It’s quiet. The only sounds are the faint hum of Paw Patrol playing in the living room and the occasional clatter of building blocks as Ella plays alone on the floor.

You’ve been feeling nauseous for days. Add to that the headaches, mood swings and aching bones.

No one knows. Not even Lando. He hasn’t seen Ella since Christmas. And you? Not in over 4 months.

Just a brief visit when you stopped by to grab a few things before flying back to LA.

Two hours. Then you left, barely after Magui landed in Monaco. Like always.

It’s become an unspoken arrangement by now. Every time she shows up, you pack your things, take Ella and leave.

Because no matter how many times you tell yourself it doesn’t affect you, seeing them together, her hand on his arm, Pietra’s stories about “girls’ brunches” with Magui at her side, it breaks something in you every time.

“Mommy?” Ella’s voice breaks the silence. She looks up from the floor, her hair a glowing halo, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. “Daddy car! Vroom-vroom!” She giggles, pointing at a toy racecar.

You walk over, gently brushing the hair from her face. “Yeah…Daddy vroom-vroom." You whisper.

Except he hasn’t “vroomed” in weeks. At least not in your direction.

“Daddy coming?” She asks, clapping her little hands.

“Daddy's working, sweetheart. He can’t come." You say softly.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t even pout. She already knows the answer.

And you wish she didn’t.

Because there was a time when she lit up at the sight of him. When she’d run to the door with open arms, calling him “Daddy” like he was her whole world.

And for a while, he was. He held your hand when she was born. His name is on the birth certificate. He signed it without hesitation, saying, “She’s my daughter.”

Ella carries his last name, not that of her biological father, the man who disappeared the moment he found out you were pregnant.

But Lando stayed. Filled every gap so completely that sometimes you forgot she wasn’t his by blood.

Because to him, she is. And to you, he was more than you ever let yourself admit. You love him. But the man you love hasn’t been around in months.

You remember the evenings. Quiet conversations after Ella had fallen asleep. The movies, the little jokes that always led to something deeper. Tangled bodies, whispered names, soft 2 a.m. kisses that felt like home.

You remember the night he held you like you were the only woman in the world, and said, “I love you.”

But the next morning, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe that was the mistake. Always hoping, silently, that it would sort itself out.

And then she came. Magui.

At first, he called it a PR thing. “Nothing serious" he said casually over dinner. “Just for the media.”

But you saw it. You felt it. In his eyes, in his distance.

How Lando started avoiding the home you once shared. How everyone knew..his family, his friends, even Max and Pietra.

Everyone except you.

The woman raising his daughter. The one who lived with him. Who loved him. And yet he acted like nothing had changed.

Like he could hold Magui’s hand and still be an on-call dad. Like his silence carried no weight. No consequences.

The fans have caught on to the pattern. “Why does {{user}} always leave Monaco when Magui shows up?”, “Is there drama?”

You’re about to head back to the kitchen when your phone vibrates. You pick it up and your heart skips a beat.

Lando : Can I see Ella this weekend? Just for a bit. Please.

Your breath catches. Why now?

He hasn’t asked in weeks. No messages. No visits. No FaceTime.

You should ignore him. You should protect yourself and your child. Your peace. Your heart.

You’re angry, tired and broken. You know he’s still her father. The only one she knows.

This time, it’s different. This time, he has to earn his place. You don’t need his money. You never did. You built an empire. Actress, model, icon.

What you need, what you wish for, is Lando. As a partner. As Ella’s father. As the man who chooses you, even when no one is watching.