Page 4 of One Little Mistake

Erin

Five months ago

“Damn it!” I hiss, realizing I’ve officially lost the battle with the lock.

Desperation washes over me, and I understand there’s no way I’m getting into the apartment tonight. Just perfect.

“Need some help?” comes a woman’s voice from the side. I flinch at the sudden sound and drop the damn keys on the floor.

I glance over at the stranger—petite, young, wearing an expensive fur coat and high-heeled boots. She fits right in with this luxury high-rise.

Max always did have a thing for luxury, so I’m not even surprised he chose a place like this.

“Well, unless you’ve got a magic lockpick, I don’t think you can help. The lock’s completely jammed,” I say, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in my tone. I plop down on top of my suitcase and sigh in defeat.

“And you are…?” the blonde asks, narrowing her eyes and giving me a slow once-over.

“My boyfriend’s out at sea. He left me the keys, and I’ve been trying to open the door for half an hour now. I think the lock’s stuck. I should probably call a locksmith, but my phone’s dead.”

I don’t even know why I’m telling her all this. Maybe so she doesn’t think I’m some kind of burglar.

“You’re Max’s girlfriend?” she asks suddenly.

Now it’s my turn to eye her suspiciously.

I’m pretty sure my thoughts show clearly on my face, because in the next moment she throws up her hands and smiles.

“No, no, I’m just his neighbor. Nothing like that. He actually mentioned you’d be coming, but I think he said you were stopping by to pick up your things, not the other way around,” she adds, frowning at the bags surrounding me.

“Must’ve been a mix-up,” I shrug. “Not that it matters if I can’t even get in. Guess I’ll stay at a hotel tonight. Maybe he gave me the wrong keys. Could I borrow your phone? I need to call a cab.”

“Wait a sec—Max gave me a spare set of keys and said you might need help getting in. Didn’t he tell you?”

“That’s weird. Then why did he ask his friend to give me the keys?” I murmur, glancing at the floor.

Last time we messaged, the connection was so bad it took ten minutes for him to download the photo of the pregnancy test.

Maybe not all his messages came through?

She thinks for a moment, then leaves me alone in the hallway and returns a few minutes later. She inserts the key into the lock—and to my surprise, it turns on the first try.

She pushes the handle and opens the door with a victorious smile.

“Well then,” I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Thanks. Good thing we ran into each other.”

“So… are you staying long?” she asks casually.

“Hopefully forever. I’m Erin.”

I grab the handle of my suitcase and roll it into the dark hallway.

“Vivienne,” she says after a pause, watching me carry in two duffel bags and a blooming potted orchid. “If you need anything, come by—I live next door.”

“Thanks for the help. Really. Otherwise, I might’ve been living in that hallway for the next six months.”

“Max probably just changed the locks after moving in,” she adds, nodding toward the keys still lying on the floor.

“Maybe. Anyway, thanks again, and good night,” I smile, close the door behind me… and still can’t believe my luck.

The first thing I do is pull a phone charger out of my purse, and it feels like an eternity passes before the screen finally lights up with a wallpaper of a deep blue ocean.

“I made it. Got here fine,” I text Max, and while I wait for a reply, I start looking around the apartment.

Open-concept kitchen and two rooms. One is spacious and bright, with a huge bed in the center. The other is smaller, set up as a workspace, with a tall bookshelf lining one wall.

Knowing Max, I can guess he had nothing to do with the interior design—because I can’t even picture him sitting at a desk with a pen in hand. Unless it’s to play another computer game.

Maybe someday we’ll turn that room into a nursery, though it’d be a shame to lose such a cozy space. It feels like every detail in here was chosen with care, like it was all meant specifically for this room. Even the spines of the books are arranged by color.

Inside the closet, I find a whole row of crisp white shirts, slacks, and ties. I’ve never once seen Max dress that formally.

I open the second door and smirk—now this is more like him. T-shirts, jeans, baseball caps, and an endless number of track suits—folded so neatly and precisely, there’s no doubt in my mind: a woman’s been here.

That thought makes me uneasy.

In the last few weeks before Max left for his trip, he started pulling away. Disappearing. Not answering my calls as often.

Could there really be someone else?

No. Most likely, after moving in, he hired someone to unpack all the boxes and organize the place.

There can’t be another woman in his life. Not after our whirlwind romance, meeting his family, his friends…

“Cool. Make yourself at home for now. We’ll figure something out later,” comes the reply—and the smile slips right off my face.

“We’ll figure something out later…”

That phrase sticks with me. Won’t let me go.

Especially after how he didn’t say a single thing about the pregnancy. No happiness. No reaction. Just a dry: “You sure? Like, really sure?”

It’s not like I was trying to trap him with a baby or anything, but since it happened, I’m not the only one responsible.

And I do love him—no point in denying that—and honestly, I was even a little happy about how things turned out.

If this is how it happened, then maybe it’s fate.

And the pregnancy would just speed up our status change from “dating” to “married.”

Max and I met on social media seven months ago.

Although, to be honest, I hadn’t even planned on replying to him.

Lately, messages from random guys had been seriously annoying me, and I was actually trying to find the “messages from friends only” setting when a notification popped up—Max Taylor sent you a message.

I just snorted, closed the window, and didn’t respond.

But a week later, when a customer walked out of my flower shop with a giant bouquet of roses, I suddenly felt this strange emptiness.

Loneliness.

Coldness.

I watched the tall, well-dressed man walk away and found myself dreaming about someone just like that. Like something out of a fairy tale. A little romance, a little magic, and some crazy, all-consuming love.

Screw it, I thought, and in a burst of emotion, opened up my page again.

I scrolled through all my male friends, wondering who I could text and maybe ask out—but somehow, they all turned out to be either married or “taken”.

Even Robert from college—the nerd with the glasses that looked like my grandma’s—he was “in love with Anastasia Duck.”

That’s when I went into my messages.

I opened the stranger’s profile and just stared.

Handsome. Tall. Muscular. Blond hair and green eyes. A bit of a cocky smirk, but his face seemed open, friendly. Stylish. Well-traveled. And clearly not the kind of guy who denied himself much.

At some point, I even wondered if someone had just stolen his pictures. Guys like him don’t usually look for girls online. They go to nightclubs, size up the local talent, and pick whoever catches their eye.

But something still made me open the chat window.

Fueled by emotion, I messaged Max—telling myself this was the last time I was ever going to take the first step with a guy online.

And it worked.

At first, we just texted about everything and nothing—shared stories about past relationships and heartbreaks.

He was a great conversationalist: quick-witted, sarcastic, funny. He kept me on my toes, never letting me get bored.

After a month of chatting almost every day, when I already couldn’t imagine starting a morning without his “Good morning, sugar” or going to bed without “Sweet dreams, beautiful,” my phone rang.

It was the first time I heard Max’s voice.

Young, slightly husky, low, velvety—and absolutely hypnotic. It was the kind of voice you just wanted to keep listening to.

I was afraid to say the wrong thing. Afraid my voice would sound dry, irritated, or squeaky. Afraid he wouldn’t call again or text me after that conversation.

But to my relief, it only brought us closer.

Sleepless nights with my phone in hand, messages that grew more and more personal, photos that made me blush… and then came the agonizing wait for our first meeting—it all drove me crazy.

Almost four months apart, and the man I’d never even seen in real life had become my everything.

Someone whose invisible presence in my life made me feel happy—and gave me energy that lasted for hours.