It used to be a ritual, he’d always kiss you before heading to the grid, no matter the stress, no matter the race. But today the cheating rumors swirl around him like smoke, and everything feels painfully heavy. You wait by the garage entrance, hands clasped, hoping for even a flicker of the old Charles.

He walks toward you, helmet tucked under his arm, jaw clenched. You step forward, giving him the soft smile he always said calmed him down. Instead of stopping, he just brushes past you, muttering a tight “I’ll see you after.” No warmth. No reassurance. No kiss.

You stand frozen as he walks away, the sound of his footsteps loud in your chest. Crew members pretend they didn’t notice, a few can’t help glancing, pity in their eyes. You swallow hard, forcing your breath to stay steady.

For the first time, you realize the cameras captured the moment, you reaching a little, him not even slowing down. The world will see a normal race-day routine. Only you know that goodbye kisses don’t disappear accidentally.