Page 61 of The Golden Hour

“No. No, right now we are Daisy’s parents,” Honey says. “She is the priority right now. I need to heal from this. Not just the delivery. I need to heal from…”

She trails off, but Mason knows Honey better than anyone.

She needs to heal from him. His neglect.

Instinct has him opening his mouth to fight and protest, because that was the point, wasn’t it? To fight for Honey.

And then he stops himself.

Because that’s not what Honey wants or needs.

She is hurting, and she is healing, and he will not help by adding to her stress with the burden of forgiving him. He also cannot just say these things and expect her to believe him. He has already made so many broken promises that her trust in him is most likely gone.

He closes his mouth.

“Okay, Honey,” Mason says, nodding. “Whatever you need, I will give to you.”

Honey relaxes, and he realizes that she had been bracing for a protest. She settles back on the bed, and he winces as he finally stands up. His knees ache from the hard floor, and his back pops as he straightens.

Honey doesn’t take her eyes from Daisy as she asks, “Have you held her yet?”

“No,” he whispers. “I wanted you to be the first.”

Honey’s glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and her brow softens almost imperceptible.

“Thank you for giving me that,” Honey says, smiling down at Daisy when she makes a cute little sleepy noise and yawns. She kisses her head and looks back up at Mason. “You need to hold her.”

Mason hesitates, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s terrified.

“She doesn’t know me,” he admits, miserable as he looks at his daughter’s face. “She doesn’t know my voice or… she doesn’t know me.”

“Then let her know you, Mason,” Honey says, her voice firm. “She needs to know you. You are her father. You will always be her father. Here, come take her.”

With Honey’s gentle hands guiding him, she passes Daisy into his arms. Clinically, he knows how to handle a newborn, but this is not some baby in the emergency department. This is his newborn daughter.

Up close, he can see the tiny features of his newborn. She’s beautiful. Perfect. He looks at Honey, who is gazing at Daisy with a small, exhausted smile.

Something shifts in his chest, expands and wraps around both of the Carpenter girls in this room. His whole entire world is in this quiet hospital room. Just like that, something locks into place and burns brighter than any feeling he has ever had.

This is what he’s always wanted.

And he almost missed all of it.

“Hi, Daisy,” Mason whispers. “I’m your daddy. I love you so much. Your mommy and I love you so much.”

Daisy’s tiny face scrunches up, and she lets out a tiny sob. The sound is no more than a squeak that builds and builds until she opens her mouth and wails loudly. She doesn’t settle in his arms; she wiggles and wiggles and cries and cries.

There’s a tearing sensation in his chest at how unsettled his daughter is in his arms.

“It’s okay, little flower,” Honey coos sweetly from the bed, her voice singsong and soft. She reaches a hand toward Daisy and lays it on her back. “It’s okay, baby girl. That’s your daddy.”

Daisy’s sobs hitch, but her face gets redder, her little body straining.

Mason brings her back to Honey and gently lays her on her mommy’s bare chest, his hands careful and shaking, and Daisy’s cries gradually fade as Honey sings to her again. Her tiny body melts back into the place it knows, and Mason feels helpless just standing there.

His daughter rejected him, and it’s understandable because he’s a stranger.

No more.