The May Irwin Kiss [Tayvis Fanfiction]

This Is Us

Continued
October 11th; 2026
Taylor Swift's Point of View
The harsh fluorescent lights glare down, mocking the single bedside lamp's attempt at a warm glow. Seven hours. Seven excruciating hours since the rhythmic tightening in my lower abdomen kicks into high gear, sending us scrambling to the hospital, convinced it's go-time.

The epidural, a flickering beacon of hope in my last delivery, betrays me once again by not working. Every contraction feels like a rogue wave, crashing over me with a force that steals my breath and leaves me clinging to the metal rails of the bed, knuckles white. Travis, bless his heart, is a constant by my side, his hands a soothing counterpoint to the storm raging inside me. He rubs my back in a steady rhythm, his touch a grounding force amidst the chaos, but even his ministrations can't fully quell the fiery ache radiating through my body.

"Remember to breathe, honey," he murmurs, his voice a lifeline in the churning sea of pain.

"Why can't I just push already?" I rasp, my voice hoarse from hours of groaning and screaming. "They said I'm ten centimeters!"

"I know it's frustrating, love," he soothes, "but the doctor wants you to feel the urge to push naturally. If your body's not quite ready yet..."

"I don't care what my body wants!" I cry out, a fresh wave of despair washing over me. Tears stream down my face, blurring the already indistinct surroundings.

Exhaustion and pain are a potent cocktail, and beneath their crushing weight, a different kind of fear bubbles up. "What are we even doing, Travis?" I choke out, the question a desperate plea for reassurance.

He looks at me, his brow furrowed with concern. "What do you mean?"

"I can't do this! Three kids? How am I going to manage?" Panic gnaws at the edges of my sanity.

"Cameron will be fine with me and you're an amazing mom," he assures me, squeezing my hand.

"It's not Cameron," I gasp as another contraction rips through me, momentarily stealing my breath. "It's Grace. I promised her..." My voice trails off, a sob escaping my lips.

Travis's eyes widen. "Grace? What about Grace?"

"I promised Grace I'd take care of him!" I yell, another contraction seizing me. Tears stream down my face, a tangled mess of worry and pain.

Travis looks at me, stunned. "What? Grace?"

"I promised..." I gasp, struggling to catch my breath. "I promised Grace I'd love him... as my own."

The weight of that promise hangs heavy in the air, a new layer of anxiety settling on top of the physical agony. Just then, the door swings open and Dr. Patel, our calm and steady OB-GYN, enters the room. "Are you feeling any different?" She asks.

"Yes," I rasp, my voice barely a whimper. Her arrival, a beacon of calm amidst the storm, is a lifeline I desperately cling to. "I... I need to push. This baby is coming."

A different urgency surges through me, primal and powerful. The baby, nestled within, is an insistent tenant demanding immediate eviction. Dr. Patel, ever the steady hand, moves with practiced efficiency. She doesn't ask, she assesses. Her gaze, sharp and focused, sweeps over me, taking in the sheen of sweat on my brow, the tremor in my hands, the raw desperation in my eyes.

"Alright then," she says, her voice a soothing balm. Not a question, but a declaration. "Let's get to it then, mama. You've got this."

The words are simple, but the confidence behind them is a tonic. For a fleeting moment, the fear recedes, replaced by a fierce determination. This isn't just about the pain anymore. It's about the tiny life about to emerge, blinking into the harsh light, and enter a world I'm determined to make perfect.