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 cut through the

the bed, clutching the rails with white-knuckled hands. Sweat beaded on her brow, soaking the hair at

"Mrs. Fitzgerald, just a

stung at the sight. His chest ached with helplessness and guilt, and he rushed

her hand as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded, needing to feel her -to know she was

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

hear his voice through the haze of pain, his grip grounding her as she forced her eyes

blurred

two, the pain sharp and overwhelming. His voice cracked. "We're never doing

urgent. "Mrs. Fitzgerald, almost there! One

her breath ragged, but she summoned the last

And then-

and bright, like the first light

loudly, "Congratulations, Mr. Fitzgerald. It's a

*

hushed, as peaceful as a world

sweep of a paintbrush, her features delicate and serene, her pale cheeks touched with the faintest flush. She looked like

her side, silent, her

in his own, presse to his check

at the letter she had written