Blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale [Taylor x OC]

{44} religion's in your lips, the altar is my hips

Taylor's POV:

The shrill ring of my phone jolts me awake. For a moment, I lie there in confusion, my heart pounding as I fumble for it on the nightstand. The clock reads 6:04 a.m - on a Saturday. Groaning, I rub my eyes and glance over at Felicia. She's still curled up on the bed beside me, her small body wrapped in a cocoon of blankets.

I answer the call quickly, keeping my voice low. "Hello?"

"Ms. Swift, it's Maria Lopez from CPS."

Her voice is calm, professional, but it immediately sets my nerves on edge. I sit up, running a hand through my messy hair. "Oh, good morning," I say, my voice still heavy with sleep. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Ms. Lopez says, though her tone suggests otherwise. "I wanted to let you know that I'll be stopping by your apartment in two days for a home visit. We need to assess whether the environment is suitable for Felicia, at least for the short term."

My stomach twists. "I see," I say carefully, glancing at Felicia's peaceful face.

"This is a standard procedure," the woman continues. "I'll be looking at the living space, talking to you about your plans moving forward, and ensuring Felicia's needs are being met, at least for the time being."

"I understand," I say, though my chest feels tight. "Two days, you said?"

"Yes. I'll come by Monday at 10 a.m.," she confirms. "If you have any questions or concerns before then, feel free to reach out."

"Okay," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. "Thank you for letting me know."

"Of course. Have a good day, Ms. Swift."

"You too," I murmur, ending the call.

I set the phone down, exhaling slowly. Two days. That's not much time to prepare, and the pressure is already mounting. I think of the apartment, imagining the stack of dishes in the sink, the pile of laundry I haven't touched, and the mess that is my desk.
It's not a disaster, but it's far from the kind of spotless, organized home I imagine CPS wants to see.
More than that, though, I can't shake the weight of what this visit means. It's not just about the state of my apartment—it's about proving I'm capable of giving Felicia what she needs. A stable environment. A safe, loving home.

I look down at her again, her soft breathing the only sound in the room. Her face is so peaceful, so innocent, and it makes my chest ache. I don't care what it takes—I'll do whatever I have to do to keep her here.

With a deep breath, I pull myself out of bed and grab a notebook from the nightstand. If I'm going to convince Ms. Lopez and CPS, I need a plan.

I start scribbling down a list:

•    Clean the apartment.
•    Pick up groceries and stuff for Feli
•    Research local resources for trauma counseling.
•    Prepare answers to questions about schooling and long-term plans.

The list grows quickly, and I realize just how much there is to do. But for her, I'll do it. All of it.

I stare at the list in my notebook, tapping the pen against the edge of the page. The weight of everything feels suffocating, but I can't do this alone.
My gaze flickers to my phone. Aurora. She's the only person I trust to help with something like this.
I grab my phone and step into the kitchen, closing the door softly behind me so I don't wake Felicia. I scroll to Aurora's name and hesitate for a moment before pressing call.

"Hey," Aurora answers on the first ring, her voice soft and warm, though there's a hint of sleepiness still clinging to it.

"Hey," I say back, already feeling a little more grounded just hearing her voice. "Sorry to call so early."