We always thought it would be easy - or at least, easier than this. Starting a family was the next chapter we were so ready for. After years of tour buses, locker rooms, sold-out stadiums, and quiet nights tangled up on the couch, we finally looked at each other and said, "Let's do it. Let's build something even bigger - a family." I imagined it all: the baby shoes lined up in the hallway, lullabies replacing love songs, tiny fingers wrapping around ours. Travis would be the kind of dad who cried at every school play and coached little league with a heart too big for his chest. And me? I just wanted to see my whole world in someone's eyes. But when the doctor sat me down, everything changed. Low ovarian reserve. Those words echoed like thunder, even as I smiled politely and nodded like I understood what that meant. All I really heard was, You might never have a child of your own. IVF became our lifeline - our monthly ritual of hope and heartbreak. Shots. Pills. Early mornings. Hormones that made me feel like I was spinning out of control. We did it all for three years. Three long, soul-tearing years. Each cycle brought a new wave of belief and then... nothing. No heartbeat on the screen. No nursery to paint. Just silence and more space where dreams were supposed to go. Travis held me every time I broke. He never tried to fix it - just sat with me in the quiet, wiping my tears, whispering, "We'll figure this out, baby. We will." And one night, after another failed round and hours of holding each other on the kitchen floor, we finally said the words that changed everything. "Maybe our child isn't supposed to come from me." It felt like letting go and holding on at the same time. We didn't give up on our dream. We just found a new way to meet it. A different kind of miracle. And somewhere out there, a child is waiting - just like we are. Not born from my body... but born for us.

In 2021, Taylor Swift falls asleep crying over the wrong man, tangled in cotton sheets and a love she thought would last forever. But then, in the blink of a crinkling eye, she wakes up in a stranger's bed. In a house she's never seen. In a body that doesn't feel like hers. With a phone full of pictures she doesn't remember taking. A calendar she didn't fill. A new album she didn't plan. And... a boyfriend she's never even met. Everything is wrong. But the world doesn't stop. No one questions a thing. Everyone smiles like nothing has changed. Strangers hug her like lifelong friends. Her team tells her she's just tired - after the end of an Era. None of it makes sense, really. And yet - they all insist it's right. That she's safe. Loved. His. But she doesn't remember him. Doesn't remember Travis Kelce at all. Still, he looks at her like he knows how the story ends. Kisses her like he can't believe he gets to. Touches her like he's mapped every inch of her skin. Says "I love you" like it's always been true. And somehow, while she plays along, smiling when they expect it, nodding through conversations, saying "I'm okay" - her heart starts to believe him. Even if her mind still whispers: run. Because you may not remember - but somehow, you just know when love is real. Still... Time doesn't take kindly to being bent. And Fate, darling... she does not like being outplayed. Because somewhere in the past, Taylor is now trying to change the future - shifting moments she was never meant to touch. And somewhere in 2025, the version of her she was meant to become... is already starting to slip away. Erased from cameras. Absent from stages. Missing from mirrors. Because when you rewrite the story... you also change the woman who lived it. And Time? Time always takes back what was never owed to Fate. But still - Hope lingers. Because even in a different life, she still would've been his. They still would've been - TIMELESS.