The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

32

TAYLOR SWIFT
Week six, and here I am, sitting across from Alice again. It's strange, but I've grown to enjoy these sessions, even if I'm essentially paying her just to talk. I don't want to waste her time, and in some way, maybe I'm paying for her silence too.

Alice is... different. When I first met her, I expected something more polished, more professional. I knew she left accounting to chase her dream of becoming a journalist, but honestly, she should've stuck to numbers or picked a different dream. She can write, sure, but interviewing? She's hopeless.

So why do I keep her around? Curiosity, maybe. I want to see if she can surprise me, if she can pull off something worth all these hours. There's something about her that still piques my interest.

I lean back, thinking out loud, "The more I think about my husbands over the years, the more I realize how wrong I was about Jake being my biggest regret. He did a lot of crap, but Matty... I regret Matty so much more. Especially now, after talking about my son. I can't believe I put us in that position." I take a deep breath, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "Matty didn't treat me as badly as Jake, but I had London. I was in a toxic marriage and brought my son, who I'd die for, into the mix."

Alice doesn't flinch, just scribbles something in her notebook before asking, "Do you feel guilty for what happened?"

"Guilty? Absolutely. I feel guilty for subjecting my son to that situation. But I'm also relieved... happy that he was too young to remember any of it. The marriage was incredibly short," I say, my voice trailing off as I stare at the floor.

It was a little over a year after London was born, and I was finally getting back on my feet. I had just released Midnights, and I'd be heading back on tour soon. Most of my days were spent in rehearsals, trying to balance motherhood and my career. London was with me, of course, and I had a nanny to help out, but it wasn't the ideal situation. I needed to focus on my job, though, so I made it work.

Sometimes it frustrated me how much London looked like his father. But what can you do about genetics? After a long day of rehearsals, the dancers managed to convince me to go out with them. It had been ages since I'd been out, cooped up 24/7 as a single mom since London was born.

Next thing I knew, we were at an exclusive bar that I rented out—no fans, no pictures, just my dancers, some staff, and a few friends. It felt like a small taste of freedom.

"Thank you for inviting me, Karen. I really needed this," I sighed, taking a sip of water.

"No problem! Thank you for being an amazing boss. You're the absolute shit!" Karen exclaimed, her smile bright and infectious.

"Thanks," I replied with a small laugh.

"Girl, are you not going to drink?" Kam asked, pointing to my water.

"I have to go home after this and take care of my son, unfortunately," I said, tapping my glass.

"Are you breastfeeding?" Kam asked, catching me completely off guard.

"What?" I stared at him, taken aback.

"I'm just saying if you're not breastfeeding, you can have a drink or two. You have a nanny, don't you?" Kam replied, his tone casual.

"My son is 15 months old, he's on solids now," I told him.

"I'm not trying to pressure you, but have a drink if you want," Kam said, shrugging.

I glanced at my water glass, considering it. The night was still young, and maybe, just maybe, I could afford to let loose a little.

I sat there for a moment, staring at my water glass, feeling the weight of Kam's suggestion. It wasn't that I didn't want to drink—I could definitely use a break. But something in me hesitated. Maybe it was the lingering sense of responsibility, the ever-present voice in my head reminding me that I was a mother now. Every decision felt like it had to be calculated, weighed, and balanced against what was best for London.