Page 29 of One Little Mistake

“Max? Is something wrong?” Vivienne asks, wide-eyed.

“Yeah. What do I have to do to take the kid?” I ask before I can second-guess it.

Two hours later, I’m sitting in the maternity ward chief’s office.

“Alright,” she says sternly, peering at me over the rim of her glasses. “As I understand it, Mr. Taylor, you and Miss Hale aren’t legally married. Which means, under state law, I’m not authorized to release the child to you.”

“I know,” I reply through clenched teeth, hoping like hell we can find a workaround. Vivienne and Logan are waiting in the car, and judging by the determined look on their faces, they’re not leaving without a baby.

“And to be honest, you really ought to make up your mind,” she adds with a sharp edge in her voice. “One day you’re the father, next you’re a neighbor, then an Uber driver, and now you’re back to being the father. It’s hard to keep up.”

“Is there a way around it?” I ask cautiously.

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Technically, yes. Since the mother is currently incapacitated and the biological fatherhasn’t been legally established, you can apply for temporary kinship care—but only if you’re willing to sign an affidavit stating you are the presumed father.”

“Great,” I say, my throat suddenly dry. My palms sweat at the thought of writing that down, but I just want this over with.

“Here,” she slides a piece of paper across the desk. “Write a statement acknowledging that you, Max Taylor, are in a domestic relationship with Miss Hale and accept responsibility for the child. This allows the hospital to release the baby into your care under provisional supervision.”

“What?” My eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to put that in writing?”

“Yes,” she says, already reaching for a hospital form. “And I’ll need a copy of your government-issued ID.”

“Of course. Just a sec.” I pull out my wallet, hand her my driver’s license, and stare down at the blank sheet of paper. My fingers curl around the pen. This feels like a trap—like a lifetime contract disguised as a hospital form. But my hand still moves.

It’s not too late to walk out. I could drop the pen, mumble some excuse, and pretend this never happened. But instead, I find myself scribbling line after line, essentially sentencing myself to fatherhood.

Then suddenly—

“Hold on,” she says sharply.

I glance up. Her eyes are narrowed, scanning my ID. The warmth in her voice vanishes.

“This says your name is Max Taylor,” she says slowly.

At that moment, my phone rings. Unknown number. I silence it with a flick of my thumb.

“Yes?” I ask, suddenly tense. “Is there a problem?”

“Everything’s wrong,” she says sharply, setting my ID down on the desk with a thud and sliding it back toward me.

Another call buzzes from the unknown number. The phone vibrates like an angry wasp on the table. I finally shut it off.

“According to Miss Hale’s patient file, the father’s name is Maximilian Jack Taylor.”

“Must be a mistake,” I reply with a strained chuckle, realizing I just exposed myself over something so damn trivial.

“A mistake where only the last name magically lines up?”

I exhale hard through my nose, fixing my stare on her. My mind is racing, flipping through every possible escape route.

“Look,” I say, doubling down, “I’m the kid’s father, and I want to take him home—at least until Erin’s out of the hospital. What do I need to do to make that happen?”

“Simple,” she replies coldly. “Take a paternity test.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not violating state policy just because you’re feeling heroic,” she snaps. “If the father can’t be verified through family confirmation or legal documents, then we need genetic confirmation before releasing the child. I’ll refer you to a certified lab. Until then, the baby stays under hospital custody.”

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