Page 52 of The Golden Hour

But her womb is empty.

She went to sleep, and Daisy was there, and now she’s not.

Honey cannot stop the hot flood of tears spilling down her cheeks.

Mason is standing in the corner of the room, biting at his thumbnail—his nervous tell. She has not seen it in a while. For a long time, she thought the ED had killed the nervous part of him. Replaced it with ego instead, which seemed, in Mason’s mind, to be the better alternative. Fake it until you make it.

Mason’s eyes catch hers, the hazel of them brightening with a hope that makes her pointedly look away. She doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with her husband right now. Not when he finally seems to remember that he is a husband and now a father.

Too late.

Honey closes her eyes and focuses on breathing, and not the way her soft, still swollen stomach no longer has any fluttering or rolling beneath her hands.

Empty, empty, empty.

She’s a mommy now, but she wasn’t able to enjoy any of it. Not the pregnancy spent being sick or being alone. Not the labor where she was rushed to the hospital because her placenta detached from her uterus and put her and her baby’s life in danger. The only moments of joy were when she felt Daisy inside her.

Dr. Farah steps closer to the bed, and Honey lifts her eyes to the woman who cared for her.

When Honey opened her eyes, she felt so confused, like something was off in a way her soul understood before her brain did. Her first thought was Daisy, and when she pressed shaking hands to her belly and found only swollen emptiness beneath the blankets, she lost it.

A familiar masculine voice trying to tell her that Daisy was alive and in the NICU couldn’t calm her. Maybe because the terrified animal part of her did not trust his voice in regard to Daisy anymore.

What truly calmed her was Dr. Farah’s guided breathing as she told her that her little girl was safe with her grandmother in the NICU. Just waiting for Honey to wake up. The doctor didn’t judge her for freaking out. She didn’t dismiss her fear and write it off as emotional first-time mom nerves.

Like Dr. Mortimer had done.

Dr. Farah validated every fear and assured her that she would be with her daughter, but that she needed to remain calm to do so.

“Where is my baby?! I need to see my baby! She needs me!”

“She does need you. That’s why I need you to take deep breaths, Honey. Can you do that? Ready, I’ll do it with you—in—hold—release—hold,” Dr. Farah said, her voice both soft and firm. “That’s it, you’re doing perfectly. A couple more times. In—hold—out—hold. Wonderful, Honey, let’s keep going. Then I can go get Daisy, okay?”

“Are you still feeling groggy?” Dr. Farah asks now.

“A little,” Honey rasps, pressing a shaky hand to her throat.

Melissa is already moving, grabbing the glass of water Dr. Farah had one of the nurses bring in for her. The tube they used when they put her under for the C-section, combined with all the screaming she did when she woke up, has left her throat raw. Not to mention the magnesium, which makes everything feel too heavy.

Honey reaches out for the glass, but her hand shakes too much, so Melissa gently coaxes her to open her mouth and guides the cup to her lips. The cool water soothes her sore throat, and Honey smiles at her mom in thanks.

Her parents both look wrung out. Her father stands near the corner next to Mason, his big arms crossed over his chest. His beard twitches as he chews on his lip—his nervous tell.

She is a little amused that somehow, despite the shaking in her hands and the tears on her face, the women in the room still feel steadier than the men.

Honey feels different than she did before she collapsed.

It’s like while she was under, they added something to her while they cut Daisy from her womb. A fortitude she has never felt before. Some primal instinct deep in her soul that feels more powerful than any force on earth. An anger that she has never felt before, flowing hot and steady under the surface of her skin.

And when she glances over to her husband, the sparks flare up. With enough kindling, it could turn into a wildfire.

“Honey,” Dr. Farah says gently, drawing her attention back, “I am incredibly sorry to have to tell you that you had preeclampsia and were not diagnosed properly.”

“She diagnosed it in three seconds,” Melissa tells Honey, looking at Dr. Farah with awe and gratitude. “Most brilliant goddamn doctor in this fucking hospital, if you ask me.”

Mason flinches at that, and Honey sees her father’s eyes glance at him, unimpressed.

“What does that mean?” Honey asks Dr. Farah. “I’ve heard it before, but I don’t exactly know what it is.”