Page 32 of One Little Mistake

“Visiting hours are over for today, but I’ll see if he can come by tomorrow morning. I’ll get in touch with him.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, biting my lip, grateful beyond words. “Could you… maybe bring the baby here? Or could I go see him?”

“Stay put,” he says gently. “You’re not quite ready to be up and about just yet. But if your condition keeps improving, we can definitely arrange a visit in the next day or two. After all, wheelchairs aren’t just for grandmas, right?” He gives me a wink, trying to lighten the mood.

I smile for the first time.

“Thank you.”

“Now try to get some rest.”

“Okay,” I nod.

“And please, no more solo adventures around the room. Promise?”

“I promise,” I nod again.

I wait for Max with barely contained anticipation. I want to see him, breathe in his familiar scent, feel the taste of his lips again, and hear him talk about our son. It still doesn’t feel real—that I spent over a week in the ICU. That I became a mother. That Max came back. That he didn’t leave me.

Most likely, that bearded man was just messing with me. And I think I even know who put him up to such a ridiculous prank. Sounds exactly like something Max would do.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Not now, with so much racing through my mind. But at some point, I must’ve drifted off, slipping in and out of a hazy sleep.

What wakes me up is the loud creak of the door and an unfamiliar male voice.

“Just a few minutes, I promise.”

Footsteps draw near. I assume it’s a doctor, so I open my eyes, ready to greet him—to show I’m awake. But instead, I meet apair of piercing eyes. The same ones that stunned me the first time we met.

We stare at each other in silence. Me—in surprise. Him—with something that looks like relief, like he’s glad it’s me lying here and not someone else. He stands just a step away, his gaze traveling over me and stopping at the IV line taped to my arm.

I suddenly feel exposed under his gaze. Vulnerable. I must look awful. I haven’t seen my reflection, but from the tangle of my hair, I can imagine the rest. And somehow, that bothers me. More than it should.

The first time I saw him, I was too terrified to really register his features—just the beard. But now I can’t look away from those eyes. That washed-out stormy blue, almost too vivid to be natural, especially paired with jet-black hair.

“I’m glad you made it,” he says in a low, gravelly voice before turning to the window.

He stands with his back to me, takes a deep breath, then spins around as if about to say something—but doesn’t.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“Just thought I’d check if you needed anything,” he mutters. “Clothes, little stuff… oh, and I brought your phone.”

He’s clearly nervous. I can see it in the way his movements are sharp and jittery, how his eyes dart around the room, barely settling on me.

“Did Max send you?” I ask, the only logical explanation for why this man is standing here. “Where is he? Why didn’t he come himself?” I’m starting to panic, my eyes flicking toward the door.

“Your runaway fiancé hasn’t shown up,” he says with a crooked smirk. “And I doubt he will anytime soon.”

“No, you’re lying,” I snap, anger bubbling up in my chest. Why is he doing this? Why lie to me, play games like this? “The doctor said Max visited me,” I add stubbornly.

“Still remember my name?” the man mutters wearily, then pulls a chair up next to my bed and sits down, locking eyes with me again. The silence grows thick between us.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, breaking eye contact.

“I’ve been in touch with your doctors this whole time—what’s so hard to get?” His tone sharpens, tinged with irritation. “No need to thank me. You waking up is thanks enough. One more minute and I would’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.”

My eyebrow arches, questioning him. But he says nothing more. Somehow, I can’t even bring myself to think of him as Max. That name still belongs to the father of my child.

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