Page 45 of The Golden Hour

Fulfilled.

“You are so welcome,” Dr. Farah said, pulling back to smile at Melissa. She then turned to Phil, who took one of her hands in both of his and shook it with pure respect.

“Thank you so much, Doc,” Phil said, his voice thick with emotion.

Farah smiled and did the same to Mason’s parents before she left.

“Could I have a word?” Mason asked.

Farah’s brow furrowed, but she nodded and followed him to a corner.

“Tell me,” Mason said, pleading really, because he wanted the truth of it.

He wanted to hear what his neglect had almost brought about.

Farah glanced back at Honey’s parents, making sure they were out of hearing distance, before she turned back to Mason.

“Another minute, and I would have given you all a very different speech,” Dr. Farah said sharply before walking away.

Mason was sick again in the trashcan, feeling like he had just gotten kicked in the balls, the gut, and the throat all at once. He remembered telling Lowell that every second counted, in such a blasé way, when it had been his wife’s fucking life on the line.

Every second counted, and his Honey had been down to seconds, while he had spent months acting like he had all the time in the world. Like he wasn’t an emergency medicine doctor who knew how fragile human bodies are and how dangerous pregnancy and childbirth can be.

Some fucking husband he is.

Some fucking doctor he is.

“Do you want to hold her, Dad?”

Mason turns toward the NICU nurse, Heather, standing beside him with a small smile.

“No,” Mason answers immediately.

The nurse looks taken aback for a moment by his vehement refusal.

He clears his throat and amends, “Her mother almost died bringing her into this world. She’ll be the first one to hold her.”

What he doesn’t tell the nurse is that he’s essentially a stranger to Daisy, his daughter. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know his voice. He doesn’t deserve the right to hold her before Honey, who did all the fucking work through this pregnancy. Honey, who was sick and scared and lonely and still carried Daisy safely for as long as her body could.

Honey will hold their daughter before him.

“Don’t worry,” the nurse says, her face softening in understanding. “She’ll get lots of cuddles until Mommy wakes up. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Thank you,” he rasps, his eyes going back to Daisy.

He assisted with deliveries to two babies before in the emergency department. He just remembers thinking about how newborns look like little aliens, faces scrunched up, all pink and angry and screaming in adorable fury. Sometimes their soft little skulls were misshapen during birth, giving them an even more extraterrestrial appearance.

They always start looking better after a few months, their features settling and softening into that adorable baby face, all big eyes and chunky cheeks and gummy grins.

But Daisy is… perfect.

Beautiful.

Just like her mommy.

Her tiny hands are up against her face, curled into little fists. Her eyes are closed as she sleeps peacefully after an exhausting arrival. Mason feels tears sting his eyes when her little mouth opens in a mighty yawn before she sighs and settles, and he has to rub over his chest because he can literally feel his heart expanding to allow room for her.

Honey and Daisy, his heart outside his body.