so boring. We need to get out, clear our heads. The weather’s amazing.”

“If you want to go, go. I need to feed our son and take care of a few things.”

“You mind if I head out alone then?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Cool. Want me to bring you something?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He strips off his loungewear as he walks, revealing toned abs and a tattoo on his back.

Still as handsome as ever—but I feel nothing.

It’s like he’s a stranger now. Which, I guess, isn’t all that surprising.

He’s been gone so long, I stopped feeling like he was part of my life.

I’d built him up in my head—this perfect, charming, generous man any woman would be lucky to have. But now, all I see are his flaws.

He tossed his clothes on the floor and headed for the shower. No questions about how I survived these months, how the birth went. No concern, no guilt. Just self-absorbed silence. He’s a narcissist—plain and simple. And I was going to build a life with this man?

God, why didn’t You show me this sooner?

No, I don’t regret having him in my life—if it weren’t for him, there’d be no Tim. But my own blind faith in him? That I regret deeply.

And suddenly, I think of Max. The one from apartment 217. Quiet. Steady. Thoughtful. We didn’t talk much, but even in silence, being near him felt… safe. Comforting. He radiated strength and calm. The kind of man you trust. The kind who doesn’t disappear the second you turn your back.

Not like this one. Not like Maxwell.

I feel out of place in someone else’s apartment. After quickly feeding and putting Tim down to sleep, I slip into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and study my reflection in the mirror. Gaunt. A sickly glint in my eyes. Pale.

My gaze falls on the laundry basket—and I freeze. Perched on top is a hair clip. Not mine. Silver with a glinting gemstone that sparkles under the bathroom light.

I walk toward it slowly, staring at it for a few moments before picking it up. I turn it over in my fingers, frowning, and then, as if possessed, begin scanning the entire apartment for signs of another woman.

I don’t even know what I’m hoping to find—or prove. But a few dark hairs on the bathtub, a tube of lip gloss near the entryway, and a scarf hanging on the coat rack stir something hot and bitter in my chest.

So he was looking for me, huh? Worried sick, was he? Yeah, I can see how broken up he must’ve been—just enough to start bringing random women over in between his grieving sessions.

I’m fuming. Hurt rising like a tidal wave. I think about our dates, the time we spent together, the mornings tangled in bedsheets, the way we devoured each other—and my heart aches. Because now I know there was never any love. Maybe not even from the start.

Just an illusion. Something I wanted to believe.

So many years, and I’m still the naive girl who lets herself be blinded.

I decide I’m going to talk to Max as soon as he gets back.

I hate this fog of uncertainty, and I want it over.

Now. We either lay everything on the table and figure out how to be something—even if just co-parents—or we go our separate ways for good.

Honestly, maybe it would’ve been better if we’d never seen each other again. If his sudden disappearance had just stayed an unanswered question.

There’s a reason fate split us apart once already.

I can’t sit still. I pace the room nervously, glancing at the clock.

It’s already dark outside. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but Max still hasn’t come back.

Eventually, exhaustion gets the better of me.

I tell myself I’ll just lie down for a few minutes—but I don’t even notice when I drift off.

I wake up to a loud knock, confused at first about where I am. The unfamiliar bed, the strange walls—it all makes me tense up. Footsteps echo through the apartment, and I instinctively grab my phone, ready to call the cops if I have to. But then yesterday comes rushing back to me, and I relax.

I realize now is definitely not the time for a confrontation. So I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep.

I listen. Max is moving around the apartment, humming to himself, completely unconcerned about waking the sleeping baby.

He’s drunk. I know that tone, that sway in his steps.

God, I hate this version of him. There’s no reasoning, no calming him down—no getting him to hand over the bottle and just go home.

At least it’s 3 a.m. and not the middle of the day.

The bed creaks under his weight as he stumbles into the bedroom. I tense when he climbs in next to me, sliding under the covers. I scoot to the very edge of the mattress, not wanting him anywhere near me. This doesn’t feel like closeness. This feels like I’m lying next to a stranger.

What even was this between us? A moment of weakness? Desperation?

“Baby,” he slurs, leaning in close, his breath warm and thick with alcohol. “I missed you so much. Come here.”

His hands brush over my skin. I recoil instantly.

“Max, you’re drunk. Get off me.”

“Come on, Erin… don’t you want me? It’s been so long. I missed you like crazy.”

“No, Max. I don’t want you. And would you please stop breathing on me? And keep your voice down—the baby’s sleeping. Your baby, by the way,” I snap, finally turning to face him in the dim glow of the nightstand light.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he says, frowning. “You got someone else now? That ‘neighbor’ guy? You screw around while I’m gone and think I won’t find out?”

“First of all, sweetie,” I say, my anger rising, “you have to be in a relationship with someone to be cheated on. And when I told you I was pregnant, you didn’t say a single thing about us being together.

Not one word. Second—look who’s talking.

I found women’s things in your apartment.

Don’t even pretend you were out there searching for me.

Anything could’ve happened to me! Your son could’ve been left without a mother! ”

A chill runs through me as I say it. Because it’s true. I could’ve died, and who knows what would’ve happened to my baby.

“But you didn’t,” he says flatly, shrugging. “So what are you freaking out about? Come on… let’s just remember how good we used to be. You’re still so damn sexy, Erin.”

He leans in again, tries to kiss me, but I turn my head.

“Stop,” I say sharply, pushing him away.

Max looks at me with a strange glint in his eyes, then lets out a mocking laugh.

“Good thing I never married you. You’re painfully boring and uptight,” he says with venom, and I stiffen. His words hit like a slap to the face, making my entire body go cold.

“What did you just say?” My voice comes out hoarse, disbelieving.

“Bet you got pregnant on purpose, huh?” Max sneers. “Little small-town girl sees a guy with prospects and decides to lock him down?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I never asked you for a single damn cent during my entire pregnancy—or after giving birth!

I’m independent, Max. And not exactly broke either, just so you know.

So screw you!” I throw the blanket off and nearly leap out of bed.

I never should’ve come here. I hoped for a civil conversation, some real answers—but all I got was confirmation that my ex is a total asshole.