The Ex-Husband of Alice Langley

23

TAYLOR SWIFT
I grab another tissue from the nightstand, blowing my nose loudly before collapsing back against the pillows. The weight of the blankets feels like a furnace, but somehow I still can't get warm. The ginger tea does little to soothe the rawness in my throat as I shift my aching body in bed, trying to find some relief.

"Ugh...Travis!" I call out, my voice scratchy and weak.

"Coming!" His reply is immediate, followed by the sound of his heavy footsteps making their way toward the bedroom. He opens the door and steps in, his expression half concerned, half amused as he stands by the bed.

"What is it?" he asks, crossing his arms.

I groan dramatically. "Can you make me some soup... actually, can you order me some soup? You can't cook. And ask the kids if they want some too." The mere thought of eating anything remotely homemade in my state seems impossible.

He raises an eyebrow. "I can just warm up some canned soup. Quick and easy."

I give him a pointed look, pulling the blankets tighter around me. "Travis, you are the one who got all of us sick. What did I say?"

He grins, shrugging. "I do whatever you guys say."

"That's right. Now, go order the soup," I say, waving him off with a tired hand. "And don't forget to ask the kids."

Travis chuckles as he heads toward the door. "Alright, alright, soup's coming up."

"I can't believe you gave all of us the flu," I scoff, sinking further into the mountain of blankets, feeling utterly miserable.

"I've heard enough of this from London, I don't need more of it from you. I feel bad enough," Travis says with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks genuinely remorseful, but I'm not about to let him off the hook that easily.

"Lon hates germs! He hasn't been sick in almost 10 years. You are so evil! You hurt my little boy!" I snap, pulling the covers tighter around me as if shielding myself from further exposure to his contagious presence.

"He's 28!" Travis replies, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"He's still little! He's only six feet tall!" I exclaim defensively, narrowing my eyes at him.

Travis stares at me, dumbfounded. "Not little," he mutters, shaking his head.

Suddenly, loud coughing and retching echo down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of Paris gagging. I glare at Travis, narrowing my eyes.

"And see what you've done to our daughter!" I point toward the hallway, my voice rising with indignation.

"I'm sorry!" Travis throws his hands up, looking even more guilt-ridden. "I didn't mean to—"

"She's in agony, Travis!" I interrupt, my frustration growing as another bout of coughing erupts from Paris's room.

"I'll go check on her," he says quickly, already halfway to the door, but not before glancing back at me with a desperate look.

"You better," I mutter under my breath, sinking back into the pillows, clutching my ginger tea like it's my only lifeline.

"If it helps," Travis says as he reaches the door, turning back with a tired expression. "I felt like shit last week from how sick I was."

I sip my tea and raise an eyebrow, watching him.

"It does," I admit begrudgingly, but still glare at him. "Just a little."

He gives me a small, sheepish smile before disappearing down the hall to check on Paris.

I close my eyes, trying to drown out the noise of more coughing from down the hall. The house feels like a battlefield of sickness, and all I want is to be left alone to wallow in my misery.