Page 6 of One Little Mistake

I grab her bag, push her gently toward the door, and rush out without even thinking about grabbing a coat. It’s freezing outside, but the adrenaline has me burning up.

She keeps stopping every few steps, groaning loudly, muttering under her breath, talking to the baby.

It feels like we’re walking to the car for hours.

“Back seat. Get in.”

I open the door for her—and we hit a new problem: Erin just physically can’t get into the damn SUV.

It’s too high off the ground, and I end up practically lifting her inside.

Any other time, I’d probably laugh at how ridiculous this looks. But not now. Not when some random girl’s about to give birth in my car.

Luckily, the roads are empty. I floor it, speeding straight toward the hospital.

I keep checking the rearview mirror, watching Erin.

The way she’s breathing—heavy, shallow—it’s making me feel sick.

God, just let us get there in time.

“Put the phone away already,” I snap, frustrated. “If he wanted to answer, he would’ve picked up by now.”

Because the whole damn ride, all she’s doing is calling someone. Over and over.

“I'm calling the doctor who's supposed to deliver my baby, “ she says in a strained voice. “And his phone is off. “

“It's past midnight. He's probably been asleep for hours.”

“No, he's my relative. Even if I called at two in the morning, he’d come. We had an agreement.” She turns to the window, nervously bites her lips, and lifts the phone to her ear again. She hisses from the pain a few times, and tears run down her cheeks. I start to feel anxious, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I follow the GPS.

“We’re here,” I exhale in relief, realizing no one’s giving birth in my car. At least not tonight.

“Help me.” The girl opens the door and looks at me with those piercing eyes.

“I’m coming.”

She struggles to get out of the car, even with my help. At one point, she squeezes my hand so hard I’d bet anything there’ll be bruises there tomorrow.

“Sorry,” she says, looking at me with guilt and pulling her hand back.

I feel sorry for her. She’s about to give birth right after finding out the guy she already thought of as her husband actually left her.

I close my eyes, telling myself that being kind never leads to anything good, but I still can’t bring myself to leave her here in front of the hospital. That wouldn’t be right. Wouldn’t be manly. I grab her bag from the car, take her by the elbow, and head toward the emergency entrance.

The five steps up are hard for her. She clings tightly to my arm, breathing loudly, too loudly, and I start to get scared—she looks way too pale and exhausted.

“She’s in labor!” I shout the moment I push open the door to the maternity ward.

The nurse at the desk looks up instantly.

“Happens every hour here. Let’s all stay calm. Do you have her ID? “

Right then, Erin cries out again, and I feel anger boil inside me toward the medical staff.

“ID? She’s having contractions. Strong ones,” I hiss.

“I’m supposed to be seen by Dr. Sanders. Is he here? Is it his shift tonight?” Erin asks hoarsely.

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