Page 129 of The Golden Hour

Mortimer practiced as an OB/GYN for forty years, had countless patients, including his own mother, and delivered many babies safely—him included. He thought he was safe for Honey.

But there were also women, like Honey, who were not as well cared for. Most were from the last ten years, and the hospital did its damnedest to hide them, to say they were just displeased, difficult patients.

They all deal with them every single day—patients who are difficult and refuse treatment even if it will save them. Patients who consult Google before listening to the real medical professionals who have spent countless hours and dollars training to help them. Patients who have listened to some podcast about seed oils or eastern medicine think they know better.

And then he realizes that maybe doctors like Mortimer have fostered those types of patients.

Who came first, the chicken or the egg?

He can't change the past, and Mortimer's retirement doesn't erase the victims. It's sick that he'll most likely get off scot-free, retiring to Florida to live out the rest of his days. The only comfort is that he isn't practicing anymore and will never hurt another patient.

Dr. Mortimer is a small cog in a much larger, systemic issue.

He’s not some bad apple; he was enabled to turn rotten by the hospital machine. If he had known this would happen, if he had known about Dr. Mortimer’s past patients, he wouldn't have let him anywhere near Honey.

Mason had been part of that machine for a while.

Look what it cost him.

That will haunt him for the rest of his life.

“This package would allow you to give Daisy the kind of future every father wants to provide,” Kelly says with a bright, cheery tone. “This offer is incredibly generous of our hospital administrators to put together for you.”

And the guillotine over his head falls an inch.

“But, of course,” Dr. Weaver says, pulling his attention toward her, “since we always protect our doctors, we need our doctors to protect this hospital.”

Mason just looks at them.

Warner Silvia, one of the hospital administrators, speaks up then.

“The hospital is being sued by your wife, Dr. Carpenter,” he says plainly.

The words detonate like a bomb. Mason was not aware that Honey had sued the hospital, but he isn't surprised. He guessed she would—hoped she would—but parenthood had swallowed them whole for the last two months. Honey wasn’t exactly interested in conversations with him that didn’t strictly involve Daisy.

He still works here. He is compromised. It all makes sense in an instant—why the hospital workers had been treating him with kid gloves. He thinks of the flash drive in Daisy's diaper-changing table and is glad he asked and that Dr. Farah risked her job for them.

“And I’m sure you can see how that places everyone in a very delicate position,” Warner chuckles lightly.

Mason doesn’t laugh.

Doesn’t smile.

Just stares at him until his smile dies and he fidgets in his seat.

“Delicate position,” Mason repeats flatly.

Kelly’s smile flickers, and she drops her voice into that almost singsongy tone he’s heard Honey use around toddlers. “We understand this is personal for you.”

“You mean my wife and daughter almost dying because of Dr. Mortimer’s neglect?”

The room goes quiet.

His wife almost died in this hospital.

His daughter almost died in this hospital.

His entire life could have been gone in an instant.