Page 45 of One Little Mistake

But why?

What does he want?

He pushed so hard to get me here—for what reason?

I stay frozen, panic clawing at my chest, paranoia eating a hole straight through me.

Max suddenly takes a step toward me, and instinctively I shrink back, my spine hitting the wall behind me.

His brow lifts slowly. He frowns, watching me closely with those serious, unreadable eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re afraid of me,” he says, his voice low and a little rough.

I try to mask the fear in my eyes. Square my shoulders. Pretend everything’s fine. But my gaze betrays me, darting toward the door—and the keys still sticking out of the lock.

That’s a good sign, right?

God, Hale, you’re losing it.

For once in your life, a normal guy crosses your path, and you immediately label him a serial killer.

“I just want to hold the baby so you can take off your jacket,” he explains patiently, like he’s talking to a scared little kid.

I nod, forcing myself to relax. It’s just my imagination; stupid late-night crime shows messing with my head.

Max stretches his arms toward me, and reluctantly, I pass Tim over to him.

“There we go,” I murmur, gently pulling the corner of the blanket back from my son’s head. It’s warm in the apartment, and I don’t want him to overheat.

Max stands frozen in place, like he’s been glued there. He’s holding the baby so carefully, so still, as if one wrong move might wake Tim up.

I quickly shrug off my coat, switch my boots for a pair of house slippers, and gently take my son back into my arms.

“I…” I stammer, unsure what to do next.

I had gotten used to thinking of this apartment as ours—mine and Max’s.

But now, the real owner is a complete stranger.

I hesitate, standing awkwardly by the door, waiting for some kind of permission to move deeper inside.

“I left the nursery the way it was,” Max says, his voice even. “Once you find a new place, I’ll turn it back into an office… so…”

He trails off, presses his lips together, and jerks his head toward the door leading to the nursery.

I understand without needing more words. Gratefully, I slip away from his intense gaze and into the room meant to be Tim’s first home.

The nursery really hasn’t changed. A wave of sadness washes over me as I take in the ceiling lights, the crib, the toys, the hand-painted designs on the walls. I had poured so much of myself into this space, picking out every detail with love, waiting months for some of the orders to arrive.

And now… it’s all for nothing.

I lay my son down gently in the crib, unwrap the blanket, and slip off his warm little hat.

God, he’s so tiny. It’s impossible to look away. And he looks so much like his father.

A lump rises in my throat.

They say babies change as they grow. I can only hope Tim’s resemblance to Max fades with time.

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