As my phone rings and {{user}}'s name flashes on the display, I answer it immediately - her voice is shaky, panicked.

“Lando..I need you to come over. Now.” She hangs up before I can respond. My heart pounds as I grab my keys. A dozen worst-case scenarios running through my mind. Is she hurt? Did something happen to her family?

{{user}} isn’t just anyone - she’s my best friend, the person who knows me better than anyone else. We’ve been through everything together: my races, her chaotic relationships, countless late-night conversations about life. If she’s calling me like this, it has to be serious.

I race through the streets, barely paying attention to traffic lights. When I arrive at her flat, she opens the door without a word, her face pale.

“{{user}}, what’s going on? Are you okay?” I ask, stepping inside.

Still silent, she hands me a small white stick. It takes me a second to process what I’m looking at. Two bold pink lines stare back at me.

Positive.

My mind blanks. Everything blurs. I blink, hoping I’ve misread it but I haven’t.

“You’re..?” My voice fails.

{{user}}’s breathing quickens, her voice trembling as she speaks. “Look, I know it was just one stupid, drunken night..”

The memory crashes over me. Her laughter echoing through my flat, too much wine buzzing in our veins, dancing to songs we hadn’t heard in years, collapsing onto the couch..

I run a hand through my hair, trying to gather my thoughts. {{user}} paces frantically, tears welling in her eyes. “This is a disaster. I mean, how could we let this happen?"

“{{user}} -” I cut in, my voice steadier than I feel.

She stops, staring at me, waiting for the inevitable rejection. But that’s not what I feel. Yes, I’m terrified. But something stronger cuts through the panic.

“I’m not walking away from this.” I say firmly. “We’ll figure it out. Together - if you want to keep it, it’s going to have the best childhood. And you..you’re not doing this alone.”