The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

31

TAYLOR SWIFT
Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and gray, the kind of weather that seemed to seep into your bones. I was nine months pregnant, and every inch of me felt the weight of it. My back ached constantly, and the cramps that had started the day before were relentless. I told myself they were just Braxton Hicks, false alarms that had been teasing me for weeks now.

I wanted to spend Thanksgiving alone, to have one last day to myself before everything changed. But Mom was insistent on being there, and I didn't have the energy to argue with her. She arrived early, bustling into the house with bags full of groceries and the determination to make sure I didn't lift a finger.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart," she said, giving me a quick hug before setting the bags on the kitchen counter. "How are you feeling today?"

"Like I'm about to pop any second," I replied, managing a small smile. "But other than that, I'm okay. Just the usual back pain and cramps."

"Those Braxton Hicks are no joke," she said, shaking her head. "But you're close now, really close. It could happen any day."

"I know," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an edge of nervousness in my voice. The truth was, I was scared—scared of the unknown, scared of the pain, scared of what my life would be like once my son was here. But I didn't want to admit that to her. Not today.

Mom spent the morning preparing Thanksgiving dinner, and I sat at the kitchen table, watching her move around the kitchen with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. The smells of roasting turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie filled the air, but I couldn't shake the nagging discomfort in my lower back.

As the day wore on, the cramps became more frequent, and I found myself gripping the edge of the table, trying to breathe through them. Mom noticed, of course—she noticed everything.

"Are you sure those are just Braxton Hicks?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Yeah, I think so," I said, though my voice wavered. "I mean, they don't feel any different from the ones I've been having."

But deep down, I wasn't so sure. There was something about these cramps that felt more intense, more urgent. I tried to push the thought aside, convincing myself it was just my imagination, but the nagging doubt lingered.

By the time dinner was ready, the cramps had turned into something more, and I was finding it hard to focus on anything else. I tried to sit down at the table with Mom, but every time I did, a wave of pain would hit, and I'd have to stand up and pace around the room.

"Taylor, maybe we should go to the hospital," Mom said, her voice filled with worry as she watched me struggle.

"No, it's fine," I insisted, though even I could hear the strain in my voice. "Let's just eat. I'm sure it's nothing."

But the truth was, I wasn't sure at all. As I sat down again, a sharp pain shot through my lower back, and I gasped, clutching the edge of the table.

"Taylor!" Mom was on her feet in an instant, her face pale with concern. "We're going to the hospital, now."

I didn't argue this time. The pain was too intense, too different from anything I'd felt before. As I grabbed my hospital bag, which had been packed and ready for weeks, I felt a mixture of fear and anticipation wash over me. This was it. It was really happening.

Mom helped me into the car, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the keys. The drive to the hospital was a blur, the cramps now coming in steady waves, each one stronger than the last. I tried to focus on my breathing, but all I could think about was how unprepared I felt, how alone I was despite my mom's presence.