Page 13 of One Little Mistake

“I’ve got it.”

For some reason, my pride hadn’t let me accept his money. Maybe it was the hurt. Because I had just told him we were having a son—and he had barely reacted.

Day by day, the resentment kept growing.

I’d texted him updates about how I was feeling. Sent him photos of nursery furniture. And in return? Short replies. Ahandful of phone calls. And even those—I had initiated. Because I had desperately needed to hear his voice. Just to believe that everything was going to be okay.

Vivienne—my neighbor and now a friend—had told me it was normal for men not to know how to express their feelings.

But I had known Max. I knew what he was like.

I’d only started to calm down when I found that app that let you track ships. And I had seen for myself that they really were out in the open ocean for weeks at a time, far from land, far from any cell signal.

That was how the months of my pregnancy had passed.

In agonizing waiting.

In sadness.

In loneliness.

And in constant uncertainty about what the next day might bring.

CHAPTER 6

Max

I want to sleep. It feels like I could pass out standing up. But instead of going home after all this chaos, I’m sitting in the head OB’s office, where the nurse led me for some unknown reason, sipping disgusting instant coffee and hoping it’ll at least jolt me awake.

The hospital smell clings to my nose, dragging up memories of the worst times in my life, and the nervous tension is gnawing at me. I pace the room, then rock on a chair that’s about to collapse. It’s almost morning. I’m exhausted, pissed off, and starving. But something keeps me here, won’t let me just get up and leave.

The department head shows up out of nowhere—disheveled, sleepy, and clearly anxious. She greets me with a nod, pulls a white coat from the cabinet, then sinks into the chair across from me with a heavy sigh.

“My name is Marie Gray. And you’re Mr. Taylor…?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I nod, not sure how she already knows my name.

“Alright, Mr. Taylor. The thing is, your wife—”

“No, no, we’re not married,” I cut her off quickly, down the last of the coffee, and rub my eyes.

“Erin was admitted too late, so we had to take emergency action. There was significant blood loss. The delivery was… complicated,” she says carefully, choosing every word, and I get the feeling she’s holding something back.

“So what’s going on with her?” I ask, a bit on edge, since no one’s told me yet whether she made it or not.

The thought that the redhead might’ve died messes with my head. Just a couple of hours ago, she was in my car, screaming in pain.

“She’s in intensive care. Stable condition, but unconscious. We did everything we could. All we can do now is wait and hope.”

“Got it. Thanks for the update. Can I go now?” The relief hits me hard. She’s alive. She’s too young to die like that, leaving a kid behind. And I still don’t know what the hell she was doing in my apartment, which is driving me insane.

“The baby boy’s fine, if you’re wondering.”

“Yeah, someone already told me.”

“If you’d like to see him, you can come by tomorrow.”

“Eh… no thanks. I’m not really feeling it.”

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