Hospital.

The hurried slap of footsteps echoed through the hushed corridors, slicing through the oppressive stillness.

Nanette and Finley looked up at the sound, and there, finally, was Victor-the man they'd been searching for all this time.

Victor looked frantic. Veins stood out at his temples, his dress shirt and slacks rumpled and sweat-stained, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. "Where's Isadora?" he demanded, voice raw. "Where is she?"

Nanette sprang to her feet the moment she saw him, her emotions boiling over. "Victor, what took you so long? If anything happens to Isadora, I swear, you'll answer to me first!"

Finley gently held Nanette back. "Enough. Don't," he said quietly.

He turned to Victor. "Isadora's still in the delivery room. She hasn't come out yet."

Victor's gaze shot to the closed door down the hall, its red warning light glaring like an accusation.

Every muscle in his body tensed. He forced out the words, his voice tight. "I'm going in. She shouldn't be alone."

After a few quick words with the doctor, Finley nodded.

Victor wasted no time he pulled on a sterile gown, scrubbed his hands, and strode inside.

The delivery room was thick with tension, the air heavy with anxiety.

agonized cry cut through

rails with white-knuckled hands. Sweat beaded on her brow, soaking the hair at her temples, her teeth clenched as she

Fitzgerald,

ached with helplessness and guilt, and he rushed to her side, gripping her

that moment, fear and desperation threatened to swallow him whole. He clung to her hand as if

he choked out her name. "Isadora! Isadora,

the haze of pain, his grip grounding

blurred

felt his heart tear in two, the pain sharp and overwhelming. His

voice broke in, urgent. "Mrs. Fitzgerald, almost

white, her breath ragged, but she summoned the last of

And then-

bright, like the first light of dawn after

loudly, "Congratulations,

*

was hushed, as

her features delicate and serene, her pale cheeks touched with the faintest flush. She looked like the subject

her

tightly in his own, presse to his check as if he

stared at the letter she had written

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