Faded Echoes [Tayvis Fanfiction]

ATTENTIVE

One Month Later
July 11th; 2026
Taylor Swift's Point of View
Over the weeks following Elise's diagnosis, it became clear that Joy was struggling more than any of us had anticipated. Her frustrations seemed to boil over at every opportunity, the anger bubbling up in ways that left us speechless. It was heartbreaking, like watching our bright, bubbly little girl slowly retreat into someone else—someone angrier, someone more volatile. She didn't understand why things were different now, why everything had to revolve around Elise. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, back when she was the center of our world too. And as much as we tried to balance things, it was starting to feel like we had to choose: focus on Elise's needs or keep loving Joy in the way she craved. Both felt impossible to manage.

One morning, I'm standing at the stove, flipping pancakes for breakfast, and my mind is elsewhere, as it so often is these days—thinking about Elise, her hearing aids, the constant appointments, and the endless wave of new information that's been overwhelming us since her diagnosis. Travis is sitting at the table with Elise in his arms, gently bouncing her on his knee, her soft babbling filling the room. It's a sweet moment, but even in these small instances, there's an undercurrent of worry.

"Do you think the hearing aid fits? I feel like it's going to fall out," Travis asks, his brow furrowing as he adjusts one of Elise's tiny hearing aids. He turns her head slightly, inspecting her ears like they hold the answer to a puzzle we haven't solved yet.

"They're made specifically fit to her, Travis," I reply, trying to reassure him while flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. "The audiologist said it's a perfect fit. They won't fall out."

"What if she already outgrew them?" he counters, his voice thick with concern. He strokes Elise's soft curls, his fingers brushing the edges of the hearing aid as if the slightest touch might reveal a hidden flaw.

I roll my eyes, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation. "In two weeks? Come on, Travis. She's a baby, not a superhero."

But even as I say it, I know where he's coming from. We're both worried all the time. It's an endless cycle—checking, double-checking, overthinking every little thing because we can't afford to miss anything when it comes to Elise's needs.

"Mommy, I finished my drawing!" Joy suddenly pipes up from across the table, her voice bright, eager for my attention.

I glance over, taking a quick look at the crayon-filled page she's holding up. It's colorful and messy, the way a six-year-old's drawings often are—rainbows, flowers, and a smiling stick-figure family all holding hands. I offer a quick, "Very good, Joy," without giving it much thought, my mind still half-occupied with Travis's concerns.

Joy's face falls instantly, the light in her eyes dimming as she lowers the drawing. "You barely even looked!" she shouts, her voice sharp and full of hurt.

Her words hit me harder than they should, pulling me out of my own head and back into the present. I turn toward her, really seeing her for the first time this morning. Her small body is tense, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stares at me with those big, expectant eyes—eyes that are filled with a mix of frustration and desperation.

I feel the weight of it then. The guilt. The exhaustion. The knowledge that she's right. I didn't really look. I haven't really been looking at her for weeks now. Not the way I used to. Not the way she needs me to.

"Joy, I'm sorry," I say, setting the spatula down and turning fully toward her, trying to fix the moment before it slips away entirely. "Let me see it again. I'm really looking now, okay?"

But she shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "No! You don't care! You don't care about my pictures! You only care about her!" She glares at Elise, and my heart twists at the venom in her voice, at the way she says "her" like Elise is some stranger who's taken everything from her.