Call It What You Want - a Taylor Swift Story

Taylor's POV:

The bathroom was silent, save for the soft hum of the overhead fan. My heart raced as I stood there, holding the small, plastic stick in my hand. The wait felt like an eternity. The world outside seemed to vanish. There was only this moment.

I had convinced myself for days that it was just the flu, or stress, or something else. But deep down, the nagging thought had never fully left me. What if I was pregnant? What if that was the reason I'd been so sick, so tired, so unlike myself?

I stared at the little window where the result would appear, my thoughts swimming in a hundred different directions. Travis didn't know yet. I had told him about my suspicions but that was it. He had been worried enough without me making things worse. And Lila—oh God, Lila. She needed stability right now. I couldn't drag her through something like this.

The seconds dragged on, each one stretching longer than the last. I could feel the weight of the decision already pressing down on me. I was on the verge of something I wasn't sure I was ready for.

And then—there it was.

Two pink lines.

I blinked. Twice. Just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. But no, the test didn't lie. I was pregnant.

At first, a rush of relief flooded through me, so strong that I had to lean against the sink to steady myself. A baby. A new life. I had no idea what this would mean for me and Travis, but the thought of it, the possibility, sent a surge of warmth through my chest.

"Okay," I whispered, almost to myself. "Okay."

But then, almost as quickly as that initial joy had come, the self-doubt followed. I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply, feeling my shoulders tense. What the hell was I thinking?

I gripped the counter, my knuckles white as I stared at the test in my hand.

Lila.

She needed a stable home, she needed her mom and Travis—she didn't need more chaos in her life.

And the tour. What was I supposed to do with a baby and the pressures of getting back on stage? I couldn't just drop everything. There were contracts, fans, expectations. The whole music industry would be on my back, and Tree would be there, breathing down my neck, wanting me to get everything back on track. I could already hear her voice, sarcastic as ever: *"What's next, Taylor? Another disaster? A baby? Really?"*

I shoved the test back into the box and set it on the counter, turning away. This wasn't the time to freak out.

But I couldn't help it. Every decision, every step I took felt like it was being overshadowed by this massive, looming question. Was I ready for this? Were we ready for this? Travis had no idea. He was already dealing with so much.

My mind spiraled again as I thought of the pressure of keeping up appearances, of keeping it all together. Being the pop star, the stable mom, the girlfriend, the daughter, the friend. Could I be all those things with a baby in tow? What if I messed it up? What if I failed?

I hated that part of myself—the part that could never just let things be, the part that needed control over everything. Why couldn't I just embrace the joy and not overthink everything?

But it wasn't that easy, was it?

I heard Travis's footsteps approaching in the hallway, the sound of his boots on the floor a welcome but unwelcome reality.

Shit.

I turned toward the door, my pulse quickening. He'd be coming in any second now, probably looking for me. I hadn't told him yet—had barely even processed it myself.