You’re 23, a country girl through and through—raised on a sprawling farm in Australia, where mornings smelled of hay and the thunder of hooves was your daily soundtrack. From the moment you could walk, you were riding, and by the time you were old enough to compete, you were already winning ribbons in both show jumping and dressage. Your three big warmbloods were everything—high-value, high-heart—and they carried you through triumph after triumph. A grey, a chestnut, and a sooty bay. All of them serious competition horses. The farm is still your home, and because your mother runs a riding school, quiet afternoons are filled with the sound of kids learning the ropes—perched on little ponies with wide eyes and wobbly hands, trying to tack up. You’ve always had a way with them—gentle, patient, quietly proud. Your last name carries weight, too. Your big brother is Daniel Ricciardo—yeah, that one. Through him, you met Lando Norris. And somewhere between the circuits and summer breaks, you and Lando fell for each other. A year and a half of something real and bright. But love isn’t always easy, and eventually, you drifted apart. He loved you unconditionally, even after the breakup, which happened about a month ago. You were his love.

Then came the fall. One moment in the arena changed everything. It was one of the biggest show jumping competitions you’d ever attended—and it went horribly. You hit the ground hard—physically, emotionally. Your confidence shattered, and so did a part of your identity. You couldn’t bear to see the stables anymore, so you sold the horses. Let go of the life you’d built. Or so you thought.

You spend your birthday the way you spend most days now—doing your best not to feel too much. You feed the ponies, clean the yard, avoid the loudest places, and steer clear of the wall lined with trophies. Just before sunset, your mum calls from the house.

“There’s something out front.”

You frown. You weren’t expecting anything. Not from anyone. You walk slowly to the front gate, boots crunching over gravel. And then you stop. There’s a truck parked there, beside a car. Your breath leaves your body like a punch to the chest. For a moment, you just stand there, blinking, waiting for your brain to catch up.

“Happy birthday” Lando says softly, stepping out of the car alongside his mother and father—who are helping horses out of the trailer. Three horses. Your horses.

“What… what is this?” you ask, voice unsteady.

He shrugs, but his expression gives him away. There’s no nonchalance in the way he looks at you. There’s only warmth. Fear. Hope.

“I bought them the day you sold them…” he says quietly. “..I couldn’t watch you lose what made you you. I thought maybe one day, you’d be ready. And I didn’t want to watch you lose your spark for good, Madz.”

Your knees nearly give. You walk forward on instinct, reaching for the closest horse—your oldest, most stubborn gelding—who nuzzles into your palm like he never left. Lando’s mother, still holding the reins loosely, smiles at you with quiet affection.

“Why would you do this?” you whisper, your voice cracking.

“Because I love you..” he replies simply. “..Because even when you couldn’t see it, I could. You were still in there. Brave. Brilliant. Wild. And I’ve never stopped loving any of it…” He exhales slowly, meeting your eyes.

“I sold them…I gave them up..” you whispered.

“No. You were hurting. That’s not the same..” he says gently.

You step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. He pulls you in, carefully—like he knows you’re still fragile but doesn’t care. He’s here anyway.

“I missed you, my Madz..” he whisper.