Page 8 of One Little Mistake

Max

I frown. Well, guess I should’ve cleared everything up from the very beginning, so we wouldn’t be having surprises like this now. But I wanted to avoid a long-winded explanation so badly, I just went along with the doctor’s assumptions last time, hoping it’d be the last I’d see of them.

I never imagined they’d actually try to hand me someone else’s baby.

I shut my eyes and exhale sharply, trying to stay calm and not say anything I’ll regret. This whole situation is, to put it mildly, spiraling out of control.

“Look,” I start, “there’s been a mistake. That baby’s not mine. And since Erin still hasn’t regained consciousness, he should stay here with you for now.”

After that, I’m hoping to walk out of this maternity ward and never come back.

I don’t even care anymore how this stranger ended up living in my apartment.

I just want peace. A few weeks of silence, at least. The ocean’s still flashing behind my eyelids, the engine’s hum echoing in my ears, and I haven’t slept properly in months.

My body’s stuck on night shift mode after six months at sea.

“Mmm-hmm. Got it,” the department head drawls, pulling off her thin-framed glasses, pushing aside a worn-out patient log, and fixing me with a sharp look. “You know how many men like you I’ve seen in my years here?”

I arch an eyebrow. This should be interesting.

“They give birth and then just abandon their babies. I mean, I can understand it from single mothers with barely a penny to their name—but you, Mr. Taylor? It’s obvious you’re not struggling financially. You could easily provide for a child.”

Her eyes sweep over the thick gold bracelet on my wrist, the expensive watch, the car key with a logo that makes it obvious what kind of ride I drive.

“I understand it’s a shock. I understand things might not be great between you and the child’s mother, and maybe you have no idea how to care for a newborn. But there are relatives, there are nannies. Your wife risked her life to bring this child into the world, and now you just want to walk away?”

She leans forward, voice sharpening.

“If you refuse to take the boy, child services will step in, and he’ll stay in the system until Erin wakes up.

Can you imagine the stress that puts on a baby?

Who’s going to hold him, love him, care for him the way he needs?

Will you be able to sleep at night knowing your son is lying alone in a crib, hungry and neglected? ”

She’s clearly trying to tug at my heartstrings—and, okay, maybe it’s working a little—but here’s the thing: this kid isn’t mine. So no, it’s not going to work. No guilt, no moral awakening, no sudden fatherly instincts kicking in.

Her impassioned speech is cut off by a knock at the door. I turn toward the sound and watch a young nurse in a white coat enter the office, carrying a small bundle in her arms.

“He just ate, so he’ll probably sleep the whole way,” she says brightly, walking toward me with a big smile as she tries to hand me the bundle—inside of which is a pink, slightly scrunched-up baby. Cute? Eh. The mom’s not bad-looking, so maybe he takes after the dad.

“Nope. No, thank you.” I raise both hands like she’s holding a grenade, refusing to take the kid.

Then I turn back to the head of the maternity ward.

“Look, there’s been a mix-up. My name is Max Taylor too, but I’m not the father of this baby, so I’m not taking him home.

If it’s about money—fine. I’ll cover whatever needs to be covered.

But I’m not taking on this kind of responsibility.

What am I even supposed to do with him? Let me try to find some relatives of Erin’s.

Or the real dad. They should be the ones looking after him. ”

“Mr. Taylor, now I’m completely confused,” she says, frowning. “Last time, you didn’t deny this was your son. Now you’re saying the opposite. What am I supposed to do with the baby? Can you please make up your mind?”

“Someone here should look after him,” I say calmly. “I’ll pay for whatever he needs. And if possible, I’d like to get Erin’s personal things—her phone and ID. I need to contact her family. I left a bag here last time, remember?”

She presses her lips together, clearly annoyed. Her glare sharpens. I can tell she’s not thrilled about how this has turned out—and me refusing to take the baby only makes it worse for her.

“Fine. Martha, please bring Miss Hale’s belongings.”

“And... and the baby, ma’am?” the nurse asks, flustered.

“Back to the ward, obviously,” she replies with a sharp edge. “Apparently, the father isn’t the father after all. Make sure the boy is cared for.”

She falls silent for a moment, watching Martha’s retreating figure as she leaves with the baby. When the door closes behind them, the head nurse locks her eyes on me again.

“And you, Mr. Taylor… I sincerely hope you find your ‘not-wife’s’ relatives as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” I mutter, giving a curt nod. This vacation’s turning out great. One week back on dry land and things are already a complete mess.

I wait silently for the nurse to bring Erin’s stuff, then finally say my goodbyes and step outside. The fresh air hits me hard, scrubbing away the thick smell of hospital disinfectant.

I climb into my car, still on edge. The whole day has been a disaster, courtesy of our mystery new mom. I dump the contents of her purse out onto the passenger seat and pick up her phone.

It’s the latest model—just like mine. I plug it in and groan when the screen lights up. Locked. Password. Or Face ID. Neither of which I have.

Fine. Whatever. Guess I’m not meant to solve this today. She’ll wake up eventually, right? And when she does, she can find her own family. Or the baby’s real dad. I mean, she’s not going to be in a coma for a whole year... right?

***

I get home late that evening. First, I ran into a couple of friends, then spent a long time just driving around the city, lost in thought, my eyes constantly drifting to the passenger seat.

Erin Hale, twenty-five. According to her documents, she lives somewhere deep in the sticks.

Owns a black 2015 Toyota. Registered as self-employed, runs a flower shop—just like Vivienne said.

Pretty ordinary girl. Doesn’t seem like a scammer, and nothing went missing from the apartment, except maybe the office furniture.

As I drive past my parents’ house, I catch a glimpse of lights in the windows of my ex-wife’s place and step on the gas—anything to get away from the temptation of sneaking a look at her.

Even though she crushed everything we had, I still get hit with waves of nostalgia sometimes, aching to turn back time.

To that first apartment. Small, but with a view of the park—and most importantly, it was ours.

We were happy there, making plans for the future, going on beach vacations, and every spring we’d take a week or two in the mountains.

And hell if I know what more my ex-wife wanted.

The sudden ringing of the intercom rips me out of my memories, and it takes me by surprise—I wasn’t expecting anyone.

With effort, I lift my head from the pillow, pull on a T-shirt and jeans, and head for the door.

The screen shows Vivienne’s worried face, and my brow rises in surprise. It’s nearly eleven at night.

“Vivienne? Is everything okay?” I ask as I open the door and take in her petite frame.

“Yes—I mean, no, not exactly.”

She slips past me into the apartment and shuts the door quickly, cutting us off from any nosy neighbors. It’s obvious she’s nervous, unsure where to start. Her eyes flit around the room, pausing on the women’s clothes hanging by the door and the shoes on the floor.

“She’s not here,” I grunt, already guessing who Vivienne’s eyes are searching for.

She gives me a guilty look, presses her lips together, and clears her throat.

“I feel awful about all this,” she says in a low, muffled voice.

“I’m so sorry. I just never imagined that someone who knew so much about you—and was pregnant, no less—could turn out to be a complete stranger.

If she stole anything, I’ll make it right, I swear,” she adds passionately.

“But I really don’t think Erin’s that kind of person.

I got to know her pretty well over these past few months.

She just needs a chance to explain. You didn’t report her to the police, did you? ”

“No,” I shake my head.

“Good. I’m serious, Max—I spent a whole week working up the courage to come over. You have no idea how much this whole situation has been eating me up inside.”

“It’s fine. Let it go,” I say wearily, rubbing my eyes.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then I should get going before Logan realizes I’m gone. You know how he is.” Vivienne rolls her eyes, and just the mention of her husband puts a soft smile on her face.

She hesitates. Her hand is on the door handle, but she doesn’t leave. She glances back at me with a furrowed brow, like something’s still bothering her. Finally, she blurts it out,

“Listen, I’ve been trying to call Erin. Her phone’s been off for a week. Do you know how she’s doing?”

I let out a heavy sigh.

“Erin… she’s… The baby’s fine, healthy. But the birth didn’t go well. She’s in the ICU.”

“What? Oh my God.” Her eyes go wide with panic. She hugs herself and bites her lip. “How is that even possible? What are the doctors saying? Have you been to see her?”

“Yeah, today. No clear prognosis yet. They’re taking care of the baby. They think I’m the father and tried to dump the kid on me.” I roll my eyes and give a dry, nervous laugh.

I keep my gaze fixed on Vivienne, hoping she’ll say something like, “You did the right thing, Max.” Something to ease my conscience. But what I get is completely different.

“We have to take the baby,” she says firmly, marching past me into the kitchen. She sits on a tall stool, staring into space.

“What do you mean we have to take the baby?” I follow her in, stopping across from her.

“If they think you’re the dad, they’ll hand him over to you without a second thought.

” She locks eyes with me—those bright blue eyes full of unwavering determination.

“You’ve got everything here for a baby already: crib, stroller, diapers—Erin bought all of it.

I’ll help. My daughter’s older now, way easier to handle. We can do this.”

“No,” I say flatly.

“Max, imagine if it were your kid and you weren’t there.”

“If a hospital handed my kid over to some random guy, I’d sue them into the ground.”

“This is different. Erin’s a good person. We became friends, and she really does love… her boyfriend.” Vivienne hesitates, then adds, “What if you… met her at a club, spent the night together, and just forgot? Maybe the baby really is yours.”

“Not a chance,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. But I’m sick of people trying to dump this baby on me. “From what Erin said, the father took off the moment he found out she was pregnant. I told you that already.”

“We have to help her.”

“I’ve helped her more than enough. Hell, she lived in my apartment for five months. I’d say that’s plenty.”

“Max.” Vivienne shoots me a look like I just drowned her kitten.

“No. Don’t even ask.” I shake my head. “I’ll find her relatives, or that runaway baby daddy—but we’re not taking the kid. What if Erin... dies?” I ask, my voice hoarse. Because yeah, that’s a very real possibility.

Her eyes go wide at the thought.

“Then I’ll have to raise him,” I mutter, chilled to the bone by the idea. “What else am I supposed to do—drop him off at a foster home myself?”

“Okay,” she says after a pause. “Give me her doctor’s contact info.

I’ll talk to them myself. And try to find her parents—he can’t stay in the hospital forever.

Just thinking about him all alone in there makes me want to cry.

I even saw his ultrasound photo, Max. Erin couldn’t decide on a name.

We picked out baby clothes together. I have to see him, make sure he’s okay. ”

“He’s fine,” I reply. “He's fine, I saw him today. Red and wrinkly, didn't cry, slept like a rock”

Vivienne only leaves after I promise—again and again—that I’ll start searching for Erin’s family first thing tomorrow.

I shut the door behind her and realize I’ve gotten myself into another mess. The kind that’s sticky and weird and only gets deeper the more you try to claw your way out.

But Mrs. Gray’s words echo in my mind—how the baby would end up in foster care if no one claimed him.

And that hits different. Because I spent the first six years of my life in one of those places.

I know what it’s like to grow up without parents.

To never feel a mother’s hug or hear someone say they love you.

No holidays. No bedroom to call your own.

Just a world behind a tall iron fence that you were only let out of every once in a while.