Page 16 of The Golden Hour

It falls completely flat.

Dana just looks at him. “Does your wife like your humor?”

Her eyes find his ring finger. She must have seen the glinting gold before he slid his gloves on.

He forces a smile. “She loves my humor.”

“Did she tell you that?”

No. Mason’s jaw tightens, replaying the morning in his head and feeling like a bag of shit again for how he treated her.

That was the most they’ve spoken in weeks, to his shame. And it wasn’t even anything of substance. He hasn’t asked how she’s feeling, if she needs anything, or when her next appointment is. He doesn’t even know when it is.

His throat closes as he continues to stitch.

“My wife’s pregnant,” he says, mostly to fill the silence. “A girl.”

“Good luck to her,” Dana mutters.

He doesn’t know if she’s saying good luck to Honey for the delivery, or just generally good luck to Honey and Daisy with him.

He has a bad feeling it’s the latter.

This girl has a weird way of looking at him, making him feel exposed in the most unpleasant way. It’s a sense of knowing him without ever having met him before. Like she knows the path he’s on… and maybe she does. Because she’s lived with a mother running the emergency department.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. The buzzing noise is deafening in this quiet room. It goes a few more times and then stops.

Then starts up again.

Dana looks at him.

“It’s nothing,” he says dismissively, before adding. “Probably just my wife.”

Dana’s lip curls. “Your pregnant wife is nothing?”

“No,” he snaps. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… I’m with a patient right now. She understands.”

“Whatever you say.”

Mason’s jaw tightens.

The silence stretches and Dana scoffs.

“I bet you’re calling me an ungrateful brat in your head,” Dana says.

“I’m not.”

He was.

“I’ve already heard it all before,” Dana says. “Dana, your mother is brilliant. Dana, your mother is important. Dana, your mother is making a difference. Dana, your mother is changing medicine. Breaking barriers. Saving lives.”

“She does save people,” Mason insists, his voice sharp. “It is important. It does make a difference. When you save someone’s life, and you tell their family that they get more time, it’s unlike anything in this world.”

Dana smiles sadly.

“And it’s really hard to compete with that when you’re eight years old wanting your mom to watch you in your school play. Or when you’re thirteen graduating middle school. Or when you’re sixteen and got inducted into Honor Society. It’ll never come close to saving lives. That will always win.”

Mason clears his throat.