Page 59 of One Little Mistake

I look away, chewing the inside of my cheek, feeling that awful embarrassment rise up again.

“I spent all that time telling Vivienne about Max,” I blurt out, dropping my fork with a clatter. “About our trip, about how romantic he was. I shared everything—my hopes, my fears. I honestly believed we’d live next door to each other forever. And now she knows…it was all a mistake. All that time, I was telling her stories about the wrong guy. She thought I was carrying your baby!”

The last part comes out in a half-laugh, half-groan, and I collapse back into my chair, mortified.

“Did you two become friends just because of me?” Max asks, his voice sharp enough to snap me out of my pity party. “Did anything about your friendship change once the truth came out?”

“No, but—”

“Did you lie to her?”

“No, but—”

“You’re the one who got tricked here, not Vivienne,” he says sharply. “And for the record, so did I.”

The corners of his mouth lift into a faint smile, and I realize he’s no longer as angry as he was during our first meeting.

“I still feel awful,” I mutter, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of tea. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of, don’t worry,” Max says. “Although, maybe it would just be easier to have another kid—preferably a boy—so we wouldn’t have to redo the nursery.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious, so I don’t comment.

“So what’s your plan now?” Max asks after a short pause.

“Well, I’ll have to completely rethink everything,” I admit. “I was planning to rent a small storefront right downstairs—close to home and the baby—but now I have to start over.”

“You could rent an apartment here, in this building,” Max suggests suddenly, and honestly, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. “I’ll see if I can get the building manager’s number. Maybe he knows someone who’s renting.”

“Yeah, that could work. Thank you,” I say, and try to lighten the mood.

“At least we won’t have to haul the crib too far.”

I catch myself smiling at him—at his faint, almost sad, but genuine smile—and it surprises me how much I like it. There’s a kindness to him, something steady and solid that makes me want to learn more about his life.

What happened between him and his ex? Why did they split up? What went wrong? Because from where I’m standing, Max seems like a good man.

We trade a few more casual remarks.

He won’t let me touch the dishes—orders me to rest instead—but sleep is the last thing on my mind after the message from Collin.

I fight to push thoughts of my ex away, but they creep back in when I least expect it, pulling me out of the moment.

I try to stay busy: picking up my things scattered around the apartment, sticking to the schedule to feed my son, avoiding Max whenever I can. I collapse on the bed, exhausted, just as another snowstorm starts to swirl outside the window.

It almost feels like this apartment—this bedroom—is doing everything it can to make me stay. Holding me here just a little bit longer.

By evening, I suddenly start feeling off. Dizzy, cramping low in my abdomen, so weak I can barely push myself out of bed to dig through the closet for a blood pressure monitor.

Max walks into the room without knocking just as I’m checking my pressure.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, squinting at me, studying my face closely.

“I’m fine. Just keeping an eye on things,” I rush to reassure him, but he’s not buying it.

In a few quick steps, he’s crossing the room and taking the monitor out of my hands.

“Your blood pressure’s low,” he states after glancing at the screen.

---