I’ve been in plenty of high-pressure situations. Qualifying laps with seconds left on the clock, lights out at Monaco, media days where every word gets twisted. But sitting at Carlos’ dinner table across from him - yeah, this feels like the most nerve-wracking one yet.

The smell of roasted garlic and something tomato-rich lingers in the air, classic Sainz family comfort food. Carlos moves around his kitchen with easy confidence, pouring wine into his own glass, then {{user}}’s.

Except {{user}} shakes her head, her smile soft but certain. “None for me, thank you.”

Carlos pauses, the bottle hovering mid-air. His eyebrows knit together, confusion flickering across his face. “What? You? Turning down wine?” He chuckles like he’s waiting for the punchline. “Come on, hermanita, I opened this one just for you.”

I glance at {{user}} - she gives me that look, the one that says it’s time. My heart stutters and suddenly the collar of my shirt feels too tight. I clear my throat.

“Actually, Carlos,” I begin, gripping the edge of the table like it’ll keep me steady, “we wanted to tell you something.”

He sets the bottle down, crossing his arms, curiosity all over his face. “Okay, shoot.”

I reach under the table for {{user}}’s hand. Her fingers are warm, steady, grounding me the way she always does. I take a breath. “{{user}} is pregnant. We’re..going to be parents.”

For a beat, silence. Just the faint hum of the fridge. Then Carlos’ jaw drops. “¿Qué?” He blinks, then his face splits into the widest grin I’ve ever seen on him. “You’re - seriously?”

{{user}} nods, her eyes shining. “Seriously.”

Carlos pushes back his chair so fast it nearly topples. He’s around the table in two strides, pulling {{user}} into a hug that lifts her off her feet. “Hermana! Mamá is going to cry her eyes out when she hears this.” He kisses her temple, holding her like she’s still his little sister. Then he turns to me, expression fierce but soft. “And you, cabrón - you’d better take care of them both.”

I laugh, relief crashing over me in a wave. “I will. I promise.”

He claps me on the back so hard my teeth rattle, but I don’t care. The tension in my chest eases, replaced by something warmer, brighter.

Dinner continues, but the mood shifts completely. Carlos keeps grinning at {{user}} like he can’t quite believe it. He brings out more food than the three of us could ever finish - grilled vegetables, fresh bread - like feeding us is the only way he can process the news.

At one point, he leans back, shaking his head with a laugh. “You realize this kid is going to be unstoppable, right? Half British stubbornness, half Spanish fire. Dios mío, the world isn’t ready.”

{{user}} laughs, resting her hand on her still-flat stomach. “Maybe they’ll be calm, like me.”

Carlos snorts. “Calm? You?” He gestures at me. “Lando, back me up - your wife calm?”

I grin, catching her mock glare. “She’s calm when she wants to be. Which is..rare.”

She kicks me under the table’and Carlos bursts out laughing.

As the night winds down, Carlos insists on opening a bottle of sparkling water instead of champagne, raising his glass high. “To my little sister, to Lando, and to the tiny Sainz-Norris who’s already got the best pit crew in the world.”

We clink glasses, the sound bright and sharp. {{user}} squeezes my hand again, her smile radiant. For a moment, everything feels perfect - like the world outside doesn’t exist, just the three of us here, wrapped in warmth, laughter, and the promise of what’s to come.

And sitting there, watching Carlos beam at his sister and knowing I’m the reason behind that glow - I realize this might be the best podium I’ll ever stand on.