The Seven Husbands of Taylor Swift

48

TAYLOR SWIFT
After Alice explained everything, she asked to rest. I can't even begin to imagine the pressure she's been under—evicted with only three days to pack up her life, find a place to stay, and manage it all while taking care of Luca. It's overwhelming, and I know she needs the time to breathe. But even after she'd gone to bed, I can't shake the knot of anxiety in my chest.

I sit in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. Travis stayed up with me, though I can see how much he wants to go back to bed. The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid.

"I don't know what to do, Travis," I admit, my voice soft. "We'll help her, obviously, but... what about London or Paris? They don't know anything about her. I don't think London will take it well—especially with Luca around."

Travis looks at me, calm but serious. "We need to tell them the truth. That's the first step."

I exhale, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "I don't want to have to choose between my kids."

He reaches over, placing his hand on mine. "Taylor, as much as I love you, you have to understand something. Alice isn't your responsibility. She's not your child. She's 42, and she got herself into this situation."

"But she's my blood," I protest quietly, feeling that familiar ache.

Travis doesn't waver. "London isn't my blood, but I'd die for that kid. Blood doesn't define relationships. You have to think about London and Paris first. Alice has her parents—she came to us because she's scared, not because you owe her anything."

I sit there, the truth of his words slowly sinking in. "You're right... it's not my job to take care of her."

"We're doing this because we care. But you can't forget where your priorities need to be." He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I sigh, feeling the conflict settle, even if only a little.

Suddenly, I hear a soft thud and the quiet sound of little feet making their way toward the living room. At first, I think it's Tasha, our chubby Siberian cat—she's not exactly the most graceful jumper off the countertops. But when I glance up, it's not Tasha. It's Luca, shuffling in his race car pajamas, his blonde hair tousled and his blue eyes half-open. In one hand, he's clutching a worn teddy bear.

"Good morning, Luca," I say softly, trying not to startle him.

He looks up at me, rubbing one sleepy eye. "Where's Momma?" His voice is small, barely above a whisper.

I glance toward the guest bedroom where Alice is finally getting some rest. Poor thing needs it after everything she's been through. "She's sleeping," I say gently, rising from my chair. "I can go get her if you—"

"Potty," Luca interrupts, tugging at the sleeve of my robe with urgency.

I bite my lip for a second, glancing toward Alice's door. The last thing I want to do is wake her up right now. I've raised two kids myself, how hard can it be to handle a toddler for a little while?

"Uh, okay," I nod, crouching down to Luca's level. "Let's go find the bathroom."

I lead Luca down the hallway, his small hand clutching mine as we make our way to the bathroom. He's quiet, still a bit sleepy, but there's a determined look in his eyes. It takes me back to when London and Paris were this little, wandering around the house half-asleep, tugging on my robe just like this.

When we reach the bathroom, I open the door and guide him inside. "Here you go," I say softly. "Do you need help?"

He shakes his head, still holding onto his teddy bear. "No, I do it."