Page 85 of One Little Mistake

And then a message pops up. It’s from Max—the one in apartment 217—asking if I’m okay.

And I don’t know what to say. That I’m confused? That I can’t tell truth from lies anymore? That I’m not even sure I’m happy Tim’s father is back? That I’m not sure I want him in our lives? That I really wanted that elevator moment with Max? That I’m sorry his plans went off track because of me?

I barely sleep that night. Tim keeps crying, needing attention. And in the morning, I wake up to drops of water splashing on my face.

I open my eyes and freeze in horror. We’re being flooded. The upstairs neighbors, apparently.

I jump up, panicked, hands trembling as I grab my phone. I call Max. Not the father of my child Max. At the same time, I scoop Tim out of his crib—his clothes are damp, too.

“Max?” My voice cracks. “Our apartment’s flooding. Can you please come over?”

I’m holding back tears. It feels like the universe is throwing test after test at me, seeing how much more I can take. How much longer is this black cloud going to follow me?

I’m on the verge of a full-blown breakdown as I take in the extent of the disaster. Water is everywhere. Ceiling. Walls. Floor. Max shows up five minutes later, scans the room silently, then bolts upstairs without a word.

He’s gone for a good half hour.

Meanwhile, the water keeps seeping into the apartment.

I start packing a bag for Tim—just the essentials. I’ll drop him off at Vivienne’s for now. After this kind of flooding, the whole place will need serious repairs. Which means… we’re basically homeless again.

I angrily toss a pile of soaked baby clothes to the floor and flinch when a strong, familiar hand lands gently on my shoulder.

“Hey, calm down. This isn’t your fault. The neighbors upstairs left for vacation,” Max says quietly. “Building manager had to call them to get permission to break in and send a plumber. I’ll talk to your landlord. We’ll sort it out.”

I spin around to face him. I probably look like a wreck—and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel even worse.

“Thanks. I’m fine. It’s just… this whole thing came out of nowhere,” I say hoarsely, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

“I know. I get it.” He hesitates, then adds, “So… have you decided anything about… him?”

“Not yet,” I murmur, quickly looking away. Shame creeps up my neck.

“You’re not some naive girl, Erin,” he says, reaching out and gently gripping my chin, turning my face toward him. His eyes are the same deep blue that used to disarm me so easily. “You didn’t actually believe the crap he was spouting in the elevator, did you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore,” I whisper, shaking my head and pulling away from his touch. I take a step back and cross my arms tightly over my chest—shielding myself from his words, his stare, his logic.

“I just… I need time to figure out what the hell I’m doing. His explanation sounded convincing, but not completely. I know he could’ve found a way to reach me if he really wanted to. But still… he’s Tim’s father, Max. I don’t want to take that away frommy son. And he’s not… I mean, he wasn’t a bad person. At least, he used to be someone I believed in.”

I don’t even know who I’m trying to convince—him or myself.

“Just promise me you won’t make any decisions yet,” Max says, his voice low but firm. “I asked a few people to look into this Max Taylor guy. In a couple days, I’ll have everything—where he was, when he came back, what he’s really up to.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly. “Why do you care so much?”

I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. Deep down, I know if he said he had feelings for me, if he said he wanted to try being something more—I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d say yes.

I’m so tired of being strong. Tired of carrying everything on my shoulders. The complicated pregnancy, work, the apartment, labor, the hospital… and the only person who’s been there for me through it all is the man standing in front of me. A man who, by all logic, should’ve never cared.

Max frowns, his eyes searching mine. He scratches his jaw, his gaze drifting to the stroller and then back to me.

“Erin, I…”

“Whoa—what happened here?” a voice interrupts from the door, and I groan in frustration. The front door wasn’t locked, and Max—the other Max—walks right in.

“Flooded,” I mutter, gesturing around at the soaked floor and walls.

He glares at the man beside me, who returns the look just as sharply.

---