Page 47 of One Little Mistake

Erin

To my relief, Tim falls asleep quickly, because I’m starting to feel dizzy and overwhelmingly exhausted. The sun hasn’t even set yet, and I’m already completely drained. I’m not used to being idle, so I can’t wait to fully recover and get back into my usual rhythm.

Maybe Max was right: if I had dragged myself all over the city with a newborn in my arms, I wouldn’t have made it.

I don’t even have the strength to think about whether I should lie down in Max’s bed. I just head for the shower, find my pajamas exactly where I left them, crawl under the blanket, and instantly pass out.

It feels like I never left this apartment. Like nothing has changed and it’s still my home.

Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I hear the door quietly open, muffled footsteps, and then the mattress dips under someone’s weight. A wave of heat sweeps over me when Max stretches out next to me—over the blanket, but is still way too close.

My heart starts pounding like crazy, ready to burst out of my chest. Sleep vanishes in an instant, and my breathing turns uneven.

I lie there, listening to the faint sounds in the room, cautiously peeking at him through half-closed eyes.

But he doesn’t make a move.

He just stares thoughtfully at the ceiling, then eventually reaches over to switch off the light, rolls onto his side, and, it seems, falls asleep. Still fully dressed.

I lie there for a little while longer, but then I jolt upright when I hear a baby crying from the next room. God, what time is it? I reach out blindly for my phone on the nightstand.

Crap. I was supposed to feed him an hour ago!

Behind me, I hear a muffled groan—sounds like Tim woke Max too.

I use the light from my phone to guide myself to the nursery, scoop my baby into my arms, and head for the kitchen to prepare a bottle of formula.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Just a little longer, Mommy’s got you,” I whisper, trying to soothe him while tears slip down my own cheeks.

It’s so much harder than I thought—to watch your baby scream in distress, to feel so helpless.

His tiny face is blotchy and red, his eyes wet with tears.

“Here, baby, come on. That’s it.”

I bring the bottle to his lips, and, thank God, it’s enough to calm him down.

I cradle him in my arms, pacing back and forth across the room, listening to the silence slowly return to the apartment.

When Tim finally drifts back to sleep, I settle into the armchair next to his crib, pull a blanket over myself, and just sit there, watching my little boy.

I end up browsing rental listings nearby, getting so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t even notice Max appear in the nursery until I startle and look up at him with wide eyes.

He looks groggy, a little rumpled.

Without saying a word, he walks over to the crib, his gaze lingering on the sleeping baby for a few seconds. Then he glances at me and whispers,

“Are you planning to sit here all night?”

“I didn’t want to wake you again,” I murmur. “We’re already causing enough trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” he brushes it off.

He walks to the window and glances outside.

“Looks like a snowstorm’s rolling in.”

I get up from the armchair and stop behind him, watching the trees sway violently under the gusts of wind, their branches illuminated by the glow of the streetlights.

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