Stolen Memories [Tayvis Fanfiction]

ARGUMENTATIVE

Three Weeks After Discharge
April 12th; 2026
Taylor Swift's Point of View
Elise's recovery was a torturous limbo. Those days in the sterile hospital room were a blur of beeping machines, anxious doctors, and the constant, heart-wrenching fear of losing her. Every fever spike, every labored breath was a fresh wave of terror crashing over us.

Miraculously, the antibiotics worked their magic. The meningitis receded, and slowly, painfully, Elise began to improve. But the ordeal had taken its toll. Those weeks in the hospital, a captive audience to our daughter's fragile fight, had stretched our already frayed nerves to their breaking point.

The day we brought Elise home was a bittersweet victory. Relief washed over us in waves, but so did a deep-rooted dread. The familiar rhythm of sleepless nights and endless crying resumed, only now it was tinged with a haunting echo of the past few weeks. Each wail is a sharp reminder of how fragile life is, a constant undercurrent of anxiety that seeped into every moment.

So now, my head is pounding. Elise screams, a high-pitched wail that pierces straight through my exhaustion. Travis rubs his eyes across the room, the dark circles under them mirroring my own.  "Your turn," he croaks, his voice rough.

I want to snap. I want to scream back, "It's always my turn!" But the truth is, it is. We haven't slept more than a few hours at a time since Elise decided crying was her new favorite hobby. We take turns, these lonely vigils by the crib, existing in this fog of sleep deprivation and frustration.

It wasn't always like this. Travis and I, we used to talk things through. We'd disagree, sure, but there was this calm respect, this ability to listen and be heard. Now, all we seem to do is fight. About everything. How to swaddle Elise, whose turn it is to burp her, who's pulling their weight.

But the worst fights are about the crying. This constant, relentless crying that makes my insides clench and my teeth grit. Travis says I'm too soft, that I hold her too much. I see the judgment in his eyes, the unspoken blame. And I lash out, accusing him of not doing enough, of not understanding.

We used to be a team. Now we're just two ships passing in the night, fueled by resentment and running on fumes. I miss us. I miss the laughter, the quiet moments of connection. But right now, all I have is the crushing weight of this moment, this fight, this never-ending cycle of crying and exhaustion.

"It's always my turn, Travis, because you don't seem to get it!" I hiss, my voice tight with sleep deprivation and something else, something bitter.

Travis throws his hands up in exasperation. "Here we go again. It's not a competition, Taylor. I know it's hard, Joy isn't this..." he trails off, searching for the right word.

"Difficult?" I supply, my voice laced with a challenge. "Demanding? Needy? How are you supposed to know what it was like when she was a baby? You weren't even there!" It was a cheap shot and I took it.

I can tell the comment hurt him but he brushed it aside. "All of those!" he blurts. "Look, I know it's tough, but you can't just hold her all the time. You're spoiling her."

Spoiling her? My blood boils. "She's a one-month-old baby, Travis. She doesn't understand the concept of being spoiled. She needs comfort, and right now, that's me."

"Maybe," he concedes, a grudging tone in his voice, "but there has to be another way. You can't let her cry it out completely, but you can't just..." he gestures helplessly at Elise, who's escalated her wails into full-blown sobs.

Tears prick my own eyes. I hate feeling like this, like a prisoner in my own home, tethered to a wailing infant. "You think I enjoy this? I hate having her cry it out but she won't stop!" I snap, my voice cracking. "I haven't slept in weeks, and all you can do is criticize how I handle her?"