Wildest Dreams - A Taylor Swift Adoption Fanfiction

Chapter 4: You're Safe

Author's note: I've been working on my dialogue writing, so I hope you enjoy :) 

Trigger warning for child abuse talk 

The first thing I register is softness. My body sinks into something plush and warm - so different from the lumpy mattress at St. Agnes that for a moment, I think I'm dreaming. Then the pain in my knee hits, and reality crashes back.

The sound of multiple voices pulls me from sleep. I crack open an eye to find Taylor's mom has arrived, and she's in full protective mode, whispering furiously with Taylor and Tree about lawyers and restraining orders against the orphanage. There are papers spread across the coffee table. My stomach churns as I realize Taylor's team has been busy while I slept, building a case. They're actually going to fight for me. The thought is terrifying.

"I want Sister Katherine's head on a fucking platter," Taylor hisses, shuffling through what looks like security camera stills. "Look at this. Look what she did to that little girl."

"Language," Andrea murmurs automatically, but her face is hard as granite as she examines the photos. "Though in this case, I agree. Tree, call Judge Matthews. I want emergency custody orders drawn up by noon."

Tree's perfectly manicured nails fly across her phone screen. "Already on it. The police report from 2019 helps our case. Three kids hospitalized that year alone, but somehow they kept it quiet."

"Money," Taylor spits the word like poison. "Catholic Church has deep pockets."

"Well," Andrea's smile is sharp enough to cut glass, "so do we."

I shift slightly, trying to get a better look at the papers without giving away that I'm awake. But Taylor's got some kind of sixth sense because her head snaps up immediately.

"Morning," she says softly, her fury vanishing behind gentle concern. "How's the knee?"

"Hurts like a motherfucker." My voice comes out scratchy and no one even raises an eyebrow at my choice of my favorite swear word. I clear my throat, eyes darting between the three women. "Having fun plotting over there?"

Andrea rises, all warm smiles and soft edges now, but I can still see the steel underneath. "You must be Mandy. I'm Andrea, Taylor's mom." She doesn't try to touch me or come closer, just radiates this weird aura of comfort and danger, like a mama bear guarding her cubs.

"Yeah, figured that out from all the 'mom' talk," I mutter, pushing myself up to sitting. Every muscle screams in protest. "What's with all the paperwork? Starting a scrapbooking club?"

Tree snorts, not looking up from her phone. "No, we're starting a war."

"Tree," Taylor warns, but her publicist just shrugs.

"What? She's not stupid. She can see what we're doing."

I eye the scattered papers - police reports, medical records, photographs that make my stomach turn. "You can't go after them," I say, hating how my voice shakes. "They'll just deny everything. They always do."

"Not this time." Taylor's voice is quiet but certain. She holds up one of the photos and my blood runs cold. It's me, from just last week, Sister Katherine's hand raised mid-strike. The security camera caught everything.

"Fuck," I breathe.

"Language," Andrea says again, but she's smiling.

"You don't..." I swallow hard, fighting back sudden tears. Fuck, when did I get so weak? "You don't have to do this. Any of you. I can just disappear, find somewhere else.."

"No." All three women say it at once, startling me.

Taylor moves closer, slow and telegraphed like I'm some spooked animal. Which, fair. "Mandy, look at me." I do, reluctantly. Her eyes are intense, but soft at the same time. "They hurt you. They hurt other kids. They're still hurting kids right now. We can stop them. Let us help."