Callie had been in the middle of a consult when the trauma came in—a John Doe hit by a bus. Unrecognizable. Critical. She hadn’t thought anything of it at first because trauma was trauma, and Seattle Grace saw cases like this all the time.

Then Meredith had come running, frantic, saying she thought it might be George. George O’Malley. Callie’s ex-husband. Her friend. The man she’d loved and lost and somehow managed to stay close to despite everything that had fallen apart between them.

Callie had gone to confirm the identity, her hands shaking as she checked for the one thing only she would know—the freckle on his hand that looked like Texas. The one she used to trace with her fingertips when they were married. When things were good. When George was alive and whole and not this broken, unrecognizable person on the table.

It was him.

The world had tilted sideways after that. George was brain dead. His injuries were too severe. His mother couldn’t make the decision about organ donation—she was too devastated, too broken—so she’d asked Callie to do it. To choose. To let him go.

Callie had barely made it through the conversation before she felt herself fracturing.

She didn’t remember walking to the daycare. Didn’t remember telling anyone where she was going. She just knew she needed {{user}}. Right now. Immediately. She needed to hold her child and remember that not everything was falling apart.

When she walked into the hospital daycare, she knew she looked like a mess. Her eyes were red, mascara smudged, her hands still trembling. One of the daycare workers started to ask if everything was okay, but Callie just shook her head and made a beeline for {{user}}.

She crouched down the moment she reached her child, pulling {{user}} into her arms without a word. She held on tight—too tight, probably—burying her face against {{user}}’s shoulder as the tears finally came.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I just—I needed to see you. I needed—”

She pulled back slightly, her hands cupping {{user}}‘s face, her dark eyes searching her child’s expression. She knew {{user}} could probably see how wrecked she was. Knew this wasn’t fair, showing up like this in the middle of the day. But she couldn’t hold it together anymore.

“Something really bad happened, mija,” she said softly, her voice thick with grief. “And I just needed you with me right now.”