Page 1 of All of Me

prologue

PHOTOGRAPH - ED SHEERAN

OWEN - JULY 26, 2014

I’m standing in the middle of Darling Ridge Farms, the sun low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the fields. As I step outside, the air envelops me with its thick and heavy texture, making it feel as though I’m wading through a dense fog. The scent of fresh hay and rich earth fills my nostrils, a powerful aroma that reaches deep into my chest, leaving a lingering presence that clings to my every breath. The late afternoon seems like it could last forever, with time slowing down to appreciate every detail.

It’s been over a year since he died, but here I am, back at the farm, like no time has passed at all. Except… it’s different. There’s a stillness, an emptiness that feels wrong. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you think something is watching. Waiting.

This place looks the same—fields stretching as far as the eye can see, the big oak tree standing sentinel by the house, the barn doors slightly ajar—but the air carries weight, a sense of something unfinished.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk toward the barn, every step slower than the last. My heart pounds in my chest, but I don’t know why. I’ve walked this path a hundred times before, with Uncle Teddy beside me, his laughter booming across the fields, always ready with some story or lesson.

This time, it’s just me.

As I near the barn, I hear it—a voice. Low, steady, familiar. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I tell myself it’s just the wind, or maybe my memory playing tricks, but deep down, I know. It can’t be. My feet move on their own, pulling me closer to the open barn doors. The inside is dim, shadows playing tricks on my eyes. As I step inside, the voice becomes clearer.

“About time you showed up, kid.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention, and I stop dead in my tracks. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere. I turn, and there he is—Uncle Teddy. Sitting on the old wooden bench by the wall, just like he always did after a long day’s work. His hands rest on his knees, weathered and strong, his face lined with the same calm smile I remember. He looks exactly as he did the last time I saw him—alive, full of life. But I know better. He’s gone. He’s been gone.

“Teddy?” I manage to choke out, my voice barely a whisper.

He grins, shaking his head. “Who else would it be?”

I take a step toward him, my chest tight with disbelief, with a sense of grief that never really went away. “You’re… you’re here?”

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, his blue eyes sparkling with that same mischievous look he always had when he was about to give me hell. “Where else would I be? This is my place, Owen. This is home. But it can be your home too… You know that.”

His words linger, hanging in the still air like a challenge. My throat tightens. I blink hard, trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. I take another step forward, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“I miss you, man,” I finally say, my voice breaking.

Teddy’s smile softens, he nods, as if he’s been expecting those words. “I know, kid. I miss you too.”

“I’ve been trying to figure it all out,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I’m making progress, but there are days when I feel lost.”

Teddy tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “That’s life, kid. You never figure it all out. But you’re doing good. Better than you think.”

I laugh, a short, bitter sound. “Am I? Sometimes I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”

Teddy stands then, walking toward me, his boots scuffing against the dirt floor of the barn. He places a hand on my shoulder, and it’s warm—solid. The touch grounds me, makes me feel like I’m not dreaming, even though I know I am.

“You’ve got a good woman, Owen,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “And you’ve got those kids of yours. You think I don’t see how far you’ve come? You’ve built something here. Don’t forget that.”

I swallow hard, nodding. “I know. I just… I wish you were here to see it. To be a part of it.”

He squeezes my shoulder, locking his eyes with mine. “I am, kid. I’ll always be here. In this place. In you. You carry me with you, whether you realize it or not.”

I close my eyes, trying to hold onto his words, to the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. When I open them again, he’s gone. The barn is empty. Quiet. The weight of the silence presses down on me again, and I know it’s over. The dream is slipping away, the colors fading, the sounds muffling into nothing.

Just like that, the moment is gone.

The room is quiet, the soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bed. I’m left with the weight of the dream–Teddy’s voice, his words echoing in my head, that strange mix of comfort and longing clings to me like a second skin. For a moment, I lay staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the lingering feeling of the weight of his hand on my shoulder. It felt so real. Too real. But now, the farm is gone, and I’m in the bed alone because Callie’s already left.

I turn, reaching for the spot where she sleeps, but the sheets are cold, her side neatly made. I run a hand over the fabric, feeling the emptiness settle into my chest again. I knew she’d be gone when I woke up—she left early to get to the Van Damme Hawkridge Estate to prepare for the ceremony—but that doesn’t make it any easier. It’s not just that I miss her; it’s that I wish I could share this moment with her, tell her about the dream, about Teddy, about how strange it all feels.

Then I see it—a small note folded neatly on the nightstand beside my phone. I smile, reaching for it, already knowing it’s from Callie. Even before I read her words, I can feel her–the way she always finds a way to anchor me, even when she’s not here.

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