The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

20

TAYLOR SWIFT
I take a drink of my morning coffee, savoring the warmth and aroma that momentarily grounds me in the chaos of the morning. With a few steps toward the table, I suddenly step on one of Luca's monster truck toys, its hard plastic wheels barely giving way. My foot slips, and before I can process what's happening, I'm tumbling backwards.

Time seems to slow as I reach out instinctively, trying to catch myself. I feel a sharp pain as I hit my head on the edge of the table, the impact reverberating through my skull. My coffee mug flies from my hand, shattering against the floor with a loud crash, the remnants of my once-steaming drink splattering across the tiles like a tiny, chaotic explosion.

Once I finally land on the floor, the pain intensifies. A shard of ceramic slices into my arm, and I gasp, feeling the warmth of blood trickle down my skin. Luca's monster truck toy rolls away, oblivious to the havoc it has caused.

I see Travis sprinting over to me, his eyes wide with concern. "Oh my god! Are you okay?!" he asks, his voice laced with urgency as he helps me sit up, gently guiding me to a more stable position.

"Yeah," I reply, wincing as I rub the back of my head lightly. It's sore, and I can already feel a knot forming. "Just... got a little too close to one of Luca's monster trucks."

"What happened?" he asks, kneeling beside me, his brow furrowed.

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to brush off the moment. "I was just trying to walk over to the table, and then boom! Next thing I know, I'm on the floor. Apparently, these toys are more dangerous than they look."

Travis shakes his head, a mix of disbelief and amusement on his face. "You know, I thought we were past the days of dodging toddler toys like they were landmines. You really should watch where you're stepping," he teases lightly, though I can see the underlying worry in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting a surprise attack," I retort, trying to keep the mood light despite the pain radiating from my arm. I glance down and see the blood seeping through my sleeve. "And it looks like my coffee isn't the only casualty here."

"Let's get you cleaned up," Travis says, concern taking over his teasing demeanor. He helps me to my feet, his grip firm and steady, and guides me toward the kitchen, away from the chaos of the fallen mug and scattered toys.

"You're 60. You can't be taking tumbles and falls like this. It scares me," he says, his voice a mix of frustration and concern as he leads me toward the kitchen.

I roll my eyes, trying to downplay the situation. "You're acting like I'm on the verge of death," I reply, forcing a smirk to lighten the mood. "It's just a little bump. I've had worse, you know?"

He shakes his head, still visibly worried. "It's not just a little bump. You hit your head, and that shard from the mug could've cut you deeper. You need to be careful."

"I appreciate the concern, really, but I'm tougher than I look. I've survived a few more serious things than a tripping hazard in the kitchen," I insist, trying to convince both him and myself. "Besides, if I can handle my chaotic life, I think I can manage a little fall."

Travis gives me a skeptical look, though a small smile begins to creep onto his face. "True, but that doesn't mean I want to watch you face-plant every morning. How about you start keeping your eyes open and your coffee in one piece?"

I chuckle softly, feeling the tension ease just a bit. "Okay, fine. I'll be more vigilant. But I make no promises about the coffee. That's a daily gamble at this point."

"Fair enough," he concedes, finally letting out a breath as he fetches a clean dish towel and runs it under cold water. "Let's just make sure you're in one piece before you start juggling toddlers and coffee cups again."