Feel the Wrath of My Extreme Self-Doubt

One Week LaterMarch 8th; 2025Taylor Swift's Point of ViewAll three of us are sitting around the table, the scent of warm syrup and freshly made pancakes filling the air. Travis is here for the day—he's got the time off and decided he wanted to spend it with Zoë. He confessed earlier that he wasn't sure if he could handle being alone with her yet. I didn't mind stepping in to ease him into it.

It's been a quiet morning, which I needed. I pitched my book a few days ago, and the waiting has been eating me alive. Every time my phone buzzes, my stomach flips, hoping it's news from the publisher.

Travis cuts into his pancakes, glancing at Zoë, who's too focused on her plate to care about much else. "Zoë, what's your favorite color?" he asks, smiling at her.

Zoë looks up at him briefly, then looks back down at her food, completely unfazed. "Cakes," she declares before shoving another bite into her mouth, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.

I can't help but laugh. "It's purple," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, purple? Really?" Travis looks genuinely curious as he watches her.

Zoë ignores him again, dunking another piece of pancake in syrup like it's the most important thing in the world.

"She's in her food phase right now," I explain, sipping my coffee. "If it's not about pancakes or crackers, she's not interested."

Travis grins. "Smart girl. Focus on the important things in life."

"She gets it from you," I tease, and he shoots me a playful glare.

Zoë giggles, syrup smeared on her face, and looks between the two of us, as if sensing we're joking. She waves a sticky pancake piece in the air. "Cakes!"

"Okay, okay. Cakes win," Travis says, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"She also likes elephants and kittens," I say, leaning back in my chair. "If you're planning to win her over, I'd suggest incorporating those into your strategy."

"Good to know," Travis says with a mock-serious nod. He looks at Zoë, who is now licking syrup off her fingers like it's the last thing she'll ever eat. "Now, Zoë, do you like pancakes?"

"CAKES!" Zoë screams, throwing her sticky hands in the air as if this is the best day of her life.

Travis laughs, and I can't help but join in. Her enthusiasm is contagious, even if the syrup is currently dripping onto the table.

"Well, that settles it," Travis says, grabbing another pancake and cutting it into tiny pieces for her. "Zoë officially loves pancakes. What about you, Taylor? Are you secretly a pancake fanatic, too?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I wouldn't call myself a fanatic, but I'm partial to a good stack every now and then."

"Oh, come on," he says, smirking. "You're telling me you don't secretly want to scream 'CAKES!' at the top of your lungs like Zoë?"

"Absolutely not," I reply, crossing my arms in mock defiance.

"Liar," he says with a grin.

Zoë suddenly points at me, her face still sticky. "Mama say 'cakes'!"

"Oh, great," I mutter, shaking my head. "You've got her ganging up on me now."

Travis leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "What can I say? She knows the truth."

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. This is what I want for Zoë—moments like this, where she's laughing and happy, where everything feels light and uncomplicated. Maybe things aren't perfect, but at least for now, they're good.

"When's her birthday? September? August?" Travis asks, looking down at Zoë as she shovels another bite of pancake into her mouth.

"August 30th," I answer, my voice softening with the memory. "She was born at 2:38 pm. 6 pounds, 7 oz, and 20 inches long. She was screaming and crying when they put her against my chest." I smile, lost in the recollection. "But then she calmed down the second she heard my voice."

Travis glances at me, a knowing look in his eyes. "You remember that day like it was yesterday, don't you?"

"Yeah," I nod, my eyes drifting to Zoë. "It's a day I'll never forget. Everything changed in that moment. I thought I knew what love was, but when they handed her to me..." I pause, feeling the weight of the memory. "It was like my heart grew a hundred times bigger."

Zoë, oblivious to the emotion in the room, reaches for another pancake with both hands. "Cakes!"

I chuckle, wiping a tear away before it can fully form. "Yeah, I'm sure she'll remember her love for pancakes more than anything else right now."

Travis laughs but his expression softens as he watches Zoë. "She's lucky to have you, Taylor."

I shake my head. "I'm just trying to do the best I can."

"Well, from what I can see, you're doing a hell of a job." He picks up his fork, but before taking a bite, he adds, "And I'm here now. You don't have to do it alone."

"Why the sudden change of heart from you Travis? You went from hating me to supporting me and Zoë?" I ask.

"I wanted to be in Zoë's life and I realized I couldn't do that if I was treating you the way I was. I just...I needed to take a moment to take a step back and get perspective."

"Mama, Mama," Zoë says, tugging at my sleeve with a serious expression on her face.

"Yes, honey?" I reply, trying to finish the last bite of my pancake.

"Diaper," she insists, fidgeting uncomfortably.

I sigh, wiping syrup from her chin. "Zo Zo, you need to tell me when you have to potty, sweetie."

Her face scrunches up in confusion, and I realize she might not fully understand yet. She's still so little. "It's okay, we'll get you changed in a second," I say softly, reaching down to lift her from her seat.

Travis watches us with a faint smile, clearly amused but also a little in awe of the task at hand. "I can help," he offers, standing up as if to get a diaper ready.

I glance at him, surprised by the offer. "You sure? I didn't know you were ready for that kind of thing."

He shrugs with a grin. "I'm a quick learner." He winks, trying to ease the tension that always comes with diaper changes.

"Alright," I say with a chuckle, "but don't say I didn't warn you. Zoë's a little squirmer."

Zoë's already squirming in my arms, eager to get away, and I can't help but laugh at how much she's like me. A little ball of energy that never sits still.

As Travis takes over, I stand back and watch. There's something oddly satisfying about seeing him take these small steps to be part of Zoë's life. It may not be perfect, but it's progress, and that's all I could ask for right now.

Travis stands there holding the diaper up for inspection, his face a mixture of uncertainty and determination. He looks at me with a raised brow, his hand awkwardly outstretched toward me as if seeking validation.

"How did I do?" He asks, his voice tinged with hope, but I can see the hint of panic in his eyes as he wonders if he's messed up.

I glance at Zoë, who, after examining the diaper for a second, points a small finger at it and shakes her head. "Diaper wrong," she says firmly, clearly unimpressed by his attempt.

I can't help but laugh softly, a little more at the whole situation than at him. "Uh, very incorrectly," I say, unable to suppress the chuckle that escapes. The diaper is on sideways, a little askew, the tabs not lined up properly, but it's clear that he tried.

Travis's face falls slightly as he looks down at the diaper, clearly confused. "What did I do wrong?"

"Well," I start, trying to be as gentle as I can, "it's more about making sure everything's snug around the legs and that the tabs are even. See how it's not quite tight enough around the sides?" I point to the spaces on either side where the diaper is loose, trying to offer him a little more insight.

Zoë watches us with wide eyes, as if observing the great diapering debate. Then she looks at Travis, pats his shoulder, and nods solemnly. "Good try, Daddy."

Travis's shoulders relax, and his face breaks into a relieved smile. "Well, if she says it's a good try, I'll take it." He chuckles, his confidence slowly returning.

I fix the diaper, adjusting it so it's secure, and Zoë watches closely, like she's the expert here. "There we go," I say, smoothing it out. "Better. You'll get the hang of it, I promise."

Travis nods, his eyes still on Zoë, who's now happily wiggling her legs, completely satisfied with her newly adjusted diaper. "Okay, next time I'll try not to mess it up."

My phone starts to ring, the number flashing on the screen, and my heart immediately starts to race. The publishing company. The call I've been waiting for. The one that's been keeping me up at night, doubting myself, wondering if all the time I've spent writing—every sleepless night, every line written and rewritten—was worth it. My stomach flips, and I can barely breathe as I stare at the phone. It's finally happening. They're calling.

I swallow hard and answer it, trying to steady the shaking in my hands. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Taylor?" The voice on the other end is smooth, professional, but there's something about it that makes me tense up.

"Yes, this is Taylor," I say, my voice coming out a little too breathless. I'm trying to keep calm, but it feels impossible.

"Hi, Taylor. This is Rachel from the publishing company. How are you today?"

My pulse is racing, and I can't seem to get enough air into my lungs. "I'm... I'm good. Thank you. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you," she replies. There's a pause, and then she continues, "I'm calling about the manuscript you submitted."

I feel like time slows down, my heart in my throat. This is it. This is the moment I've been waiting for. My chest tightens as I try to prepare myself for whatever comes next.

"I'm afraid we've decided not to move forward with your book," Rachel says, and her voice, though kind, feels like a punch to the gut. "While we really appreciate the time and effort you've put into your work, we don't feel it aligns with our current needs for publication."

For a moment, I can't even process the words. It's like they don't make sense. I've been preparing myself for this, but hearing it, hearing her say it, feels like the ground beneath me is collapsing.

"Oh," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I... I understand."

"Please don't be discouraged," she continues. "Your writing shows a lot of potential, and we're sure there's a place for it out there. But unfortunately, we just don't think it's the right fit for us at this time."

I want to say something, something to fight for it, but I'm frozen. All the words I've been writing, all the stories, the poems, everything, suddenly feels like it doesn't matter. It's not good enough. Not this time.

"Thank you for considering me," I say quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "I appreciate it."

"We appreciate you taking the time to submit your work," she says kindly. "Good luck with your future projects, Taylor."

I feel like the world is spinning, like I'm watching myself from the outside. My heart sinks as the call ends. I'm left staring at my phone, trying to make sense of the empty space between the words she said and the silence now filling the air.

I sit there for a long moment, trying to breathe. Trying to figure out what to do next. I know it's not the end, I know it's just one rejection, but right now, it feels like everything I've been working toward just crumbled in my hands.

I look up at the ceiling, forcing back the tears that are threatening to spill over. "They rejected me."

•                   •                   •

Zoë is finally asleep, tucked in her little bed, and the house is calm—almost too calm. I curl up on the couch next to Travis, pulling a soft blanket over our laps. He tosses a handful of popcorn in the air, catching it with ease before handing the bowl to me, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

I sigh, stretching a bit as I reach for some popcorn, my mind still buzzing with the day's events. "This took forever to pick," I say with a slight grin. "You know, I can't believe it took us 45 minutes to agree on something to watch. I was so sure you'd cave for a rom-com."

He snorts. "Like I'd watch that without some convincing. You've got to earn it."

I roll my eyes, playfully nudging him with my shoulder. "Well, we ended up with American Pie, so I guess you won this round."

He smirks, eyes glinting as he leans back, pulling a little too much satisfaction from the win. "This movie is a classic."

I laugh, nodding in agreement as the opening credits roll. "Yeah, if you want to relive all your awkward teenage years."

Travis throws another piece of popcorn into his mouth, licking his fingers afterward. "Alright, alright. So what's your favorite line from this movie?" His eyes meet mine, mischievous.

I know exactly what he's asking, and I can't help but grin. "Oh, the most iconic one of them all," I say, preparing to deliver it with the right tone. I lean forward slightly, adopting the same dramatic voice from the movie. "'This one time, at band camp, I stuck a flute up my pussy.'" I say, dragging out the words for full effect.

Travis bursts out laughing, shaking his head. "You did not just do that."

"Had to," I say, holding my ground. "It's a classic, you can't not do it."

He leans back, still chuckling. "You're ridiculous. That's so you, though."

"I know," I grin. "What about you? What's your favorite line?"

Travis looks away from the screen for a moment, pondering. "Hmm. Probably the 'Stifler's mom' line. It's so dumb, but the delivery is spot-on, and it's like... perfect timing."

I laugh again, snatching another handful of popcorn. "Oh, of course, the one that only gets funnier because of how ridiculous it is."

He shrugs with a grin. "What can I say? The stupid stuff gets me."

"Well, it's no surprise," I tease, leaning my head on his shoulder. "You have the humor of a teenager."

"Guilty," he says with a wink. "It's what keeps life interesting."

We fall into a comfortable silence as the movie plays on, just the soft sound of the film and the occasional rustle of popcorn between us. I feel that familiar warmth, a quiet peace between us, as we both laugh and argue over every stupid line in the movie. It's nice to have these moments of normalcy. Of just being with him, without anything else pulling us in different directions.

The credits to the movie finally roll, the familiar upbeat music filling the silence of the room as Travis reaches for the remote and turns off the TV. The glow of the screen fades, leaving us in the soft lighting of the living room.

"Are you going to head to bed?" he asks, stretching slightly as he leans back on the couch.

I shift a little, still feeling the buzz from the movie but not quite ready to give in to sleep. "I don't know. I should, but I'm not tired." I glance at the clock. It's late, but my mind's still buzzing from everything—Zoë, the book, life in general.

Travis gives a small chuckle, his eyes catching mine. "I was going to have a drink. Want to join?"

The idea of a drink sounds nice, comforting even. I nod, a slight smile tugging at my lips. "Can you make an old fashioned?"

"Easy enough," he says, standing up with a stretch. His easy confidence fills the room as he walks towards the kitchen. I watch him for a moment before he disappears from view. There's something about the way he moves.

A few minutes later, he returns with two old fashioned glasses, the amber liquid swirling with the perfect amount of ice. He hands me one and sits beside me, the warmth of the drink already starting to calm me. I take a sip, savoring the smooth burn as it hits the back of my throat.

"Cheers," Travis says, raising his glass slightly.

"Cheers," I repeat, our glasses clinking softly in the quiet of the room. The sound lingers in the air, the weight of it grounding me in the moment.

The two of us take a sip and I sigh as I look up at Travis. "I just...I feel stupid for getting my hopes up."

The words slip out before I can stop them, and as soon as I say them, I regret it. I look at the glass in my hand, tracing the rim with my finger, avoiding his gaze for a moment.

Travis doesn't say anything at first. He just watches me, the faint glow of the kitchen light reflecting in his eyes. The silence hangs there for a moment, thick and heavy. Then he sets his drink down, his hand reaching out to gently touch my arm, his fingers warm against my skin.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft but steady. "You've got nothing to feel stupid about. Not one thing. You're allowed to get your hopes up, Taylor. You deserve to."

I shake my head slightly, the frustration bubbling up again. "I wanted it so badly. I thought maybe... just maybe, this time things would be different. But it feels like every time I get a step closer, it slips away."

His thumb gently rubs over my arm, a quiet reassurance. "It's not the end. It's one step back, not the finish line. You're still writing, still pushing. That's something to be proud of."

I look at him then, really look at him, and something about the sincerity in his eyes makes my chest tighten. "I don't know if I can keep doing this... all of it."

Travis takes a slow breath, looking at me with a kind of understanding that I can't quite place. "I don't have all the answers, Taylor. But if you need someone to help you through the ups and downs, I'm here. Always."

I let his words sink in, the warmth of the drink and the comfort of his presence slowly making me feel less alone in this moment.

I set my drink down slowly, my fingers lingering on the edge of the glass as I feel the weight of the moment. My eyes meet his, and it feels like everything around us fades, just a distant hum. I can't look away. The silence stretches between us, and I feel an overwhelming pull, a kind of magnetic force drawing me closer. My heart starts to race, faster than it probably should, and I wonder if he can hear it too.

I bring my hand up, almost without thinking, and gently rest it on his cheek. His skin is warm beneath my palm, his stubble rough against my fingers, but it's comforting in a way. I smile softly, unsure of why I'm doing this, but it feels... right. It feels like I've been waiting for this, even if I hadn't realized it until now.

"What are you doing?" His voice is thick with confusion, but there's something else there — a flicker of curiosity, maybe even anticipation. He doesn't pull away, doesn't stop me.

I don't answer him. I can't. My mind is spinning, racing with a thousand questions and no answers, but something inside me just snaps and before I can even process it, I lean forward. I close the distance between us, drawn by something I can't name, something that feels too big and too real to ignore.

When our lips finally meet, it's soft at first. Hesitant, like two people unsure of what they're doing, but caught in the moment anyway. His lips are warm and familiar, yet unfamiliar at the same time. My heart is pounding in my chest, so loud I wonder if he can hear it. My breath catches in my throat, my hands trembling slightly as they rest on his chest, just trying to ground myself.

It's tentative. Like I'm testing the waters, unsure if I'll be pulled back or if he'll lean into it. There's a rush of anxiety, the kind you get on your first kiss, when your brain tells you to stop but your body just keeps moving. I can feel the electric buzz of it, like everything in the world is suddenly dialed up to an intensity I can't control. The kiss feels fragile, like it might shatter at any moment if I breathe too hard.

But I don't pull away. Instead, I stay there, letting the seconds stretch longer than they should, letting the kiss deepen just slightly, the smallest shift, the smallest press of his lips against mine. The world is still and loud at the same time, filled with so many unspoken things that I can't begin to grasp.

When I finally pull back, the air between us feels thick. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do, or how to explain it. All I know is that my heart is racing, and there's no going back now.

"I-I don't know why I did that. I'm so sorry." I stammer.

Travis looks away for a moment, his gaze flickering to the side like he's lost in thought, wrestling with something inside himself. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, as if he's caught between two worlds — the one where he wants to kiss me and the one where he feels like he shouldn't. His jaw clenches, his brow furrows slightly, and I can almost hear the battle in his head, the hesitations weighing on him.

But then, almost as if he can't fight it anymore, the pull between us becomes too strong. His hand moves, a slow, deliberate motion, and before I even realize what's happening, he's cupping the back of my neck. The touch is warm, firm, but gentle, like he's giving himself permission. His fingers tighten slightly, pulling me closer, and in the next breath, his lips are on mine.

It's not hesitant this time. It's urgent, desperate, as if we both realize that neither of us can stay away any longer. The kiss is deeper, more consuming. His lips press against mine with an intensity that sends a rush of heat through my body, and all the thoughts that had been swirling around in my head seem to disappear, swallowed up by the feeling of him, of us, in this moment.

I can't think. I can't breathe. All I can feel is the way his hands move to my waist, the way his body presses into mine, as if he wants to be closer, as if he needs to be. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself forget about everything else. The questions, the doubts, the uncertainty — they all fade, replaced by the electric pulse of our connection.

His breath mingles with mine, faster now, like we're both trying to make up for lost time. There's no turning back now. We're both caught up in this, and I don't know if it's a mistake or the start of something new, but in this moment, it doesn't matter.

The heat between us escalates as we move quickly to his bedroom, our breathing heavier, our hearts racing. I can feel my pulse thumping in my throat, adrenaline mixing with nerves. The door closes behind us with a soft click, and we tumble onto the bed in a whirlwind of kisses. The world outside fades, and it feels like the only thing that matters is the connection between us, the chemistry that's been simmering for so long.

The moment shifts from something light and spontaneous to a heavy weight I wasn't prepared for. Travis' hands slip under my shirt, and before I even have time to process it, his fingers undo the clasp of my bra. In that instant, something inside me jolts, and I freeze. I thought we were just kissing, just being close without expectations. But now I realize, the space between us has shifted. There's a difference between making out and taking things further, and I don't know if I'm ready for this.

I pull back from him, breathing hard as I step away from the kiss, the air suddenly cold against my skin. My mind races, trying to make sense of what's happening. His touch was gentle, but it's clear now — he expects more. And I'm not sure if I can give him that, not yet, not when there's so much still unspoken between us.

I look at him, seeing the confusion in his eyes. His chest rises and falls as he watches me, waiting for some kind of reaction. I know he's not trying to push me, but I can't ignore the weight of the situation. He wants more. I thought I was just caught in a moment of passion, but now I have to make a decision.

I take a deep breath, grounding myself. I can't just leave him hanging, and I can't ignore what's happening between us. But I need to be sure, to trust myself and him, that I'm making the right choice. I look back at him, seeing the uncertainty there too.

Slowly, I unbutton my shirt and let it fall to the floor, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel exposed, both physically and emotionally, but something in me is ready to surrender. To let myself feel whatever this is, however complicated it might be. His gaze softens, his hand reaching out, but this time, it's not just for more; it's for connection.

I nod, silently telling him I'm ready.

————-Author's Note:

WHaT iF hE's wRriTTeN miNe On mY uPPeR thiGH