Those 7 years: Missing One Shot Chapter

13 Travis's POV

Two years.

Two long, brutal years since Taylor disappeared.

I still wake up some mornings, my body drenched in cold sweat, hoping for just a second that maybe it was all a nightmare. That she'd be lying next to me in bed, her hair spread across the pillow, that familiar sleepy smile on her lips. But every time, I'm faced with the same harsh reality.

The house feels like a shell of what it once was. Every corner reminds me of her. The lingering scent of her perfume still faintly clings to the sheets. Her guitar sits in the corner, collecting dust. The music that used to fill this house, the laughter—it's all gone. Now, it's just silence.

But life doesn't stop, even when your world is crumbling. I've had to keep moving, to keep living, even though it feels like I'm just going through the motions.

Football has become my distraction, my escape. For a few hours, I can focus on something other than the aching hole in my chest. The guys on the team don't talk about her anymore. Not to me, at least. I think they're all scared of setting me off, like I'm a ticking time bomb. Hell, maybe I am.

The media was relentless in the beginning. Every game, every public appearance, they'd ask about her. Where was she? Had there been any updates? Did I believe she was still alive?

I stopped answering those questions. Stopped going to press conferences altogether. It was too much. Too painful. The not knowing eats at me every day, and I've had to accept that I may never get the answers I need. But a part of me will never give up hope. I can't.

Her family, my family—they're all broken, just like me. Andrea and Scott still call almost every day, asking if there's been any news. Sometimes, I can hear the hopelessness in Andrea's voice, the way it shakes like she's on the verge of breaking down but trying to hold it together. I get it. We're all just barely holding it together.

Jason, Kylie, and the kids—well, they've been a lifeline. They check in constantly, making sure I'm not drowning in my own despair. I think Jason worries that I'll lose myself if I don't have something to hold onto. He's probably right. I've tried to be there for their kids, for Wyatt, Ellie, and Bennett, but it's hard when you feel like you're stuck in your own personal hell.

The hardest part has been taking care of her cats. Meredith, Olivia, and Benjamin—they're all I have left of her. They used to be her babies, always following her around the house, curling up on her lap while she wrote songs or watched TV. Now, they follow me around, like they know something's wrong but can't understand what.

Meredith, the oldest, is the most skittish. She's been a little withdrawn, like she's waiting for Taylor to come back. Sometimes I catch her sitting by the door, staring at it like she expects Taylor to walk through at any moment. Olivia's the mischievous one, always knocking things off the counter or curling up on my lap while I watch old game tapes. She's trying, in her own way, to get my attention, to remind me that I'm still here, that life still goes on. And then there's Benjamin. He's been the most affectionate, always cuddling up to me, purring loudly as if he's trying to comfort me. I think he knows I'm hurting. I think they all do.

I do my best to take care of them—feeding them, cleaning their litter, giving them as much affection as I can muster. But every time I look at them, I'm reminded of her. Of the life we had together, of the future we were supposed to have.

I can't even step foot in her music room. I haven't touched her piano since the day she disappeared. Every time I try, my hands start shaking, and I feel like I can't breathe.

The investigators, the private detectives—I've thrown everything I have at trying to find her. I've spent more money than I care to think about, hired the best people, followed every lead, no matter how small or insignificant. But nothing. It's like she vanished into thin air. No clues, no traces. Just... gone.