The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

8

TAYLOR SWIFT
I sit up in my bed, glancing around at the sea of flowers and cards overflowing the room. There's a dull ache beneath the large bandage wrapped around my head, and I'm hyper-aware of the shaved patch of hair underneath it. The memories of what happened are still foggy—fragments of the worst headache of my life, nurses rushing in, and then... nothing. I had a hemorrhagic stroke. A blood vessel in my brain bursted and was spilling blood into surrounding tissue. Scary as fuck. They had to do surgery and everything.

Travis walks in, carrying a muffin and a cup of coffee. His familiar smile brings me a sense of comfort, a small slice of normal in the midst of this chaos. "Just what you asked for," he says, placing the items on the table next to me.

I force a soft smile. "Thank you."

He sits down beside me, watching me as I take a sip of the coffee. As soon as the bitterness hits my tongue, I wince. "You got... coffee..." I trail off, frustration building as I search for the right words but come up short. Everything feels stuck in my brain, like a word on the tip of my tongue that I just can't catch.

"What's wrong?" he asks, concerned.

"It's, uh..." I snap my fingers, trying to will the right word out. "Bitter. Really bitter."

Travis frowns, glancing at the cup. "I ordered your latte, the one you like. Let me see." He takes the coffee from me and peeks inside. "Oh, it's black coffee."

"Yes!" I exhale, finally relieved. "Black coffee."

His face softens, and he chuckles lightly. "I must've grabbed the wrong one. Let me go exchange it."

I nod, feeling more settled now that I could finally express what was wrong. But as he gets up, the frustration bubbles beneath the surface. The words had come so slowly, and it terrifies me. I've always prided myself on my quick thinking, my ability to articulate exactly what I'm feeling or thinking without hesitation. And now, I can't even get out the word black.

Travis pauses by the door, sensing my unease. "You okay?"

I give him a weak smile, but my heart's not in it. "Yeah," I say quietly, but it feels like a lie. The truth is, I'm not okay—not even close.

"Hey, the doctor said it's probably just temporary. It'll be fine," Travis reassures me with a warm smile before walking out of the room. His words linger in the air, but they do little to ease the knot tightening in my stomach.

As the door clicks shut, I'm left alone with my thoughts. I look around the room, taking in the flowers and cards—get well soon messages from friends and family. Their concern feels overwhelming, and I can't help but wonder how I'll face them when I can't even articulate what I need right now.

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the anxiety, but it clings to me like a heavy blanket. I reach for the muffin Travis brought, hoping to find some comfort in food, but even that feels daunting. The idea of taking a bite sends a wave of nausea through me.

I hear some light conversation outside my door, and it's clear it's Travis and Paris. Their voices filter through the crack, a comforting yet unsettling reminder of how vulnerable I feel right now.

"As you know stroke caused brain damage. She has a hard time finding words. Just be patient with her," Travis says, his voice steady but laced with concern.

"Of course," Paris replies, and I can picture her nodding earnestly.

"She might get upset or frustrated, so just... know that," he adds, his tone protective.

"Okay, Dad. Thank you."

The way they talk about me makes me feel small, like I'm some fragile creature that needs to be handled with care. I swallow hard, the knot in my stomach tightening as the reality of my condition sinks in. I can't help but feel a twinge of resentment—why do they have to speak as if I'm not even here? It's like I'm an animal in a zoo, on display, and they're discussing my behavior.