Invisible String

1

The words hit me square in the chest.

I smiled back — a real one — but there was a flicker behind it. A shadow.

I hadn’t been a mom before.
And I might never get to be one the way I thought I would.

But at least in that moment, I could hold a baby, soothe her cries, and decode her needs like a secret only I could hear. It made me feel something close to whole again.

Even if only for a moment.

---

By eight o'clock, the whirlwind of laughter, toys, and sticky hands finally came to a gentle close.

Jason helped the girls into their shoes — or at least tried to — while Kylie gathered Finnley’s blanket, burp cloth, pacifier, and a pacifier backup because, of course, one is never enough. Travis was still holding Bennett upside down like a sack of potatoes, making her squeal with joy while Wyatt and Elliott dramatically fake-collapsed from exhaustion.

Eventually, the Kelce van of chaos was loaded and ready. Jason gave me a warm side hug and promised to text when they were home safe. Travis kissed all four girls on the tops of their heads like a Disney uncle on steroids. And then Kylie stepped forward with Finnley sleeping soundly against her chest.

She hugged me, but it wasn’t the usual quick squeeze.

This one lingered — long enough for me to feel the quiet message behind it.

She pulled back just a little, just enough to whisper close to my ear.
“Text me anytime, okay? I’m up every two hours with a screaming baby anyway.”

I blinked fast, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat.
“I will,” I whispered. “Thanks, Ky.”

She nodded, her eyes soft and knowing, before following her family into the hallway. I stood in the doorway for a few moments after the elevator closed, letting the quiet settle like dust around me.

The apartment suddenly felt much too big. Too clean. Too quiet.

Behind me, Travis started cleaning up the crayons from the rug, humming a little to himself like he always did when he was content. I just stood there, hand still resting on the doorframe, unsure of whether I felt comforted or completely alone in this ache.

I was getting closer to telling him.

Maybe tonight.

Maybe.

---

I padded softly into the kitchen, barefoot, the lights dimmed to a golden glow. Travis had turned on some low music in the living room — one of our comfort playlists, full of acoustic guitar and soft harmonies. I could hear him mumbling something about “finding where the girls stashed the purple crayon” from across the apartment.

I leaned against the counter and wrapped my hands around a mug of lukewarm tea I’d forgotten I made earlier. The warmth had faded, but I held it anyway.

The apartment felt still now. That kind of silence that follows chaos — not peaceful, exactly, but echoing. Like the laughter of the girls and the baby coos still hung in the corners, soft and lingering.

My body was tired, but my heart was heavier.

I thought about how natural it had felt to hold Finnley. To bounce her gently and hum without even thinking. How I knew the signs, the cues. The way Travis had looked at me — like I was magic.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying not to cry again.

It wasn’t the babies that hurt. It wasn’t the noise or the bottles or even being called “Mommy” in a game.
It was the question that kept gnawing at the back of my mind:
*What if this isn’t ever going to happen for us the way we hoped?*

I hadn’t said it out loud yet.

Not to Travis. Not even fully to myself.

I heard him laughing softly in the other room, probably at something ridiculous he’d found under the couch. He had no idea yet. No idea what I’d heard yesterday in that doctor’s office.

But he would.

He had to.

I sipped my tea even though it had gone cold. It grounded me somehow — a simple act in a world that felt suddenly complicated. My fingers trembled slightly against the ceramic. I knew I couldn’t wait much longer. He deserved to know. He deserved to grieve with me, hope with me, walk through whatever this would become — together.

But not yet.

Just one more moment.

One more breath.

Then I’d tell him everything.

---

I found Travis in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and scrolling through his phone, the soft glow lighting his face. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“We need to talk,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up immediately, eyes clear and steady. “Okay. I’m ready. We can do it right here.”

I shook my head, suddenly serious, the weight of what I had to say pressing down on me hard. “No. I need to do this in the bedroom… wrapped in blankets, so I can cry if I have to. And be comfortable.”

His face shifted—soft confusion mixed with concern. He didn’t yet know what I was about to say, but he nodded without hesitation.

“Okay,” he said quietly, setting his phone down. He opened his arms, and I stepped into them.

He held me close for a moment, then gently guided me toward our bedroom. Once inside, he tossed some pajamas toward the bed. “Here. Get comfortable.”

I pulled the soft fabric over my skin, shivering a little—not from cold, but from nerves.

Travis sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with careful eyes, his whole body waiting and ready for whatever I was about to say.

I took a deep breath, wrapped myself tighter in the blankets, and prepared to let the truth out.

---

I took a deep breath, searching his eyes for a sign. “Travis… the doctor told me my chances of getting pregnant naturally are really low.”

He reached for my hand, steady and warm.

“They suggested IVF — starting hormones, the whole process. But I can’t do this without you. I need to know if you want to try.”

My voice trembled just a little. “Are you willing to go through this with me? To try?”

He paused for a moment, then nodded slowly, his gaze steady and full of love.

“Absolutely,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes. We’ll face it together.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “Thank you, Trav. That means everything.”

He pulled me close, holding me tight. “We’re in this — all the way.”