Page 17 of The Golden Hour

“Your mother has a demanding career. Sometimes people in this field miss things they don’t want to miss. That’s the sacrifice we make.”

“Wow,” Dana laughs once, short and humorless. “You sure you’re not my long-lost brother? You sound exactly like her.”

“Like a physician?”

“Like an addict.”

Mason flinches. “I’m not.”

Dana peers at him for a long moment before shrugging.

Mason finishes up bandaging the cut.

“You’re done,” he says, voice rougher than he wants it to be.

Dana doesn’t react to his tone and slides off the bed. She slings her backpack over her shoulder, and Mason busies himself with cleaning up the room. Normally, he would leave this for the nurses, but he feels unmoored. He needs a distraction.

Dana stops in the doorway and turns toward him.

“Your daughter won’t care how many people call you brilliant if she’s always disappointed when you don’t show up for her,” Dana says.

Mason freezes, turning his head toward her slowly.

“And your wife won’t care how many people you save if she’s drowning under the weight of being both parents alone.”

Mason opens his mouth—to what? Defend? Deflect? He doesn’t even know. All he knows is that this kid saw right through him.

“If you’re not careful, maybe one day they’ll find someone who actually shows up. I did,” Dana says, her smile warm now. “My stepmom.”

His stomach drops, and the images that invade his mind are painful.

Honey in another man’s arms, laughing softly at something he tells her as he cradles her pregnant belly. Daisy on another man’s shoulders, giggling and calling him Daddy.

For one horrible second, Dana’s face stops being Dana’s. All he can see is the daughter he has not met yet looking at him with that same tired disappointment.

She walks out without another word, but Mason is left reeling.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

He can’t bring himself to reach for it.

CHAPTER FIVE

HONEY

Honeycomb and bumblebees.

Honey smiles when she sees it on the wall.

Marlene and Melissa had found the wallpaper while out shopping and surprised Honey with three rolls and a gallon of cream colored paint for the remaining nursery walls.

“A little on the nose,” Melissa had grinned, running her fingers over the soft gold pattern, “but I think it’s just darling.”

“It’s perfect for her,” Honey said, hugging her mom as tightly as her belly allowed. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Now, her father is taking the crib parts out of the box to assemble it. He lifted one of the dark oak side rails and gestured to the space by the accent wall.

“Right here, honeybee?”