Blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale [Taylor x OC]

{56} my beloved ghost and me

Taylor's POV:

I slide into the driver's seat, slamming the door harder than I mean to. My hands tremble on the wheel as I stare at the dashboard, the weight of the last few hours pressing down on me like a vice. I shouldn't be this rattled. I shouldn't let her do this to me. Not after all this time.

The engine hums to life beneath me, a steady vibration that does little to calm the storm in my chest. I glance at the clock. 2:47 PM. Just enough time to drive to Felicia's school without being late, but not enough time to process whatever the hell just happened.

Aurora.

Her name feels like a curse and a prayer at the same time. It echoes in my head, her face burned into my mind like a photograph I can't put away. She was right there, in front of me, like some twisted joke from the universe. And it's not just the sight of her that lingers—it's the way she looked at me. Like I was a stranger. Like I wasn't someone who used to know every inch of her, every secret she kept buried.

My hands tighten on the wheel, the leather biting into my palms as I pull out of the parking lot. The memory of her calm, professional tone burns more than it should. She'd moved on. Of course she had. Why wouldn't she? She left. She left me.

A sharp honk pulls me back to the road, and I realize I've drifted into the wrong lane. "Get it together," I mutter, shaking my head as I grip the wheel harder, forcing myself to focus. The last thing I need is to get into an accident when Felicia's waiting for me.

By the time I pull up to the school, the chaos of parents and buses has already started. Kids spill out of the front doors in waves, their voices loud and carefree, oblivious to the weight of the world. I spot Felicia almost immediately—her bright pink backpack standing out in the crowd. She's talking animatedly to another little girl, her hands waving in the air as she laughs.
And just like that, the tightness in my chest loosens a little. She's my anchor, my reason for keeping everything together even when it feels like I'm falling apart. I roll down the window and wave. "Feli! Over here!"

Her face lights up when she sees me, and she says a quick goodbye to her friend before running over. She throws her backpack into the back seat and climbs in, her energy buzzing as she talks about her day.

"Mommy, we had art class today, and I made you a picture!" she says, her voice bright. She pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of her bag and hands it to me. It's a lopsided heart drawn in glittery crayon, with "I love you" scrawled inside it in shaky letters.

I smile, my chest tightening for an entirely different reason now. "It's beautiful, Feli. I'm going to put it on the fridge, where all the others already are, as soon as we get home."

She grins, proud, before launching into a story about recess and how she almost climbed to the top of the monkey bars. Her voice fills the car, drowning out the echoes of the day, and I cling to it like a lifeline.
But as I drive us home, Aurora's face lingers in the back of my mind, no matter how hard I try to push it away. The anger, the sadness, the sheer ache of seeing her again after all this time. It twists inside me, a quiet storm that I know I'll have to face eventually. Just not now. Not when Felicia's laughter is the only thing holding me together.

I unlock the front door, Felicia bouncing ahead of me, her backpack dragging slightly on the ground. She's mid-sentence, talking about the class guinea pig and how it's her turn to feed him next week. I nod along, smiling where I'm supposed to, but my chest feels tight, like something's gripping me from the inside.
We step into the house, and Felicia kicks off her shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door. Her laughter echoes as she races to the living room, already on some mission I can't keep up with. I take a deep breath and close the door behind me, letting the familiar quiet of home settle over me.