If I Could Save You

Two Weeks LaterJuly 12th; 2023Taylor Swift's Point of View The doctor's office is too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like it's waiting to break you. Dr. Levin sits down across from us with a clipboard in her lap and a heaviness in her expression that makes my stomach twist before she even opens her mouth. She doesn't speak right away. That's how I know it's bad.

She folds her hands, glancing between the three of us. "I want to thank you all for coming in this morning. I know clinic days are exhausting."

I force a nod. Travis sits perfectly still next to me, elbows on his knees, hands clenched tight. June is wedged between us in a hoodie that swallows her body, her knees drawn up. She doesn't look at anyone.

"I have the latest marrow biopsy results," the doctor says carefully, her voice too soft, too even. "We were really hoping to see a decrease in blast cells by now... but unfortunately, that's not what we found."

I blink slowly. The words take a second to hit. I try to breathe but the air feels heavier now.

"What are you saying?" Travis asks. His voice is low, steady—but strained. He already knows. I can hear it in his tone.

"I'm saying the treatment isn't working," Dr. Levin says gently. "We're not seeing the kind of response we need to continue safely. Her white blood cell counts are still rising. Her blast percentage has actually increased since the last draw."

June doesn't move. She doesn't look up. Her body is completely still except for her fingers, which are twitching around the edge of her sleeve.

"So it's over?" she asks, her voice a whisper.

The doctor hesitates, then nods. "We'll have to pull her from the trial. Continuing would do more harm than good."

My throat tightens. I want to say something—anything—but the words just sit there, useless and stupid. I can feel the guilt rising in my chest, thick and choking. I helped get her into this trial. I helped give her hope.

And it still wasn't enough.

June exhales through her nose, her expression unreadable. "Cool," she says flatly. "So I get to keep being sick. That's great."

"It's not the end," Dr. Levin tries to reassure. "There are still other treatment paths we can look into. We'll go over everything with you, I promise."

Travis swallows hard. "But none of them are as promising as this one was, right?"

Another pause.

"Correct," she says softly. "This was our most aggressive option with the best shot. But that doesn't mean we stop fighting."

No one says anything after that.

June turns her head toward the window, blinking fast. Travis sits back like the weight of the news has knocked the breath out of him. And me—I'm just sitting here watching both of them fall apart, knowing I have absolutely no idea how to fix any of it.

I reach for June's hand without thinking. She flinches just barely but doesn't pull away. It's not comfort. It's not forgiveness. But it's something. And right now, I'll take whatever she's willing to give.

"So... what now?" Travis asks, voice hoarse.

Dr. Levin exhales slowly. "We've reviewed all available options. A third round of the same treatment is unlikely to yield better results. At this point, we need to pivot. There's one possible route left that gives us a shot at a cure — a cord blood transplant."

June's brows pull together. "Didn't we already look at that months ago?"

"You weren't eligible then because of the trial protocol," she says gently. "But now that you're off the trial, it's on the table. Cord blood transplants don't require full HLA matches the way bone marrow does. That expands our pool."

"And the catch?" I ask, already bracing for it.

"We haven't found a fully viable unit yet," she admits. "She's tall, and her weight's dropped, which doesn't help— but we'll need a very specific type of donor cord. It'll be rare. Expensive. And it might require going out-of-network or across borders. Insurance... won't cover much."

"I'll pay for it." The words come out before I even think. "Whatever it costs."

June stiffens beside me.

Dr. Levin nods once. "That will speed things up considerably."

"Do you have a list of banks or hospitals with inventory?" I ask. "I have contacts. We'll get the best. Just tell me where."

"Taylor," June mutters under her breath. "Stop."

I ignore her. "What kind of timeline are we looking at?"

"If we can locate a match quickly, she could be prepped for transplant within a few weeks. But cord blood requires conditioning — intense chemo to make room in her marrow. That comes with risks."

"I don't care. Do it," I say. "Find the match. Start the process. I'll make the calls tonight."

Dr. Levin gives me a measured nod. "I'll have our transplant coordinator work directly with you. We'll need consent, of course."

Travis speaks next, quiet but firm. "She's doing this?"

June looks between us — all three of us — and says, flatly, "I'm not dying because I don't like her."

She leans back in her chair and closes her eyes.

"June doesn't have a sibling from you, correct, Miss Swift?" Dr. Levin asks, flipping to the next page of her chart.

The question catches me off guard.

"No," I say, blinking. "No siblings." My voice falters slightly. "Why?"

She glances up at me, carefully. "Because if you had saved the cord blood from the delivery, there's a higher chance a full sibling would be a match. Cord blood from a sibling—especially a younger one—can be a near-perfect genetic match in cases like this."

I feel my chest tighten, my pulse pick up. "I didn't... I didn't even know to ask for something like that back then."

She gives a soft, understanding nod. "Most people don't. It's standard practice now in some places, but sixteen years ago... it wasn't common unless there was a known risk."

Beside me, June stares at the floor, not saying a word. I can feel the heat of her silence. I want to say I would've done it. That if I had known, I would've made sure every single drop was saved, frozen, protected. But I didn't. I left. And now, that chance is gone.

Dr. Levin closes the file slowly. "We'll keep searching the banks. It's not hopeless. But I had to ask."

I nod, barely holding myself together. "Right. Of course."

Dr. Levin shifts slightly in her seat, folding her hands. "As of now, there are no matches for June on the registry."

The words hit harder than I expect. I glance over at Travis, who's staring at the floor, jaw clenched.

"So..." My voice is thinner than I mean for it to be. "What are we supposed to do?"

She hesitates, and that alone makes my stomach drop.

"There is... one potential path forward," she says carefully. "And I want to be extremely cautious in how I present it, because this isn't something we suggest lightly. But—" she takes a soft breath, "in rare cases, when no donor match is available and time is running out... some families choose to conceive a child through IVF. They select an embryo that's a genetic match to the sick child. That newborn's cord blood, collected at birth, can sometimes be used for transplant."

I don't respond right away. I can't. My mind spins—pregnancy, IVF, another child—not out of joy or desire, but out of need. Out of desperation.

"You're saying..." I start, but I can't even finish the thought.

"I'm saying that some families create what's often referred to as a savior sibling," she says gently. "A child whose cord blood may be the key to saving their brother or sister's life."

The room is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

"And this would work?" Travis asks, his voice rough. "It would save her?"

"There are no guarantees," Dr. Levin says honestly. "But cord blood transplants from matched siblings have been successful. It would take time—a successful IVF cycle, a full pregnancy but if June can remain stable, it could offer her a real shot."

I feel like I'm floating outside of my own body. A real shot. A real shot. But at what cost?

"I'll—I'll do it." The words tumble out before I can stop them. My voice shakes, but there's no hesitation beneath the fear. I mean it. I'm ready to do whatever it takes for June.

"Taylor—" Travis starts, his voice low but urgent, like he's trying to pull me back from the edge I'm already standing on.

But Dr. Levin cuts in, her tone calm but firm. "Ma'am, I strongly suggest you think it over. This is a serious decision—not just medically, but ethically and emotionally. It's a path that will change your family forever."

I swallow hard, the weight of those words settling like stones in my stomach. I want to turn back, to say I need time, that this is too much.

But I can't. Not when June is lying in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath. I nod again, more to steady myself than to convince anyone else.

"I understand," I say quietly. "But I want to give her that chance. No matter what it means."

Before I can say anything more, June's voice cuts through the heavy silence.

"I don't want a sibling," she says, her tone sharp but tired. She doesn't look up from the chair, eyes fixed on some invisible point in the room. "I'm sick, not broken. You don't need to make another baby to fix me."

Her words hit me like a punch. I want to reach out, to pull her close, but I hold back.

"I know," I whisper. "It's not about that. It's about giving you a chance—just one more chance."

Dr. Levin stands, smoothing out her white coat as if to signal the conversation is over. "Talk it over with your family. This isn't a decision to make lightly. We'll be in contact again in a few days to see what you've decided."

Her tone is professional, but I catch the faint softness behind it—she knows what she's just dropped in our laps. A life. A future. A gamble.

Travis nods, his voice low and tired. "Okay. We will."

I glance at him, but he won't look at me. June stares out the window, jaw tight, as if the sunlit sky outside is the only thing keeping her grounded. No one says another word as Dr. Levin leaves the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

The silence that follows feels unbearable.

~

When we get back to the condo, June heads straight to her room without a word. Her steps are slow, dragging slightly, like the weight of the day is finally too much. She doesn't say goodnight. She doesn't look back. She just disappears behind her door and clicks it shut, leaving a soft silence in her wake.

Travis and I linger in the living room. The air feels heavier now, like the conversation from earlier is still echoing in our heads. I sit down on the couch and press my palms into my thighs, trying to ground myself. Travis stands for a moment, pacing absently, then finally drops into the armchair across from me. His elbows rest on his knees, hands laced together like he's trying to hold something in.

"I'll do it, Trav," I say, my voice quiet but firm. "I don't care what it takes. I'll deal with the nausea, the swollen feet, the back pain, the hormones—whatever. I'll carry the baby. I'll go through it."

He exhales hard, not looking at me right away. "I'm not worried about that," he says eventually. "You've done it before. You're strong enough. That's not the part that scares me."

"Then what?" I ask, even though I already know.

Travis leans back, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm worried about what happens when the baby actually gets here, Tay. That's a whole person we're talking about. A real life. We'd be bringing them into the world not because we love each other or because we wanted to grow our family. We'd be doing it to save someone else."

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to swallow down the sting in his words. "And that's wrong?"

"It's complicated."

I look at him, my voice thinner than I intend. "June wasn't exactly out of love either."

His eyes flick up to mine, and the hurt there is instant. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" I whisper. "It's the truth. She was the result of a mistake I made when I was too young and too selfish to deal with it. You raised her. You loved her. You showed up every single day. I didn't. If I have a chance to do something right for once why shouldn't I take it?"

Travis doesn't answer. He just stares at the floor, jaw tight, like he's trying to hold in every emotion threatening to rise. "You were gone for 14 years, Taylor," Travis says, his voice low but edged with something sharp. "Are you suddenly supposed to be a good mother to this new baby? Do you even plan on raising them... or are you going to leave them behind too?"

His words hit like a slap. I flinch before I can stop myself. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" he asks. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds pretty damn reasonable to ask. You're talking about creating a whole new life to fix something you broke, but you haven't even made things right with the life you already left."

I shake my head, eyes stinging. "I'm trying."

"I know," he says. "I know you are. But trying and being ready are two different things. Do you understand what you're signing up for? This baby wouldn't just be a donor. It wouldn't just be some medical solution. They'd be a person. A kid. With needs and feelings and questions. And you—" He exhales, his voice faltering. "You have a history of running."

"I wouldn't run," I say quickly. Too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't," I repeat, but even to my own ears, it sounds like I'm trying to convince myself. "I've changed."

"I believe that you want to believe that," Travis says quietly. "But if this is really about June, you need to be honest. With yourself. With me. If you bring this child into the world, and the transplant fails—or worse—what happens then? Do you still show up? Do you still stay?"

Silence folds between us. My throat is dry, and my heart is pounding. I think about June behind that door. About all the years I wasn't there. About the weight of what I owe, and how it can never fully be paid.

"I don't know," I whisper.

Travis doesn't look away. "Then don't rush to say yes. Not until you do."

Before I can respond, a door creaks open. We both turn. June stands in the hallway, thin and pale, one hand braced on the wall for balance. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide, glassy. She must have heard everything.

"Do it," she says. Her voice is hoarse but strong. "I don't care if it's not out of love. I don't care if it's complicated or messy or if it ruins your life. Just do it."

"June—" Travis stands up, his face tight with concern. "You should be resting."

"I'm not going to rest while you two sit out here debating whether or not I'm worth saving," she snaps. Her body trembles, but she doesn't back down. "I don't want to die."

Her voice cracks on that last word. She wraps her arms around herself like she's cold. "I don't want to die. I know I said I didn't want a sibling just to be a lab rat, but if that's the only way I'll deal with it. Maybe she'll be a terrible mother but I'll still be alive."

I move toward her, but she recoils slightly, so I stop short. "June..." I whisper.

"I'm sixteen. I haven't done anything. I haven't even graduated high school. I haven't kissed anyone. I haven't driven a car. I haven't seen the world. I've barely even been in the world." Her voice rises. "And now you're asking if you should let me stay in it? Don't talk to me about ethics or if it's 'loving.' You want to be a mother now? Then save me."

Her knees buckle a little. Travis rushes forward to steady her. She clings to his arm, breathing hard.

"I just want to live," she whispers.

I feel my whole body seize with guilt and grief and love so big it terrifies me. I walk over and kneel beside her. She won't look at me, but I say it anyway.

"We'll do it."

She closes her eyes.

"Okay," she breathes. "Okay."

—————Author's Note:

*bum bum BUM*