Page 44 of One Little Mistake

“No, it’s just… there are some… you know, women’s things, and also stuff for Tim. I don’t think you’ll figure it all out on your own.”

“I’ll take pictures. You can choose. Don’t worry,” Max says.

He turns toward the supermarket, while I sit there frantically trying to remember if I had packed any of those “women’s essentials” among my things at his place.

The thought of asking a strange man to buy something like that makes my face burn with embarrassment.

And then it hits me: Max would make a good husband. A caring one. Even with how irritable and distant he can be sometimes. If he’s willing to help a complete stranger like me, I can only imagine how he would treat the woman he actually loves.

Someone’s going to get very lucky with him.

Too bad my Max wasn’t like that.

***

It feels like an eternity has passed since the last time I rode the elevator up to the floor that had become my true home.

I loved this neighborhood.

I loved the location of the building.

I loved the people who lived here.

I loved how safe it felt.

I never had to worry about coming home late from work, fumbling for my keys while someone could sneak up behind me and knock me out.

I loved that there was a little daycare right in the courtyard and a good school just a block away.

I had even spotted a storefront on the first floor, already dreaming that once Max came back from sea, and the financial burden wasn’t solely on my shoulders, I could rent it and open my flower shop.

It felt like the perfect plan—working practically from home.

And now, I’m riding up in the elevator in heavy silence, lost and overwhelmed by the realization that I’ll have to rebuild my life from scratch.

Because now, it’s not just about me anymore. There’s a tiny, completely helpless little person who depends on me for everything.

The elevator doors slide open, and Max steps aside, letting me go first.

He’s carrying two large bags; another one is still in the car—he said he would come back for it later.

I take a deep breath. The hallway is quiet, my footsteps echoing loudly against the empty walls. Just a few feet away from the door with that cursed apartment number, I slow down. I swallow the lump rising in my throat, nerves buzzing under my skin.

“Something wrong?” Max asks, catching up to me.

“No.” I shake my head quickly, watching as he pulls the keys out of his jacket pocket, slides them into the lock, and swings the door open.

“You gonna stand there all day?” he says with a raised brow as I hesitate, shifting from foot to foot, peeking inside at the all-too-familiar entryway walls.

I step over the threshold and freeze. My eyes scan the room, trying to catch any changes that might have happened while I was gone. But everything seems just the same. Even my shoes are still sitting neatly on the shelf. The door slams shut loudly behind me, and I jump.

I glance around in confusion, finally realizing that I’m alone in the apartment with a man I barely know.

I turn to look at Max. He pulls off his boots and jacket while my mind reels, flashing through every true crime story I’ve ever watched.

Maybe getting into his car hadn’t been the smartest idea after all. Trusting him—even less so.

Yes, he helped me. Yes, he brought me here.

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