Stolen Memories [Tayvis Fanfiction]

HONEST

Two months Later
March 21st; 2019
Taylor Swift's Point of View 
Some might label what I've been experiencing as symptoms of depression, but I struggle to find a reason for my sadness. I'm carrying a child, after all—an existence that should bring unparalleled joy. Yet, in the tumultuous process of pregnancy, I lost the love of my life, leaving my heart shattered and my emotions tangled in a web of confusion and despair. My life feels like a chaotic mess, the pieces scattered across the floor, impossible to piece back together.

I indulge in some whipped cream straight from the can and take a bite of strawberry ice cream, a guilty pleasure that momentarily distracts me from the overwhelming weight of my emotions. Surprisingly, the baby seems to share in this indulgence. As much love I feel for my baby, I find myself sinking deeper into exhaustion, avoiding responsibilities and social interactions as if they were traps set to ensnare me further into this abyss of loneliness and desolation. Meetings become daunting, interviews feel like interrogations, and the mere act of facing the world outside my doorstep becomes an insurmountable task.

Only Joe, my trusted confidante, and a select few doctors know the truth—that I'm 21 weeks pregnant and feeling utterly alone in this journey. Each day feels like an eternity, a relentless cycle of longing for the love and support I once had yet known deep down that it's gone forever.

There's a knock at the door, and my heart skips a beat as a wave of apprehension washes over me. I'm not prepared for visitors, not in the fragile state I'm in. But when I see it's my parents standing on the other side, relief floods my senses like a soothing balm. They're the last people I expected, but in this moment, their unexpected presence is a lifeline I cling to desperately.

"Just give me a minute!" I call out, my voice slightly trembling as I scramble to tidy up the living room, the clutter serving as a physical manifestation of the chaos within me. With trembling hands, I quickly freshen up, trying to mask the exhaustion etched into every line of my face before answering the door.

"Eight and a half minutes, darling. What were you up to?" my dad's voice carries a hint of concern, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress.

"Really? It felt shorter," I reply with a forced smile, the weight of my emotions threatening to spill over at any moment."

"Take a moment to catch your breath, Taylor," my mom advises with a chuckle as they enter. My breathing is labored but I was running around 21-weeks pregnant.

"I'm sorry, I was cleaning up. It was a mess," I admit, closing the door behind them with a sense of finality, as if shutting out the chaos along with it.

"Still is," my mom comments with a wry smile, her eyes sweeping over the room cluttered with scattered belongings and the remnants of my emotional turmoil.

"Believe it or not, it was worse," I sigh, feeling the weight of my confession settle heavily upon my shoulders.

"This isn't like you, hon," my mom observes with a furrowed brow, her maternal instinct honed to detect even the slightest deviation from my usual demeanor.

"I know. Joe was my longest relationship," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper as I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly self-conscious of the changes my body has undergone in these past months.

"Usually, when you go through a breakup, you dive into work. Not sit around and mope. You haven't been picking up anyone's calls and all you're doing is Zoom meetings. It's like you don't care anymore," my mom remarks, her words cutting through the fog of my thoughts with a sharpness that stings.

"I care, I just... I need to sit down. My back is killing me," I collapse onto the couch, the weight of exhaustion bearing down upon me like a physical burden, my feet finding solace atop the coffee table as I allow myself a moment of respite from the storm raging both within and without.