The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

13

TAYLOR SWIFT
May 2013 felt like a lifetime of monotony stretched out before me. Days bled into one another, each identical to the last. I was trapped in a mundane existence, a prisoner of my own unfulfilled dreams. Then, the world as I knew it began to crumble.

That morning, the bathroom was a sterile, cold sanctuary. The weight of the world rested on my shoulders as I stared at the ovulation test. My heart pounded in my ears, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. A single line appeared on the ovulation test, a flicker of relief igniting within me. Thank God for small mercies.

I took a shaky breath, my gaze shifting to the pregnancy test. Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as I waited for the results. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. My mind raced, constructing scenarios, both hopeful and terrifying.

"The ovulation is negative," I managed to say to Jake who stood outside the door.

My eyes locked onto the test. Two stark pink lines stared back at me. A wave of nausea washed over me, and my vision blurred. Tears stung my eyes as I fumbled to cover my mouth. I was pregnant.

"The pregnancy test?" He asked.

I was in conflict. If I told him it was negative I'd get hit for not being able to provide him a child. That could hurt the baby. If I told him I was pregnant then I'd be locked down forever. I had to choose. Me or this baby.

"The pregnancy test is invalid. I need to take another one." I replied to try and buy myself more time.

"Okay, I'll be back in a couple minutes." I heard him walk away and I could breathe for a minute.

My heart pounded like a trapped bird against my ribs. Every nerve in my body was screaming. Think, think, think. The sting on my cheek was a dull ache now, a stark reminder of the monster I lived with. His footsteps faded, a temporary reprieve.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. A baby. My baby. A tiny, innocent life growing inside me. And yet, the thought of telling him filled me with terror. It was a death sentence, not just for me, but for our unborn child.

I glanced at the bathroom, the pregnancy test still lying on the counter, a silent accusation. It was a cruel irony. My future, and the future of the tiny being within me, hung in the balance.

I could hear his footsteps approaching, slow and heavy. Each step was a thunderclap in my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear. The door creaked open, and a shaft of light cut through the dimness.

"Well?" His voice was a low growl, laced with impatience.

I couldn't move. My body felt like lead, my voice trapped in my throat.

My voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible above the pounding in my ears. "It's negative," I managed to croak out. The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, a heavy stone lodged in my throat.

His face, hovering above me, was a mask of disappointment and anger. "Again?" His voice was low, a menacing rumble.

The words caught in my throat, a lump of fear and desperation. "Yes, I'm sorry," I managed to squeak out, my voice barely a whisper. I averted my gaze, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The pregnancy test, a silent traitor, was clutched tightly in my hand, a cold weight against my palm.

His grip tightened on my chin, forcing my head up to meet his furious gaze. His eyes, usually a dull brown, were now ablaze with anger. "Why are you looking away?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as cotton. "I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice trembling. Another lie, a desperate attempt to appease him.

His patience was wearing thin. "Where's the test?" His voice was a low growl, and I could see the veins in his neck bulging.