Page 11 of All of Me

I close my eyes, focusing on the rhythm of my breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. Slowly, the pressure starts to ease, and the world feels a little less overwhelming.

“Thanks,” I mutter, opening my eyes.

“Anytime,” Will says, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Look, when you get home tonight, sit down with Callie. Really talk to her. Let her know you’re there for her, no matter what. And if she’s not ready to talk, just remind her she’s not alone.”

I nod, the weight in my chest lighter now. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

“You’ll do more than try,” Will says with a small smirk. “You’re Owen freakin’ Klein. You’ve got this.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks, man.”

He nods, grabs his wrench and heads back to his station. I pick up the pipe again, my thoughts about Callie are clearer now. Whatever is going on, I’ll figure it out. Because Will’s right; Callie’s not just my partner, she’s my everything. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she knows that.

Callie’s sitting on the couch, staring out the window with Ruby cradled against her chest. The baby’s sleeping soundly, her tiny mouth slightly open, but Callie isn’t looking at her. She isn’t looking at anything, really. It’s like she’s somewhere else entirely, somewhere I can’t reach her.

It’s been like this for a few days now, Callie distracted, distant. She smiles when she needs to, laughs when prompted, but it feels… hollow. Forced. The little moments of connection that usually come so easily between us feel like they’re slipping through my fingers. I don’t know how to fix it.

I’m across the room, folding a pile of tiny onesies, but my focus keeps drifting to her. Her shoulders slump, like the weight of the world is pressing her down. Her free hand lies limp at her side. She doesn’t fiddle with the edge of the blanket or tug at her sleeve like she usually does when she’s lost in thought. It’s all wrong. She’s usually the strongest person I know, always juggling a million things without breaking a sweat. But right now, she looks fragile in a way that terrifies me. Like she’s carrying something so heavy it’s starting to crack her open.

“Callie?” I say, my voice low so I don’t startle her.

She doesn’t respond at first, just strokes Ruby’s back absently. The motion is rhythmic, automatic, like her body is going through the motions while her mind is miles away. Finally, she looks up, her eyes glassy. “Hmm?”

“You okay?”

Her lips twitch into a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

It’s a simple answer, but it doesn’t sit right. Callie doesn’t do “fine.” She doesn’t brush things off or deflect—not with me, at least. I set the onesie down and move closer, sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

“Callie,” I say again, leaning forward so she can’t avoid my gaze. “What’s going on? You’ve seemed… off.”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping to Ruby. She adjusts her blanket, her hand lingering as if to use Ruby as a shield. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice so soft I almost miss it.

The room feels heavier, the silence stretching. My chest tightens, a familiar pressure building. It’s been years since I’ve felt the telltale signs of a panic attack, but they’re creeping in now—heart pounding, breath hitching. I force myself to focus on Callie, to push my own feelings aside. She needs me right now, and I need to be steady for her.

“Talk to me,” I say, my voice quiet, trying to soften the edge of desperation I feel clawing at my throat.

Callie looks up at me, her eyes filling with tears. The sight of them breaks something inside me. “I don’t feel like myself,” she admits, her voice cracking. “I keep having these… these thoughts. Like, maybe I’m not good enough for you. Or for the kids. Like I’m failing you all somehow.”

Her words hit me like a freight train, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Callie…”

“I keep thinking,” she continues, her voice breaking as the tears spill over, “that maybe you’d all be better off without me.”

“No,” I say, the word coming out sharper than I intended. My voice echoes in the quiet room, and Ruby stirs slightly before settling again. I reach for Callie’s hand, gripping it tightly. “Don’t you dare think that. Don’t you ever think that.”

Her shoulders tremble and she bows her head, clutching Ruby closer as if the baby might shield her from the storm inside her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispers, her voice small and broken. I hold her hand so tightly I’m afraid I might hurt her. I can’t let go. The thought of her feeling this way, of carrying this kind of pain, is unbearable.

“You’re not failing us,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “You’re everything to us, Callie. To me. To the kids. We love you. I love you.”

Her tears fall harder, her head shakes, her breath coming in uneven gasps. “But I feel like I’m failing. I look at Ruby, and I’m scared I’m not enough for her. And Sara… she deserves more than me right now. And you…” Her voice falters, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “You deserve someone who has it all together, Owen.”

My chest feels like it’s caving in. “Callie, listen to me,” I say, voice trembling. “You are enough. You are more than enough. I don’t need someone who has it all together. I need you. The real you. The one who loves fiercely, who makes us laugh, who holds this family together even when you feel like you’re falling apart. We need you, Callie. I need you.”

Her breathing hitches. I can see the war waging inside her— fear, guilt, doubt. I slide off the coffee table to kneel in front of her, my free hand reaching up to gently tilt her chin so she has to look at me.

“You’re allowed to feel this way,” I say softly. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, and you don’t have to go through this alone. Let me help you, Callie. Let me carry some of it with you.”

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