Faded Echoes [Tayvis Fanfiction]

DETERIORATING

Five Weeks Later
May 27th; 2026
Taylor Swift's Point of View
I feel like the absolute worst mother in the world right now. I had this perfect picture in my head: Elise, tiny and perfect, and me, still creating music, still finding my voice. It was a balance I thought I could strike. But now, weeks have melted away in a haze of anxiety. I play snippets of songs for her, a desperate hope echoing in my heart that she'll somehow remember them later. It's a pathetic motivation, a hollow substitute for happiness.

The Tortured Poets Department was almost finished. I was going to announce it on May 29th, a declaration of my artistic self. Then came marriage, then pregnancy, and now this. The album is a ghost, a promise unfulfilled.

Meningitis, colic, and now this terrifying possibility of hearing loss or deafness. The words feel like stones in my mouth. I love Elise more than anything, but this was not the life I imagined for her. She's just a baby, innocent and fragile. Every day is a tightrope walk of fear, and the wait for the specialist felt like an eternity. Five weeks. Five endless weeks of watching her, this tiny, perfect being, and feeling utterly helpless.

The sterile white walls of the specialist's office feel like a tomb. Elise, swaddled tightly in a soft pink blanket, sleeps peacefully, unaware of the terrifying potential future. I watch her tiny chest rise and fall, a rhythm of life so delicate it feels like it could shatter with a breath.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman with gentle hands, is explaining something about auditory nerves and decibels. Words float around me, distant and meaningless. I can't focus. All I hear is the ticking of the clock, a relentless march towards an unknown future.

"Sorry, what did you say?" My voice is a hoarse whisper, a pathetic attempt at normalcy in this sterile, white-walled tomb. My eyes, heavy with unshed tears, struggle to focus on the doctor's face, a mask of professional concern.

"When did the meningitis symptoms start?" Doctor Ramirez repeats, her voice gentle yet firm, like a surgeon about to deliver a fatal diagnosis.

My throat constricts. Words, once my lifeline, have abandoned me. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches between us, a tangible thing, heavy and suffocating.

"Seven days after we brought her home from the hospital," Travis answers for me, his voice steady, a stark contrast to the chaos raging within me.

"And when did you bring Elise to the pediatrician?" The doctor's question is a blunt instrument, cutting through the haze of my despair.

"The next day," Travis replies, his voice barely wavering.

"She was misdiagnosed with an ear infection," I manage to squeeze out, my voice barely a breath. The words feel like stones lodged in my throat, each one a painful reminder of my negligence.

"So she was eleven days old at this point?" The doctor's voice is neutral, but her eyes hold a depth of compassion that pierces through my armor.

"Yes. She wasn't showing signs of improvement, and three days later her fever spiked to over 101 degrees," Travis informs her, his voice filled with a quiet anger.

"We rushed her to the emergency room," I add, my voice trembling slightly. The memory of that terrifying night flashes before my eyes, a stark contrast to the peaceful scene of Elise sleeping soundly beside me.

"You have a lawsuit on your hands if you want to take advantage of that. A misdiagnosis leading to this type of damage..." The doctor's words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

"No, no lawsuits. I have more than enough money, and suing people won't bring back what was lost," I interrupt, my voice rising in desperation. The thought of legal battles is abhorrent. All I want is to fix this, to rewind the clock and protect my baby.