Page 57 of The Golden Hour

Numbly, he signed the paperwork and listened to HR drone on about opening an investigation into Dr. Mortimer, which really just meant they were moving to cover their asses. Dr. Weaver and the hospital administration offered him an apology that did not belong to him and sounded more like passing the buck than taking responsibility.

“We are so sorry your family is going through this.”

This, they called it. Like it was just something that happened. It’s the same kind of bullshit language he would extend to a patient’s family. It’s not fun being on the other side, and knowing the intentions behind every careful word.

The entire time, Mason just wanted to get back to his wife and daughter.

It had been an eruption of feeling in his chest, watching Honey meet Daisy. That is the only way to describe it. A sudden and abrupt burst of true love so fucking strong that it made him weak in the knees. He had to lock them so he wouldn’t collapse to the ground right there in front of everyone.

The way she gently cradled their daughter against her chest, both of his girls skin to skin, Daisy settling against her mommy’s heartbeat, which had been the soundtrack to her life in the womb.

And then came the agony as he clearly pictured how it should have been.

Honey safely delivering Daisy at full term. Their daughter being laid on Honey’s chest immediately, screaming and pink and perfect, while Honey cried and laughed and Mason bent over both of them, bearing witness to the wonder of birth with his family in his arms. That’s how it could have been. That’s how it should have been.

But he let the emergency department ruin it. No, he ruined it; the emergency department was the drug he chased over his own wife. The hospital was his mistress and the praise was like heroin.

A feeling that was fleeting.

His wife and daughter were permanent. Shame grips his throat, and hasn’t let go. Probably won’t for a while. It might last forever, and that would be no less than he deserves.

The dream against reality had broken him, and his father clamped a hand down on his shoulder, giving him some tough-love comfort in a voice low enough for only Mason to hear.

“Feel what you’re feeling, but don’t you dare ruin this moment for Honey.”

Mason took deep breaths. He allowed himself to feel like a wreck. He allowed the grief and awe and shame to tear through him, but he pulled himself together so Honey and Daisy could have the moment they deserved.

Truthfully, he wasn’t even worthy of witnessing it, but he thinks Honey was too focused on Daisy to kick him out, and his parents and in-laws wanted him to witness it. As if to show him—look at this, look at what you neglected, look at what you’re losing.

Now what are you going to do?

And the only thought on his mind was that he was going to fight for Honey. He was going to repair what he broke. He would be the husband Honey married, the one who prioritized her, the one she believed in. He would find that balance between work and life, but he would place his family first.

His Honey and his Daisy. His girls. His life.

Keeping his steps light, he walks toward Honey’s room, the door gently cracked open, and pauses when he hears her sweetly humming. Honey used to sing in the choir, so she has a really sweet voice. Mason always thought it sounded like birds in the morning, like hope.

He pauses to listen and can’t help the small smile that tugs at his mouth when he recognizes the tune.

Freshman year, Honey moved to Philadelphia from New Jersey with her parents, but she always says she is a Jersey girl forever. It seems she is determined to make sure Daisy is a Jersey girl too, gently humming “Jersey Girl” by Bruce Springsteen to her.

Mason squeezes his eyes closed against the tears that he feels unworthy of spilling.

It feels as though it’s all he’s been doing, because it’s all he can really do. Cry and apologize. He feels like a failure, especially with how easy it is to stay next to Honey and Daisy now. It is all he wants to do. He wants to be in that room. He wants to be beside them. He wants to watch Honey breathe, and Daisy sleep, and know exactly where his world is.

But his girls want no part of him, and he has no one to blame but himself.

He had months upon months of Honey at his fingertips, but he chose this place instead.

Fuck him and his tears.

When the song gently fades, Mason shoves his tears back and gently raps against the door. Honey glances up, and the small smile on her face dies when she sees him. Honey glances up, and the small smile on her face dies when she sees him. That lands hard and hurts deeply, not that he deserves to feel hurt.

The room is empty except for her and Daisy sleeping on her chest, looking so peaceful that for a second Mason forgets how to breathe. His girls.

Daisy is tucked against Honey’s bare skin beneath a warm blanket, one tiny cheek pressed over Honey’s heart, her mouth slightly open as she sleeps.

Honey is reclined in the bed, color returning to her face, looking a lot less drained than she did earlier, like just holding Daisy is charging her battery.