Page 89 of One Little Mistake

I change the sheets, pull Tim’s crib closer to the bed, and just stand there watching him sleep. His tiny face—so peaceful, so familiar—grounds me. Brings me calm. Brings me clarity. These men… they’re not worth my tears. The only man who matters is lying right here in front of me. And we’ve got a whole life ahead of us.

I fall asleep at dawn. Wake up to feed Tim. Then I lie there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. I’ve made up my mind. We’re leaving.

I get up, freshen up, and start gathering what we’ll need for the next few weeks. Clothes, diapers, bottles—everything I can think of. I’m nearly done packing when a knock at the door makes me pause.

I don’t want to see anyone. But whoever it is—they’re not going away. The doorbell rings again. Loud pounding follows. Shouting. My stomach twists. I rush to hush it all down before Tim wakes up terrified.

I know who it is.

“Go away. I don’t want to see you,” I say through the door, voice firm and cold. I’m proud of how strong I sound.

“Erin, open the door. We need to talk,” Max calls out.

“We already talked, Max. Last night. We said everything that needed to be said. There’s nothing more.”

“Baby, I drank too much. I didn’t mean half of what I said…”

“I’m glad you drank too much. That way, I finally got to hear how you really feel.”

A long pause. Then a breathy, defeated “Erin…” on the other side. He’s quiet now, but inside me, anger is boiling over. The nerve of him—showing up here after everything.

“It was a bad night, okay? But seriously, we do need to talk. We have a son. That’s not going to change.”

“I really appreciate that you occasionally remember you have a son,” I say coldly, forehead pressed against the door. My breath hitches. God, I’m so tired of all this.

Suddenly, I hear the lock turn—and jump back in panic. What the hell? Max steps into the apartment, looking rumpled, his eyes red and tired, guilt written all over his face. I glance down and spot the spare keys in his hand. Right. I forgot I gave them to him yesterday.

“What do you want?” I sigh, exhausted, trying to hold back the fury rising inside me. But Max always was persistent—once he had something in mind, there was no getting rid of him.

He shuts the door behind him and takes a step toward me. I stop him with a raised hand.

“You’ve got exactly three minutes,” I warn, forcing my voice to sound firm.

“Look, Erin… I’m sorry for what I said. I just… I was overwhelmed, okay?”

“By what exactly?” I ask flatly.

“By the fact that I have a kid.”

“Well, that tends to happen when you don’t use protection. Maybe keep that in mind next time.”

“Come on, don’t be a bitch—it doesn’t suit you.”

“And don’t play the victim. Just get to the point. Two minutes left.”

“Okay, look. I’m being honest because I don’t want us to be enemies. And I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of asshole.”

I snort. Too late for that, isn’t it?

“You’re a great girl. Beautiful. Smart. But I’m not ready for marriage or kids. I’m thirty, Erin. I figured I had at least five more years before settling down. And then, boom—this. You spring a kid on me. I’m not saying I’ll bail—I’ll support you financially, I’ll take Tim on weekends, go to his soccer games and all that. But that’s it. That’s all I can offer.”

I stay silent, jaw clenched.

“I mean, seriously—I just wanted to spend a chill vacation with a pretty girl. I didn’t sign up for diapers and midnight feedings. My apartment still reeks of baby poop and you were there, what—half a day?”

“That’s it?” I manage to ask, expression unreadable.

Inside, though, I’m reeling. Just a vacation fling. That’s all I was to him. Maybe that’s just how sailors are—fun, spontaneous, allergic to commitment. Convenient, really.

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