Invisible String

7

“She’s really okay,” I said again, like if I repeated it enough, it would finally sink in. “I didn’t realize how scared I was until that screen turned on.”

“I knew you were scared,” he said softly, brushing my hair back. “But she’s tough. Just like her mom.”

I gave a tired smile and reached down to touch my belly. “She better be. After everything we went through just to get her here…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want to say what I’d been thinking all morning. That maybe we wouldn’t make it. That maybe this was the end. I couldn’t even speak those words. They felt cursed.

Travis kissed the top of my head. “We’re okay. All three of us.”

We sat like that for a while, just breathing, just feeling. No cameras, no noise, no headlines. Just me, him, and our girl—alive and strong and safe.

Eventually, I wiped my face and stood up. “I feel like I could sleep for a year now.”

“I’ll carry you to the car if you want,” he offered with a little smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t tempt me,” I muttered, grabbing my bag.

On the way home, I texted my mom and Kylie. Just a simple:
“Had a scare. She’s okay. I’m okay. Just tired.”

Kylie responded immediately with hearts and “CALL ME WHEN YOU’RE HOME.”

My mom replied with “I’m praying for her strength and yours. I love you.” And somehow that made me cry again.

When we finally got home, I walked straight to the couch and collapsed. Travis brought me a blanket, tucked me in, and kissed my forehead like I was made of glass.

“Want me to cancel everything this week?” he asked gently.

I nodded without even opening my eyes. “Please.”

Because right now, nothing mattered more than her.

The next couple days, I barely left the couch.

Travis canceled everything—meetings, workouts, even the podcast taping he was supposed to do with Jason. He didn’t budge. Just stayed close, constantly asking if I needed anything. I kept brushing him off at first, telling him I was fine. But I think deep down we both knew I wasn’t. Not really.

I was scared. Still. Even though the heartbeat was strong, and the doctor said spotting could be normal—“Your body’s stretching, Taylor. Hormones shifting. Rest is the best thing.” I heard it. I just didn’t trust it. Not after trying for three years. Not after finally getting here.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Travis asked one night while rubbing my calves. He was trying to distract me with a foot massage but could feel I was still holding everything in.

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I’ve just… been preparing myself to lose her. Like, the whole time. Every cramp. Every twinge. Every time I throw up, I think something’s going wrong. And then when I saw that spotting, it was like—confirmation. That this was it.”

Travis looked at me, eyes soft. “But it wasn’t.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But I don’t know how to stop waiting for it to be.”

He leaned over and kissed my stomach. “You don’t have to be okay all at once. You just have to keep loving her. And resting. And letting me take care of you.”

“You’re really good at it,” I murmured, brushing his curls back. “I don’t say that enough.”

He smirked. “You could show me instead.”