Requested by: @Danawrites1997
Four months. Four long, grueling months where Taylor felt herself crumbling under the weight of her own mind. She thought she could control it. She convinced herself that if she just managed her stress, pushed the intrusive thoughts aside, and kept up appearances, everything would be fine. But the panic attacks were relentless, clawing at her from the inside. And, eventually, she fell back into the only thing she felt she could control—her eating.
At first, it had been small compromises. Skipping breakfast here, pretending to snack there. But, gradually, those small slips turned into entire days of barely eating, where the only thing she felt in control of was the gnawing hunger she refused to satisfy. She did her best to keep it hidden from Travis and from their 9-year-old daughter, Noah, who was perceptive in ways Taylor sometimes wished she wasn't.
But Travis was no fool. He had watched Taylor fight and claw her way out of this darkness once before. He knew her tells, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, the way she'd casually excuse herself from meals. He didn't say anything at first, hoping it was just a rough patch. But now, standing in the kitchen, he couldn't ignore it anymore. He watched her, carefully pouring a cup of coffee with hands that looked more delicate than he remembered. Too delicate. His heart sank.
"Taylor," he said softly, setting his mug down on the counter. She glanced up, and he saw the flicker of panic in her eyes. "Can we talk?"
Taylor's stomach twisted. She forced a smile, hoping to deflect whatever was coming. "Of course," she replied, her voice too bright, too cheerful.
Travis stepped closer, his eyes filled with concern. "I'm worried about you," he began, choosing his words carefully. "You're... you're looking really thin, Tay. And I know you. I can see that something's going on."
The forced smile on her face faltered, and her defenses rose instinctively. "I'm fine, Travis. I'm just... I've been busy, stressed—" She stopped, feeling the urge to brush him off, to pretend everything was fine.
But Travis didn't back down. "Taylor, this isn't just stress," he said gently, his tone full of the love and patience he always had for her. "You don't have to hide it from me. Whatever it is, we'll get through it."
She felt the walls closing in, the suffocating weight of being seen when all she wanted was to hide. The pressure building in her chest finally exploded. "You don't understand, Travis!" she snapped, her voice laced with frustration. "I don't need you hovering over me, telling me what I should be doing. I can handle this!"
He took a step back, hurt flashing in his eyes, but he didn't raise his voice. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I just... I just want you to be okay."
But Taylor's defenses were in full force. "I told you I'm fine," she insisted, her voice shaky now. "Why can't you just... just trust me on that?"
Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and stormed toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, her breath hitched, and the familiar wave of panic washed over her. She clutched the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white as her whole body began to shake. The walls felt like they were closing in, and she sank down to the floor, gasping for air as the panic overwhelmed her.
Outside the bathroom, Travis stood, staring at the closed door, his heart breaking. He'd seen her like this before, years ago, but watching her suffer in silence again tore him apart. The silence was broken only by the soft sound of small footsteps padding across the hall. Noah had been watching, her big green eyes full of worry as she tugged on her dad's hand.
"Is Mommy okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Travis knelt down to her level, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Mommy's just... having a hard time right now," he explained softly. "But we're going to help her, okay?"
