Nova [Tayvis Fanfiction]

AURORA BOREALIS

Seven Weeks Post Accident
Taylor Swift's Point of View
My days have settled into a relentless cycle of nausea and bathroom trips, each hour either spent hunched over, willing my stomach to settle, or racing to the bathroom. Between those lovely moments, I'm frantically pulling together everything I need for Philadelphia. I found a house last week—finally—but now comes the fun part: trying to turn it into a home.

But even nausea can't stop a good furniture hunt.

"Okay, little one," I murmur, one hand over my stomach, the other scrolling through endless pages of antique furniture. "What do you think? This blue floral couch with the cute rolled arms, or the green velvet one?" I can almost imagine a little opinionated kick coming from inside in response, even though I know it's too early for that.

"The green it is," I say, smiling a little as I add the couch to my cart. I'm already picturing it nestled against the dark trim in the new living room. But then I glance at the corner of my screen and freeze—somehow, I've managed to completely lose track of time.

"Shit! We're gonna be late, little one!" I toss the covers off, stumble out of bed, and grab my keys and purse, barely remembering to slip on some shoes as I rush out the door.

I practically sprint to the car, my stomach flipping for reasons beyond nausea this time. Appointments are getting harder to keep up with between the baby prep and the constant waves of morning sickness. But today's doctor's appointment feels extra important—like it's one more step toward making this real, no matter how surreal it all still feels.

As I hit the gas and pull out onto the street, I catch my breath, finally letting myself relax a bit. "Alright, we got this," I whisper, more to reassure myself than anything.

The hospital had everything arranged for me ahead of time, just like they promised. I pull up to the back entrance, feeling a slight relief knowing I won't have to deal with any unwanted attention or prying eyes. It's a strange feeling, knowing that something so personal could draw so much public curiosity.

I grab my things and head in, where two security guards meet me. They're polite but efficient, guiding me through a series of quiet hallways to a private room tucked away from the main patient areas. I thank them as they leave, the silence settling around me as I take in the sterile, quiet space.

Sitting on the edge of the exam table, I run my hands over my stomach, trying to ground myself as I wait. My mind is racing—part excitement, part anxiety—as I think of all the questions I need to ask. The weight of it all feels so real in these moments, alone in this sterile room, knowing it's not just about me anymore.

The door finally opens, and my doctor steps in, clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face.

We go through the usual routine—medical history questions, a check on my weight and height, and then she hands me a gown to change into. I slip it on, feeling the thin fabric against my skin, and lie back on the exam table, trying to steady my breath.

"Are you ready to see your baby?" she asks, her voice warm and reassuring.

A grin spreads across my face, and I nod, excitement flickering through the nervousness.

"This might be a bit uncomfortable at first," she warns gently. "I'm going to insert the probe now."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself as she begins the internal ultrasound. The sensation is awkward and slightly painful, and I bite down on my lip, focusing on the ceiling tiles above me. But then, a grainy image starts to appear on the screen beside me, and all discomfort fades to the background.

"There we go," she says softly, adjusting the probe slightly. "Let's take a look."

And then, there it is—a small, barely distinguishable shape, but undeniably there. My baby.