Page 61 of One Little Mistake

“In that case, you’re a great cook. Here, let me take him. You really shouldn’t be carrying anything yet. Actually, you should be resting. Come on, I found a few good movies. I’ll bring dinner to you in bed. Since we’re stuck here together, might as well pass the time.”

While I settle into bed with Tim, who’s now wide awake but not crying anymore, Max brings over a tray with two plates.

A comedy is playing on TV, the room is dimly lit, the wind howls outside.

Max and I lie on opposite sides of the bed, Tim between us. If I let myself forget for just a second that we’re practically strangers, it would be easy to believe we were a real family.

Warmth and comfort fill the room, and it’s so overwhelming, so right, that it terrifies me.

Somewhere around the middle of the movie, I drift off to sleep, right after my son. Through the haze of sleep, I feel someone tucking the blanket around me and hear a soft whisper.

When I crack my eyes open for a second, I catch sight of a stroller beside the bed and realize Max must’ve brought it here so I wouldn’t have to get up at night.

Around midnight, I’m jolted awake by Tim’s loud cries. I have no choice but to get up and feed him. Max isn’t in the bedroom anymore. I find him in the kitchen, sitting at the table, wearing headphones, a glass of whiskey in front of him, scrolling through his phone.

When he notices me, he lifts his head, his gaze sweeping over me. He pulls one earbud out and hits me with unexpected news:

“Cynthia couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She told my mom about you and the baby. And Elena—wanting to get a dig in at Cynthia, I guess—kind of… embellished the story. Now my mom’s dying to meet you two. Wants to make sure it’s all real.”

CHAPTER 22

Max

Cynthia’s little stunt sparks real fury in me.

What was she thinking, telling my mother that I’m living with a woman and that she has a child? A child that isn’t mine.

Did she think my mom would come running to talk some sense into me? That I’m fifteen and will just do whatever my parents say?

I’ve been an adult for a long time now. I have every right to live my life the way I choose.

And Elena isn’t exactly innocent in this either. She’s the only person who knows the real reason behind my divorce, which is why she absolutely loathes my ex-wife.

She doesn’t understand why I keep my parents out of the loop or why I even let Cynthia set foot in my place, but she does know one thing very clearly—if she breathes a word of anything, she’ll lose my trust for good.

So she keeps quiet.

But she doesn’t pass up any opportunity to throw dirt on her former sister-in-law and paint her in the worst light possible. And now, it seems, she decided to twist the knife even deeper—by painting a picture of my happy life without Cynthia.

Women are nothing but trouble. I’m so sick of all this.

What was meant to be just a few weeks of vacation has turned into complete hell.

What am I even supposed to tell my parents now? That it was all a joke? A prank that Elena decided to play along with?

One way or another, I’ll have to explain myself. Because if I don’t, how the hell do I later explain where my supposed son disappeared to?

I look up from my phone, deciding to postpone the conversation with my mother until morning, and immediately lock eyes with Erin.

I take out my earbuds—and that’s when I hear the baby crying.

“Funny how one small lie can spiral into a whole avalanche of chaos,” Erin sighs, walking toward the kitchen cabinet as if she didn’t just say something deeply philosophical.

But I notice something’s off. Her steps are unsteady. She winces, leaning her hands on the granite counter. Stubborn as hell. Still trying to prove she’s fine. But if she really felt okay, she wouldn’t have left the baby crying in the other room alone.

“They discharged you way too early,” I mutter and get up to help. “Move. What do you need me to do?”

“I’ve got it.”

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