Page 36 of One Little Mistake

Once, I even lose it a little with the attending doctor, begging for just a few minutes with my baby—but all I get in return is a curt refusal.

It’s unbearable, knowing he’s so close—just in the next building—and not even being allowed to catch a glimpse of him.

So I lie.

I know I shouldn’t mess with my health, and honestly, I’m still not feeling great, but I don’t tell anyone. All I want is to get out of here as soon as possible and finally hold my baby in my arms.

On the fifth day, a snowstorm starts outside. The snow falls so thick that I can’t see a thing past the white veil.

I’m alone in my room. I feel pathetic, completely falling apart.

In all this time, the only person who came to visit me was Vivienne.

She probably knows what a fool I’ve been and how badly I messed things up with Max, which is why I can’t even look her in the eye. I told her so much about him—and she thought I was talking about her neighbor.

It turned out... badly.

Vivienne barely spoke when she visited. The tension between us was almost physical, and neither of us brought up the subject directly. It hurts to know that our friendship might be over because of this.

She really is an amazing person, and I’m beyond grateful that she was willing to take responsibility for my baby when I couldn’t.

It’s midnight, and I still can’t sleep.

I stare up at the ceiling, thinking about the future.

Making plans.

At least I have some savings—that should be enough to get us started.

It’s a shame I can’t work from home. I read somewhere that babies can have allergies to flower pollen, so my shop won’t be an option. It’ll have to be a nanny or my mom. Either way, I’ll have to work.

My thoughts are interrupted by the soft buzz of my phone vibrating.

I reach for it and freeze when I see a new message from Max Taylor.

“How are you feeling?”

CHAPTER 14

Erin

For a split second—before I even register the sender’s name—my eyes widen in surprise, and my heart flutters wildly in my chest. The bright light from the phone screen stings my eyes in the darkness, and I don’t immediately notice the last name next to “Max”.

At first, I think it’s my Max. I hold my breath, feeling goosebumps ripple across my skin, a rush of endorphins blocking out both the physical and emotional pain.

But then my vision adjusts to the light. I look closer, and it hits me—it’s not that Max.

A wave of disappointment crashes over me, as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

My fingers grip the phone tightly. I clutch it to my chest and close my eyes.

I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for false hope again, but every time I hear a notification ding, my heart squeezes painfully and whispers, “It could be him.”

After a few minutes, I finally open the message and stare for a long time at the simple but meaningful words.

I imagine what I would say if it were really my Max texting me. Then I shake off the thought—stupid—and remind myself I owe this man an answer, at the very least, out of gratitude.

If it weren’t for this stranger, things might have ended very differently.

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