Eminem was half-asleep on the couch, remote in one hand, the faint sound of Stan playing from an old cassette deck echoing in the background. The house was quiet — the way he liked it.

Then came three sharp knocks on the door.

He opened it.

Taylor Swift stood there — wearing a white hoodie with the words “Karma Is Real” printed across the front, holding a bright red gift box with a golden ribbon, eyes calm but unreadable.

“Yo, Swift?” Eminem muttered, blinking. “You lost?”

Taylor smiled. “Nope. I’m here to thank you.”

She walked in like she owned the place. Placing the box gently on his cluttered coffee table, she opened it to reveal a pair of vintage Jordan sneakers — the exact pair Eminem once claimed he’d be buried in.
Right beside them sat a smaller pastel-colored box labeled: “Little Slim”.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing to the second box.

Taylor opened it to reveal a tiny pink baby beanie embroidered with “8 Mile Baby” and a onesie that had a cartoon of Eminem rapping… next to a rubber duck.

Eminem stared.

“For who?” he asked.

Taylor gestured to the hallway. A young woman walked in, holding a three-month-old baby — Eminem’s nephew. A baby he had never met.

“He’s been listening to Lose Yourself since he was born,” Taylor said, smiling. “Every time it plays, he laughs.”

Eminem looked at the baby. Then back at Taylor. Then back at the baby.

“Does he rap yet?” he mumbled.

Taylor chuckled. “Not yet. But he spits bubbles on beat.”

There was a pause.

“I still don’t get it,” Eminem muttered.

Taylor’s tone shifted — quieter, more serious.

“Fifteen years ago, when Kanye stole my moment on stage, everyone laughed. Everyone turned it into a meme. Except you.”

Eminem frowned. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did,” Taylor said. “I found an old audio clip in one of Kanye’s hard drives. A recording of him reading a letter… A letter from you. You told him to make things right.”

Eminem’s jaw tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

Taylor nodded. “Long enough to forget. But I didn’t.”

She stepped closer, her voice soft now.

“Some people scream to be heard. You whispered and let others shine. That’s why I came.”

She turned to leave, then paused.

“Oh, one more thing…”

She handed him a small envelope.

“That baby? He’s not just your nephew. He’s the sole heir in Dr. Dre’s new will.
You might want to start teaching him how to rap.”