Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

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.

cry

her brow, soaking the hair at her temples, her teeth clenched as she fought through

the obstetrician encouraged her gently, "Mrs. Fitzgerald, just a little more. You're doing

eyes stung at the sight. His chest ached with helplessness and guilt, and he rushed to her side, gripping her hand tightly in

whole. He clung to her hand as if it

lips trembled as he choked out her name. "Isadora! Isadora, I'm here. I'm

voice through the haze of pain, his grip grounding her as she forced her eyes open. There he was-the man

blurred

two, the pain sharp and overwhelming.

voice broke in, urgent. "Mrs. Fitzgerald, almost there! One more time

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

And then-

and bright, like the first light of

doctor beamed and announced loudly, "Congratulations, Mr. Fitzgerald.

*

hushed,

like the sweep of a paintbrush, her features delicate and serene, her pale

sat at her side, silent,

tightly in his own, presse to his check

at the letter she had written her handwriting neat,