𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 - 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚠

Harry and Frederick Shaw

Deckard's POV

I've seen a lot in my life. War zones, weapons labs, Eteon. Hell, I've stared down missiles with less fear than I felt watching Isabella waddle around the house this past week, and she was nearing the end of  pregnancy

She's beautiful, don't get me wrong—but miserable. Her back hurt, her feet were swollen, and she was done. Over it. She snapped at everyone, especially me. But I didn't mind, and she could cry and apologize so much, and I told her it was ok and I love her. I knew she was having trouble sleeping. Everything was calm. 

Today, the house was quiet. For once.

Owen, Hattie, and Mum were out shopping. Probably buying things we didn't need and bossing the salespeople around. So, it was just me and Isa.

She groaned from the couch, looking ready to throw herself out the window. I walked over and knelt beside her. "Getting uncomfortable, love?"

She looked at me like I'd just asked if fire was hot. "I want them out. I need my body back."

I brushed her hair from her face and leaned in. "I know. But you remember what the doctors said? Sex, walking, spicy food..."

She sighed. "Walking hurts. Spicy food's not my favourite... unless it's butter chicken with rice. And sex—well, you know I like that."

I grinned. "Can't argue with that."

I kissed her forehead, then her belly, then her lips. One thing led to another, and I had her in my arms, kissing her slowly, deeply—until she gasped.

"Deck... I think my water just broke." I said, "Here we go". I turned to Isa and said, "Ready, darling?". Isa just nodded. 

A Few Hours Later – Hospital Room

Isabella had barely survived it. And honestly, I wasn't far behind.

The labour was hell.

The epidural barely worked—maybe halfway, if that—and Isa felt everything. Every scream she let out tore through me like a knife. She was soaked in sweat, shaking, gripping my hand with everything she had. And I just held on, helpless and furious, I couldn't take the pain from her.

She screamed my name more times in one hour than in our entire marriage.

"I can't, Deck—I can't do this anymore!" she sobbed, her face twisted with pain, her whole body straining.

I was behind her, arms locked tight around her, whispering in her ear, grounding her the only way I knew how.

"Yes, you bloody well can," I told her. "You're the strongest person I've ever known. Just hold on a little longer, love."

The doctor was calm, focused. "One more push. We're almost there."

Isabella let out a scream so raw it rattled the walls—and then our son entered the world, kicking and crying.

Harry.

Isa barely had time to catch her breath before the doctor said, "Second baby's in distress—we need to move now."

Her eyes locked on mine in panic.

"I'm not ready—I can't—"

I kissed her cheek, her temple, and held her tighter. "You can. You will. I've got you."

She roared as she pushed, again and again, her voice breaking, her body trembling. It felt like forever. I was terrified we'd lose him. But then—another cry. Fierce. Loud.

Freddy.

And just like that, our boys were here.

Isabella collapsed against me, sobbing, laughing, completely spent. Her body had been through the war. Her nails left marks on my arms. I'd never seen anyone fight like she did.