Page 2 of The Golden Hour

Realization hits him like a punch, and he winces.

Oh, fuck.

He forgot.

Again.

"Right!" Mason nods, slapping his head gently. "Busy day. Yes, I'll be there tomorrow."

The words taste sour.

He's going to try to make it to the appointment tomorrow. He missed the last one... and the one before that. In fact, to his shame, he can't remember the last appointment he came to her with.

"How's Honey doing?"

Mason smiles because any mention of his beautiful wife will trigger that Pavlovian reaction. He's loved Honey since they were teenagers.

Since he was an awkward geek in science club and she was the pretty new girl with sunshine hair and chocolate brown eyes. He's pretty sure he fell in love with her after she introduced herself to the class.

"Hi, I'm Honey!"

Mrs. Freeman's fifth period science class snickered at her name, but she just smiled without shame in a way that made Mason's chest feel really funny.

Then Mrs. Freeman said the most amazing thing.

"You can have a seat next to Mason."

His back was ramrod straight as she walked over to him and sat down, smelling sweet and smiling even sweeter at him.

"Hi!" she whispered brightly. Mason fell too deep into her eyes, and was barely able to pull himself out long enough to realize she was still talking. "I'm Honey."

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a croaking sound. Honey stayed patient, just smiling at him as he cleared his throat.

"I'm M-Mason," he finally stuttered out, his voice cracking on his name. He was humiliated, but then Honey reached her hand out to him to shake.

He wiped his sweaty hand on his pants before taking hers, and her smile widened.

"It's nice to meet you, Mason."

Somehow, he convinced her to be his girlfriend a few weeks later over ice cream. They’ve been together ever since.

"She's great," Mason tells him, pulling himself from the memory.

Dr. Mortimer looks surprised. "Oh, good—has the vomiting gotten better?"

Mason frowns.

Vomiting?

He knows Honey's been having bad morning sickness. His poor wife has been spending mornings in the bathroom, forcing him to either use the guest bathroom downstairs to get ready for his early shifts or just shower in the locker room here.

"Hyperemesis gravidarum is such a damn beast," Dr. Mortimer shakes his head.

Mason's frown deepens

When was she diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum?

Why didn't she tell him?