Page 98 of The Golden Hour

From every floor.

They’re being led by one in particular, standing on a parked car with a megaphone in her hands.

"St. Mary’s nurses must unite!” Ellen bellows. “Healthcare is a human right!”

A rally of cheers goes up at Ellen’s impassioned words. Nurses in Patients Before Profit shirts hold signs and repeat the chant back to her, their voices carrying across the parking lot and bouncing off the glass front of St. Mary’s Trauma Center.

Mason hikes his backpack higher on his shoulder and slides his other hand into the front pocket of his jeans as he heads toward the doors.

Ellen sees him and slides down the car with the grace of someone at least twenty years younger.

“Hey!” she yells over the noise. “How’s fatherhood treating you?”

Mason smiles as his fingers brush against the little item he snuck into his pocket before he left this morning—one of Daisy’s little socks, the bumblebee ones she wore yesterday.

It had taken monumental effort to walk out of the house after he knelt down beside the rocking chair to say goodbye. Honey had been holding Daisy against her chest, smiling down at their little girl when she said, “Say bye-bye, Daddy.”

Honey wiggled the little hand gripping her finger like Daisy was waving goodbye to him, and he wanted to cry right then and there.

Then his wife glanced up, met his eyes, and said, “Have a good day.”

He cried the entire drive over.

The ache in his chest increased the further he was away from his girls.

Admittedly, he was also terrified of stepping through hospital doors. It felt as though as soon as he breathed in the sterile air, he would go back to… that.

The man he had been. He was terrified that he would forget every horrifying second from the moment Honey arrived to when she woke up. That he would forget about his promises to her. That he would forget about his commitments and responsibilities to his wife and daughter.

He was determined. He had shown Honey he was determined.

But saying it was one thing.

Walking back into St. Mary’s and proving it was another.

“It’s…” he considers every adjective in his head ranging from terrifying to euphoric to devastating to enlightening, before he finally settles on, “Messy.”

Ellen tosses her head back and barks a laugh.

“So, you’ve finally experienced the infamous blowouts, huh?”

The smell, subsequent vomiting, and exasperation from Honey—deserved—from a few nights ago make him flinch.

“She’s so tiny,” he groans. “How the hell can she make such a mess?”

“She’s talented,” Ellen grins, nudging his shoulder. “Also, probably because she knows you're on diaper duty. Call it penance, kid.”

Mason huffs a laugh. “Deserved.”

“It’ll get easier,” Ellen says. “Parenthood is cleaning up one mess after another. But most importantly, how’s Honey doing?”

“She’s…” Mason again considers every adjective in his head and realizes there isn’t a word adequate enough to describe Honey in motherhood.

The look on his face must say it all, though, because Ellen’s smile softens from teasing to genuinely fond.

“Yeah,” she nods knowingly. “I get it.”

“My marriage on the other hand…” Mason huffs and shakes his head at himself. “Comatose.”