Page 68 of The Golden Hour

That was the problem, though. Letting the hospital and this praise become his identity and not remembering who he was doing all of this for—his wife.

From information he gathered from Dr. Lewis herself or her coworkers, he learned that she graduated from UCLA, grew up in California, and was the daughter of a former model and a tech executive who made his millions in Silicon Valley.

She was a competent and smart emergency medicine doctor with an overinflated ego.

Pot meet kettle.

Dr. Lewis was not someone Mason wanted to know personally, but again, just saying that does not mean shit without action. Ellen was right. He should have reported her sooner. Then at least there would be a paper trail.

Then at least Honey would not be sitting here, three days postpartum, holding their sleeping daughter and wondering if her husband had crawled into someone else’s bed while she was home alone and sick and scared.

But it’s not too late.

“To make you doubt me,” Mason says finally. “I rejected her, and that hurt her ego. So she came here to make you doubt me.”

Honey’s eyes fill with tears as she pushes out through clenched teeth.

“She’s propositioned you before?”

“Yes,” Mason says, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

God, he’s fucked up so much.

“A couple of times.”

Honey swallows, pulling her lip between her teeth and biting hard to shove back the tears. He hates himself for putting that look on her face.

“And every single time,” Mason says gently. “I told her that I’m happily married⁠⁠—”

Honey barks a harsh laugh.

“That’s great, Mason,” Honey says. “But saying it wasn’t enough when you kept choosing this place. Just saying you're happily married doesn’t make it true. We haven’t been happily married for months… or at least I haven’t…”

Mason’s throat closes at her words. How fucking selfish and egotistical has he been? Where the fuck did this God complex come from?

Logically, he knows where it came from, but it felt like it wasn’t there one day, and the next it was. Like a garden. You plant the seeds, you water them every single day, and then all of a sudden, your garden is blooming out of control.

Every single unnecessary minute he spent in this place that belonged to Honey, he allowed this to fester.

“Honey, I am so incredibly sorry,” Mason rasps.

“You can’t just say things and think that solves it,” Honey grits out. “You say you love me, but you don’t show me. You say I’m important, but you don’t show me. It’s confusing, and I feel like I’m constantly questioning my trust in your words now. And I’ve never done that before. I trusted you from the moment I met you.”

Mason opens his mouth to respond, to tell her that he understands, and then snaps it shut. Because that would just be doing the same thing he’s been doing. Telling her, not showing her. He needs to show her.

So, he nods.

Honey sighs deeply and leans her head back against the bed.

“Do you want me to put her to bed?”

Honey nods. “She needs to be changed⁠⁠—”

“I’ve got it,” Mason says eagerly, stepping closer to Honey.

Both of them gently ease Daisy off Honey’s chest with only mild protests and a brief pouting of her tiny lip. Honey’s hands linger for an extra second, fingers stroking over Daisy’s back.

Mason does not rush her. He waits until Honey lets go.