Invisible String

12

Taylor sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open, a half-finished iced coffee beside her and Mira sleeping in the wrap across her chest. The house was finally quiet—Lily napping in her room, Travis showering upstairs—and for the first time in what felt like weeks, she had a second to breathe. And think.

She opened her video folder. All the clips were still there.

The pregnancy tests. Every single week. Her eyes lit up with hope, then dimmed just a little more as the weeks wore on. Then came the moment when the test turned positive—her shocked face, the trembling hands, the teary smile.

Then the clip of the gender reveal: pink cupcakes, Lily clapping her tiny hands in the background. Then came the hospital room. The tearful faces. An empty cradle.

Taylor took a shaky breath, hovering over that part of the timeline. It hurt to even watch it in silence, but she didn’t look away. Because the story didn’t end there.

She added the clips of the emails and messages exchanged with Emma—screenshots of their first conversation, the hopeful tone, and that moment they’d gotten the call. Then she layered in the footage Travis had filmed in the hospital—the one where she was holding Mira for the first time, stunned and crying, Travis’s voice whispering, “She’s yours.”

The final clips were more recent—Lily clinging to her new sister, babbling about how they had the same eyes. The photo Tree took of the two girls together on the playmat, Lily feeding Mira a bottle with determination and love. Taylor made sure to blur their faces—protecting their privacy was the most important thing.

When she finished editing, she watched the video back from the beginning. It was a full journey. The heartbreak. The healing. The miracle of their daughters.

She posted it with a simple caption:

“It’s been a long time coming.

After years of trying, of heartbreak, and healing, we are beyond grateful to finally share that our hearts—and home—are fuller than ever. We have adopted two beautiful daughters.

Please respect their privacy if you see us out and about. They’re ours, but they are also their own people, and they deserve a chance to grow up in peace.

Love,
Taylor & Travis”

The post exploded almost immediately. The comments were flooded with congratulations, heart emojis, messages of support, and people sharing their own adoption stories. Celebrities chimed in. Longtime fans thanked her for being open about loss and motherhood in all its forms.

I closed the laptop slowly, eyes misty.

When Travis came down the stairs with wet hair and a tired smile, I met him at the bottom step and wrapped my arms around him.

“It’s out,” I whispered. “The world knows.”

He kissed my head and rested his hand over Mira’s back.

“About time,” he said. “They should know how lucky we are.”

---

The second I stepped out the front door, I felt it — that static tension in the air, like the buzz of anticipation before a storm. My sunglasses were already on, even though it was barely past 9 a.m., and my grip on Mira’s car seat was so tight I could feel my fingers aching. I glanced over at Travis just as he locked the front door with Lily curled up on his shoulder, her little hands twisted into the back of his t-shirt. She was already nervous. I could feel it from across the porch.

“You good?” he asked gently.

I nodded, though it felt more like lying than confidence. “Let’s just get in the car.”