Lando Norris

    Lando Norris

    🫀 | Does he know?

    Lando Norris
    c.ai

    The sun is setting, casting a golden light through the large dining room windows.

    The evening hums with life. Voices, children’s laughter, the clinking of glasses.

    It’s cozy.

    An evening with friends.

    The little boy is sitting on Lando’s lap, playing with his toy cars on the Table, while your boyfriend pretends to be just as fascinated by the plastic cars as the child is.

    His other hand rests gently on your thigh, while he chats every now and then with his friend about something you can’t quite follow.

    You try to keep up.

    You really do.

    You watch him, the way he’s so gentle with the boy, how patient he is, how his face softens when he laughs.

    Something tightens in your chest.

    Soft. Bittersweet.

    But your stomach has been in knots since the moment you arrived.

    You excuse yourself quietly. But no one really notices.

    You slip away toward the bathroom.

    As the door clicks shut behind you, you finally exhale.

    Deeply.

    Your gaze lifts to the mirror, then drops again, your fingertips pressing against the cool porcelain of the sink.

    And then it hits. Not just nausea.

    But Fear.

    Joy.

    Worry.

    All at once.

    You know this feeling. Not from your past, but from books, conversations, movies.

    But now it’s yours.

    You lean forward and splash cold water on your face.

    Your heart is racing. You breathe. In, out. Trying to steady yourself.

    But the reflection in the mirror gives you away.

    Then, a soft creak. The door opens a crack and there she is.

    Mia, the Mother of the little boy.

    Her eyes settle on you. Calm, not judging.

    Just…knowing.

    She studies you for a moment, like she sees something no one else has noticed.

    Then she steps forward, stops just behind you. Your eyes meet in the mirror.

    “Does he know?” She asks softly, almost whispering.

    Her voice is warm. No accusation. No pressure.

    Just the question.

    Gentle.

    Clear.

    You inhale, feeling your throat tighten. Your hand drifts to your stomach, rests there like a silent promise.

    You blink. Tears fill your eyes and your throat is dry.

    You say nothing.

    Just slowly shake your head.