The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

9

TAYLOR SWIFT
It was five months into our marriage, and my fourth album was taking shape. Every day was a tightrope walk, a constant balancing act to keep Jake happy. I sacrificed parts of myself I didn't even know existed, but nothing seemed to be enough. The weight of his dissatisfaction was crushing me.

Jake was a master of control. He dictated my schedule, my wardrobe, my social interactions, even my eating habits. He attended every award show I went to and forced me to decline interviews. Yet, there was one realm he couldn't conquer: my music. It was my sanctuary, my escape. My songs were raw, emotional outpourings, and I refused to let him stifle them. His anger was a constant threat when I wrote about heartbreak or loss, but I persevered.

One afternoon, lost in a melody, I scribbled lyrics onto a notebook. "I knew you were trouble when you walked in so shame on me now. Flew me to places I'd never been 'til you put me down." I strummed a chord, the melody starting to take shape.

Jake, who had been in the kitchen, appeared in the doorway. "What are you writing this time?" His voice was flat, but his eyes held a challenging glint.

I swallowed hard. "Just a song," I replied, trying to sound casual.

He crossed the room and leaned over my shoulder, reading the lyrics. His face darkened. "Is that what you think about us?" His tone was accusatory.

Fear gripped me. "No, it's not about us," I stammered. "It's about someone else, an old song idea."

His eyes narrowed. "So, you're still thinking about other men? I thought you were loyal."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "This is a breakup song, you idiot! Not a love song!" My voice was shrill, filled with panic and anger.

The room seemed to shrink around me. I had crossed a line, and I knew it. Tears welled up in my eyes as I covered my mouth with trembling hands. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't answer me. Instead, he snatched the guitar from my hands, his grip tight and angry. I scrambled to my feet as he raised the instrument above his head.

"I'm doing this for our marriage," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

A scream built in my throat. "No! Stop!" I cried out, my voice sharp and clear. It was the first time I'd defied him, the first time I'd truly stood up to him.

But it was too late. The guitar crashed to the floor, splintering into pieces. The once beautiful instrument was now a mangled mess of wood and broken strings.

"No more songs about exes," he spat out, his face contorted in rage.

Then it was a fist to the face, directly on my eye. The world exploded in pain and color. I stumbled backward, my vision blurring. Before I could regain my footing, his foot connected with my ribs, sending me crashing to the floor. The wind was knocked out of me, and a sharp pain shot through my body.

I pause, my voice catching in my throat. The memory of that night was a physical pain, sharp and raw. I look away, unable to meet Alice's gaze. "I'm sorry," I manage to whisper, my voice trembling.

A gentle hand finds mine, squeezing it reassuringly. "Take your time," Alice says softly. Her voice is a soothing balm to my raw emotions.

I nod, taking a deep breath. "It's hard to talk about," I confess.

Alice's grip tightens. "I know. But you're safe now, and you're not alone."

I force a small smile. "I know." But the weight of the memories are heavy on my chest. "You're probably wondering how someone could be so stupid," I manage to joke, trying to lighten the mood.