Page 34 of One Little Mistake

“I’m not billing you for saving your life,” he replies curtly and stands up.

His tone shifts so suddenly it leaves me confused. What did I say?

He walks toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle and glances back at me.

“Vivienne says hi. She’s planning to stop by soon. She was really worried about you. And... my sister sends her regards too. Take care.”

I nod.

Watch the door click shut behind him.

Exhale.

Finally, I let the tears fall.

My grip tightens around the damn phone until my knuckles ache. Everything blurs. I sob silently into the sterile quiet of the room, feeling small. Abandoned.

But this is something I’ll have to get through. I will get through it.

Because now I have a tiny human to live for. A brand-new life who’s become the center of my world. That’s what matters. That’s what I’ll hold on to.

For a moment, a terrifying thought flashes through my mind—what if something happened to him? What if a container fell and crushed him? Or there was a storm. What if he fell overboard?

Being a sailor is a dangerous job.

The idea sends a chill through me.

I don’t want to believe the worst, but there has to be a reason he’s been offline for so long. It’s not like he’s just ignoring me—he’s gone. Completely.

I open my messenger app again and type a short message.

“You’re a father. It’s a boy.”

It doesn’t make me feel any better, but now I can only wait—staring at the screen, praying for that little “delivered” checkmark to pop up.

By evening, I finally gather the courage to call my mom and grandma to tell them I’ve given birth.

I start with Mom.

“Hey, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” comes her sleepy, familiar voice, warm and comforting through the line.

“I’m good, Mom. You’re a grandma now,” I say, holding back tears as the words leave my mouth.

“Oh, baby girl, congratulations! How’s the little one? Will you send me pictures? When did it happen? How are you feeling?”

She bombards me with questions, and I have to bend the truth a little so she doesn’t worry.

Hearing her voice gives me strength—grounds me.

I wish she could be here with me right now. To see her smile, feel her hug, be wrapped in that motherly comfort only she can give. I want to tell her everything that’s been happening. But I don’t want to ruin this moment with the truth—that my son may never know his father.

“We’re doing fine. Tim’s still in the nursery, but once they bring him in, I’ll take tons of pictures. I only just woke up today... everything’s still a blur. How are you?”

We talk for nearly an hour—or rather, we cry to each other through the phone, managing to squeeze in a few sentences here and there between tears.

After saying goodbye to Mom, I glance at the time and, seeing that it’s still early enough, I call Grandma next.

More tears. More joy. And then she says something that makes my whole body freeze in place.

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