Page 78 of The Golden Hour

That was five days ago.

Honey is worried they might try to scrub or alter her records. They can’t erase them completely, but Mortimer twisted her words to fit a narrative, and the hospital enabled it. She knows she reported her symptoms to Dr. Mortimer. The dizziness. The spots. The swelling. The feeling of something being wrong.

The question is if he even documented them correctly.

And she has a bad feeling he didn’t.

“Should we tell—” Honey says, her eyes flickering to the door where Dr. Farah and Mason are still talking. “It feels weird keeping this from him. I’m about to sue his workplace. Our livelihood comes from this place.”

“Not yet,” Melissa says softly, brushing a stray hair away from Honey’s face. “The attorney says keep this close to the chest for now.”

Melissa looks in the direction of Mason.

“I want so badly to believe that he would do the right thing, but…”

“We have about nine months of the opposite,” Honey says quietly, glancing back down at Daisy. Her daughter’s newborn blue eyes are open, staring at her like Honey is the sun. Honey smiles helplessly, “He’s different.”

“He is,” Melissa says, rather reluctantly. “But it has been two weeks. Not even. Let’s see how it goes when we’re home, and he’s not on paternity leave, and this place starts calling again.”

Honey hopes this will stay, but she also feels so stupid for hoping. Or maybe not stupid, but just terrified. Trying not to get her hopes up only to have them crushed. Because this time she is not the only one who would be hurt by Mason falling back into old patterns.

She presses a kiss to Daisy’s hat-covered head.

“We’ll see, I guess,” Honey sighs, her finger brushing over Daisy’s delicate features. “But no matter what, she’ll always have me.”

“You sound like a mother,” Melissa says, her voice dripping with pride. “But you’re still my little baby Honeybee. Always.”

Warmth floods Honey as she tilts her head up. Melissa presses a kiss to her forehead just as Mason walks back into the room. The angry look on his face fades the closer he gets, and he smiles down at Daisy, and it only widens when he meets Honey’s eyes.

“Could I hold her, Honey?” he asks, his voice gentle.

Honey grits her teeth and swallows down the animal instinct in her to snarl at anyone trying to take her daughter from her. She knows it’s not logical or healthy, and she’s proud of herself for not reacting first.

Instead, she processes that she’s uncomfortable because of what she experienced, but that she cannot punish others for it.

Especially not Daisy’s father.

Honey checks on Daisy to make sure she is not stressed before helping maneuver her into Mason’s arms. Pointedly ignoring the flutter she feels in her belly at the sight of tiny Daisy against Mason’s chest, she focuses on Daisy’s facial expression instead.

Daisy does not fuss as much in her father’s arms now, though she still never seems to settle completely.

It’ll take time, she knows that, but it doesn’t do anything for the ache in her chest when she sees Mason’s heartbroken face. Daisy would know him very well by now if he had come to her appointments, spoken to her while she was in the womb, or been involved in any capacity during the pregnancy.

But he wasn’t, and this is a consequence.

Honey is just happy it is not a permanent consequence and that Daisy won’t remember this. She wants Daisy and Mason to have a relationship like the one she has with her own father—one of complete trust and safety. She hopes they will get there.

Mason sits on the couch with Daisy in his arms, their little girl wrapped in the beautiful blanket Ellen had brought her. Honey had found it covering her the morning after the Dr. Lewis incident, and Mason told her it was from Ellen.

When he asked Honey if Ellen could visit, she immediately said yes. She has always liked the older nurse and made sure to bake her extra ricotta cookies around Christmas.

“Daddy got the car seat set up in the SUV,” Melissa tells Honey with an excited smile. “Only a few more days and we are going home.”

Honey smiles at that until Mason clears his throat lightly, catching the women’s attention.

“Did you need me to go home and get anything prepared for you?” Mason asks Honey, and her smile freezes at his words.

“I could go home and move the bed downstairs,” Mason offers, desperate to do anything for you look on his face. “I was thinking we could move the bed into the den—I think it could fit, and it’s close to the downstairs bathroom, and you wouldn’t have to walk up and down the stairs…”