Invisible String

1

We were supposed to be starting a family.

Now all I could think was: *What if my body can’t do the one thing I thought it was meant to?*

I didn’t know how long I stayed there, letting the silence and the hum of passing cars wrap around my breakdown. But eventually, I started the engine, wiped my face, and pulled onto the street. I needed to get home. I needed Travis.

The city was its usual chaos — honking horns, impatient cab drivers, pedestrians who seemed to walk right into traffic with no fear of consequence. Everything moved too fast, too loud. I wasn’t ready for the world again, but it didn’t wait for me.

I was halfway through Midtown when someone swerved into my lane without signaling — a slick black car, inches from my side mirror. I slammed the brakes, heart in my throat, chest heaving as I pulled back just in time. The adrenaline shot through me so fast it made my hands tremble.

I almost cried again — not from sadness this time, but from fear. From being so on edge that one near miss nearly broke me all over again.

I took a shaky breath and kept driving, crawling through bumper-to-bumper traffic. Everything felt heavier than it should have — the wheel, the air, even the music playing low on the radio. I turned it off. I didn’t want to hear anything right now.

Just silence.
And the question echoing in my mind.

How do I tell him?

---

I got home before he did. Thank God.
It gave me enough time to wash my face, change into a sweatshirt that smelled like him, and sit on the couch pretending to scroll through my phone instead of spiraling.

When I heard the front door open, my heart jumped. Not because I was scared — but because I wasn’t ready. Not ready to see that face, those eyes, the kind of love that always sees too much.

“Hey, baby,” Travis called out, his voice warm and easy. The sound of him was comfort. Like a blanket I didn’t deserve to wrap around myself right now.

I forced a smile. “Hey. How was practice?”

He walked into the living room and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. His lips lingered longer than usual. “Fine. Nothing special. How was your appointment?”

There it was.
I should’ve told him right then. I wanted to. But the words sat like rocks in my throat.

“Oh, you know,” I said casually, tapping my phone like I was still engaged in something. “Just a checkup. All normal stuff.”

He didn’t push.
He just nodded, but his eyes lingered on me a beat too long. Like he didn’t buy it — not fully.

Dinner was quiet. I picked at my food and laughed at the right parts of his stories. I told him about some silly headline I’d seen on Twitter, and we both rolled our eyes. But the truth was, I could feel him watching me the entire night.

Travis wasn’t loud about his concern. He never was. He studied me like I was a play he couldn’t quite read — not until I gave him the tell. And I was giving all kinds of tells tonight.

I could feel his gaze even when I turned away.
Even when I tried to keep my voice light.
Even when I curled into his side on the couch and pretended I was fine.

Finally, somewhere between the second rerun of Friends and the way I chewed my bottom lip raw, he reached over and muted the TV.

“Okay,” he said gently. “What’s going on?”

I blinked, pretending to be surprised. “What? Nothing. Why?”

“Come on, Tay.” He reached for my hand, threading our fingers together. “You’ve been off all night. I’m trying not to push, but I know you. You’re somewhere else.”