Invisible String

5

It started as a kiss.

Not a purposeful one. Not one meant to lead anywhere. Just a simple, instinctual kiss as Travis passed behind me in the kitchen. But something about it lingered. His hand brushed my hip, warm and steady. I turned to look at him and saw it—the spark. The one that used to live in the quiet corners of our mornings and the lazy Sunday afternoons before appointments and hormone schedules took over.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” I said back, like we hadn’t been living shoulder to shoulder for years, but still somehow missed this.

For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t about trying. We weren’t watching the clock or tracking ovulation. We weren’t quiet with stress or frustration or heartbreak. We were just… us.

He reached for me again, slower this time, his mouth finding mine like he was remembering it. Like we both were. We stumbled into the living room, laughing a little at how clumsy it all was—like teenagers again, nervous but thrilled.

Clothes found the floor piece by piece. There was no rush. No goal beyond just being with each other. No thoughts of tubes or tests or timing. No calendar looming in the background.

When we finally fell into bed, it was quiet. Not the heavy, tense quiet we’d known for so long, but the kind that made space for soft touches, for lips on skin, for whispered things that didn’t need answers. We talked. About nothing. About everything. About how we used to do this just because we wanted to—not because we had to.

And it was messy. And sweet. And real. And us.

We hit the peak like we used to, laughing and tangled, and then just laid there, breathing hard and holding on.

Later, we got up and showered together, still smiling, still touching. I let the water wash over me as Travis wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his lips against my shoulder.

There was no “maybe this one worked.” No pressure. No plan.

Just hope.

And for once, it was enough.

Kylie’s text buzzed through just as I was curled up on the couch, still feeling warm and floaty from earlier.

Kylie: “What have you been up to today?”*

I stared at it for a second, then shrugged. No filter. No fluff. Just me being me.

Me: “Had sex for us for the first time in three years. Felt good. Can’t believe I used to let him just cum in me after two minutes for three years.”

I hit send. No regrets.

Three dots popped up almost immediately. Then disappeared. Then came back. Then disappeared again.

Finally:

Kylie: “TAYLOR. OMG. I'm with Jason. My phone is NOT safe. Also… good for you?? But still… therapy, maybe??”

I snorted, full-on belly laughing.

Me: “Just being honest. It wasn’t even hot. It was just nice. Real. Not a science experiment. Also, maybe therapy. TBD.”

A second later she sent a voice memo—just a long groan followed by laughter and something that sounded suspiciously like Jason in the background yelling, “Tell her we didn’t ask for details!”

I leaned back, grinning like an idiot. For the first time in a long time, everything felt okay. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not perfect. But okay. And that was enough.

Travis walked in just as I was giggling at my phone, the kind of laugh that bubbles up when you’re texting someone who gets you completely.

“Why the laugh?” he asked, curious, leaning against the doorframe.