Travis swung open the front door of their shared home, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him after a long day of practice. It had been tough, but not anything he couldn't handle. What he couldn't handle right now, though, was the eerie silence that greeted him. Usually, Taylor was there, either with her guitar or notebook, writing in her usual creative trance, or maybe she'd be humming a tune in the kitchen. But today, there was nothing—just the soft hum of the refrigerator in the background.
"Taylor?" Travis called out, his voice bouncing off the empty walls. No answer.
He frowned, walking further into the house. Maybe she was taking a nap or out running errands? He shrugged off the initial worry and headed for the kitchen, figuring he'd find a note or a text on his phone explaining where she'd gone.
Nothing.
The tight feeling in his chest started to grow as he moved from room to room. She wasn't in the living room, the kitchen, or their bedroom. A small flicker of fear began to settle in his gut, but he tried to shake it off. Maybe she was just resting upstairs, but the house felt... too still.
"Taylor?" he called again, louder this time, his steps quicker as he made his way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar, but inside it was dark and undisturbed. He flipped the lights on, scanning the room for any sign of her.
No Taylor. The bed was untouched.
His heart rate picked up now, the unease creeping deeper. He swung open the door to the en-suite bathroom—still nothing. He checked her music room, thinking maybe she'd gotten lost in a project, but it was quiet, her guitar resting on its stand untouched.
Where was she?
By now, his breathing was coming faster, the edges of panic starting to creep into his thoughts. He called her name again, his voice echoing through the house, but it was met with the same agonizing silence. He checked every room, every corner, calling her name, his worry building with every step.
Just as he was about to call someone—anyone—his eyes fell on the hallway closet door. He paused, not even sure why his instincts told him to check there, but something pulled him in that direction. His pulse quickened, and his hand hesitated on the knob for a moment before pulling the door open.
His breath hitched.
There, curled up on the floor, barely visible in the dim light, was Taylor. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her entire body trembling. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, and tears were streaming down her pale cheeks. She was so small, so fragile in that moment, it knocked the air out of his lungs.
"Taylor..." he whispered, his voice thick with worry. He dropped his phone onto the floor with a soft thud, not even caring about it as he fell to his knees beside her.
She didn't respond. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, staring straight ahead but not really seeing anything. She was shaking, gasping for breath in quick, shallow bursts. Panic gripped his chest like a vice.
"Taylor, baby," he said, gently reaching out to her but stopping just short of touching her, afraid that even the slightest movement might send her further into the spiral she was caught in. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Her head didn't move. Her lips quivered as if trying to form words, but nothing came out. The only sound was her ragged breathing and the soft sobs escaping her trembling body. Her hands were balled into tight fists, her fingers digging into her palms.
And that's when it hit him.
Panic attack.
The realization slammed into him, and his stomach twisted in knots. She had mentioned her anxiety to him before, told him she had her bad days, but he had never seen it firsthand. He had no idea it could get this bad.
