NEW

                                    

                                          
13 Years Later
July 27th; 2040
Taylor Swift's Point of View
I roll over, squinting at the clock on the nightstand. Eleven o'clock. Travis is still out cold, snoring like a freight train. The sound used to keep me up at night, but after fifteen years, it's almost comforting—almost. I reach over and give his shoulder a firm shake.
"Travis," I say, my voice just loud enough to cut through his rumbling snores. "Time to wake up."
He jerks awake, blinking rapidly and sitting up halfway. His hair is a wild mess of grays and browns, sticking up in all directions. "What? Was I snoring again?" he asks, rubbing his eyes like a guilty teenager caught sleeping through an alarm.
I suppress a laugh, adjusting the readers perched on my nose as I look back down at my crossword puzzle. "Honey, you've been snoring every night for the last fifteen years. You'll be doing it tomorrow too."
He groans and flops back against the pillows, throwing an arm over his face. "It's genetic. I can't help it."
"Mm-hmm. And what's your excuse for sleeping until eleven?" I glance at him over the top of my crossword with a smirk.
Travis sits up again, running a hand through his messy hair. "It's Saturday! I earned this."
"Uh-huh. What's next? You're going to claim snoring is a sport?"
He grins, leaning over to peer at my crossword. "What's the clue?"
"'A six-letter word for stubborn,'" I reply without looking up.
"Oh, that's easy. Travis," he quips, nudging me playfully.
I finally laugh, shaking my head as I fill in the correct answer. "And here I thought it was mulish. But sure, let's go with Travis."
Travis stretches again, his joints cracking like a bowl of popcorn. "Where's everyone else?" he asks, stifling a yawn.
"Joy is out shopping with Betty. They're going to some club tonight," I reply, circling another clue on my crossword puzzle.
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Hopefully it's not the Queensberry," he quips.
I snort, shaking my head. "Shut up," I say, laughing despite myself. "But now I have concerns... I'm going to have to ask her later."
Travis smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "What about the other four terrors?"
As if on cue, a loud crash echoes from downstairs, followed by a chorus of yelling and blame-shifting.
"That," I deadpan, pointing my pen toward the floor.
Travis sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Do we even want to know what just broke?"
"Not really," I admit, setting down my puzzle. "But I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
Travis groans, rubbing his temples. "I'll take this one."
"It's fine," I say, waving him off. "You just woke up. At least have a few more moments of peace."
I sigh, tossing the covers off and setting my crossword aside. My footsteps echo softly as I head downstairs, bracing myself for the inevitable chaos.
As I enter the living room, Elise stands in the middle of the room, tall and confident, signing with sharp, deliberate movements. Two of the triplets, almost 13, are standing opposite her, their gestures frantic as they argue back in sign language. The third triplet, predictably, is slouched in a chair, scrolling on his phone like he's above it all.
"What's going on?" I ask aloud, signing simultaneously to ensure everyone understands.
All three freeze mid-argument, turning to look at me like they've been caught red-handed. Their hands start moving all at once: