Page 148 of The Golden Hour

That’s why she can forgive him.

Because you have two choices when someone hurts you—forgive or don’t.

And the question of whether they have earned it is personal. Whether they have truly done the work to earn forgiveness, or whether they are just appeasing you so they can move on.

She knows which one Mason is, and she knows which one St. Mary’s is.

There is no forgiveness here for them.

There is only seeking justice.

For herself and for her daughter.

“So when you offer me five hundred thousand dollars and an NDA, I want to know what that money is trying to buy,” Honey says. “My blood? My daughter’s oxygen? The minutes she and I had left? The sound my mother made when I collapsed to the floor? My husband not knowing if his wife and daughter were going to live?”

Mason lets out a shaky breath, and she squeezes his hand.

“Which one of those is worth five hundred thousand dollars?” Honey sneers. “Or does that money just cover all of it?”

No one answers.

“Despite what my sanitized records are trying to say, I am not confused, or unstable, or too emotional to understand what happened to me,” Honey says. “I understand it perfectly. I lived it. I lived.”

Honey glances down at the open document in front of her, the settlement number written in big, bold letters, as if it were meant to be impressive.

Five hundred thousand dollars and silence.

Honey pushes the papers back across the table with her fingers.

“Come back with a number that proves you are as afraid as you should be.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

MASON

“Jesus Christ, kid, hold it steady.”

Mason huffs and readjusts his grip on the large fir, helping his father-in-law slide it into the tree stand.

“There you go, baby girl,” he hears from the right, and turns to see Honey sitting at the dining room table with Daisy in her lap, her mother next to her, his mother on the other side.

“You got it?” Phil grunts.

“I got it,” Mason answers, tightening his grip.

“If this fucking fir falls on me⁠⁠—”

“Phil,” Melissa snaps. “Watch your mouth around your granddaughter.”

He gives his wife a dry look. “She’s four months old, Mel. She doesn't know what I’m saying.”

Melissa smiles sweetly and tilts her head. “May I remind you what Honey’s first word was?”

Phil pauses and then snorts. “Point taken. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Honey frowns. “Wait, you said my first word was truck? Because Daddy always worked on trucks.”

“Yes, we told you your first word was truck,” Melissa says soothingly. “But it was actually fuck.”