Page 44 of The Golden Hour

Mason shakes his head. "Nope. Not anymore. Keep Dr. Farah on her case. Honey's been failed by too many doctors in her life," Mason shakes his head. "Do not let Mortimer near her, or I will remove him from this hospital."

Dr. Weaver gives him a scolding look. "Dr. Carpenter, I know you're upset, but threatening another physician is not helping anyone."

"With all due respect, Dr. Weaver," Mason snaps. "He missed preeclampsia."

"A condition that you yourself should have been able to identify," Weaver says coldly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Mason feels himself deflate at this, as the truth jabs him.

"I'm not Honey's doctor," he protests, and it sounds weak even to him.

"But you're her husband," Dr. Weaver says simply, before she turns to walk down the hallway. He wants to defend himself. The instinct is still there, ugly and useless, but what is there to say? He's failed Honey so many times. She had been quietly fading away for months right under his nose, and he didn't stop and look.

Mason stands frozen in place while Marlene wraps her arms around Melissa and guides her back into the chair. Rob stays next to Mason, steady and silent. Phil remains on his other side, breathing hard through his nose, hands still clenched like he is holding himself together by force.

"She's not wrong," Phil mutters from beside him.

Mason lets that settle for a minute and lifts his chin.

"No, she's not," Mason says.

His daughter is born, and somewhere behind those double doors, they are still trying to keep his wife from bleeding out.

He barely makes it to the trash can in the corner before he throws up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MASON

She looks just like Honey.

That’s the first thought that crosses Mason’s mind when he sees his daughter for the first time. All five pounds, six ounces of her. She’s beneath the warmer, small and bare except for a tiny diaper and a tiny pink hat. An IV is taped to her foot, giving her fluids and glucose.

Because she is six weeks too early to be anywhere but safe inside her mommy.

Mason feels his throat tighten, and he closes his eyes to focus on breathing, still trying to tamp down the emotion threatening to burst out of him. He doesn’t want to blubber and cry and make this all about him. He doesn’t want someone else to have to comfort him while his wife is still unconscious somewhere on another floor after almost dying to bring their daughter into the world.

But he’s just so fucking terrified.

Honey’s out of surgery.

An hour ago, Dr. Farah stepped through the double doors, surgical cap still on her head, her face completely even, and gave them an update.

“She is not awake yet,” Dr. Farah said, softening her features as she spoke directly to an anxious Melissa. “That is expected. Between the anesthesia, the blood loss, the medications, and the stress her body has been under, she is going to be very out of it for a while.”

Melissa nodded in understanding, and then Dr. Farah gave the good news.

“The next twenty-four hours are crucial, but everything looks incredibly promising. I expect that, in time, Honey will make a full recovery. She is incredibly strong⁠⁠—”

Melissa had pulled a surprised Dr. Farah into a tight hug, cutting off her words.

His parents exhaled next to him, his father wrapping an arm around his mother’s shoulders. Mason felt the world tilt over for a brief second, and he worried he was going to pass out.

“You saved my baby,” Melissa cried, squeezing her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It shook Mason because it was such a stark contrast to how his own face looked after a save. There was no cocky smirk. No self-satisfied expression as she waited for everyone in the room to clap for the victory.

The look on her face wasn’t smug, or even pride. It was warm and relieved and something that seemed to settle deep in her body instead of flashing hot and fast across the surface.