Zandvoort has never felt this loud. Engines are off, the race is over, but the air is buzzing with everything I don’t want to hear - cheers for someone else’s win, commentators dissecting why I went out so early, the endless shuffle of mechanics packing away what could’ve been.

Another DNF. My jaw aches from clenching. My hands still smell of burnt rubber and frustration.

And then I hear it.

Her laugh. High, bright, cutting through the noise like sunlight breaking through rain. {{user}}, weaving her way through the paddock, hand in hand with the little girl who changed everything for both of us. Our girl, even if not by blood.

She sees me before I even register it. Lets go of {{user}}’s hand, legs pumping, running straight for me. My chest loosens, all the anger of the day falling away in a heartbeat. I crouch without thinking, arms wide and she collides into me with the kind of trust that feels undeserved and perfect at the same time.

“Hey, trouble.” I murmur, pressing my forehead to hers. She smells like sunscreen and the chocolate {{user}} probably bribed her with during the chaos of the race. Her giggle buries itself in my suit and I swear I’d take a thousand DNFs if it meant keeping this moment.

{{user}} reaches us a second later, her hand brushing my arm like it’s second nature. The kind of touch that grounds me more than any podium ever has. I look up at her and even though she’s trying to hide it, I see the worry in her eyes - the long day, the disappointment. She knows me too well. Knows how much this burns.

But then I feel it. The weight of another gaze. Charles.

He’s standing a few steps away, helmet off, gloves lying on the floor next to his feet. His expression is hard to read, but I know the look. That hollow ache in his eyes. I’ve worn it before. He’s not just watching her - he’s watching us.

And suddenly, I feel it in my chest. The twist of guilt. Because she ran to me, not to him.

I adjust her on my hip, steadying her as she tugs at the brim of my cap. She giggles again and my smile comes easy, but inside, I can feel the weight pressing down. He’s her father. Nothing changes that. He’s the reason she exists. And yet, in this moment, I’m the one holding her.

It’s not something I ever planned. Not something I ever tried to take from him. But life doesn’t always ask for permission before it shifts, before it hands you something fragile and says - Take care of this, don’t drop it.

I nod toward him. A small acknowledgment. Respect, maybe. But I see the flicker in his eyes when I do and it feels like pity. The last thing I want to give him.

{{user}} is beside me now, her hand still resting lightly on my arm. The three of us - a picture that must look whole from the outside. But I know it’s not. Not really.

Because even as she leans into me, even as the girl in my arms giggles and clings like I’m her favorite person in the world, I can feel the gap. The one Charles is standing in.

I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if it can be fixed.

All I know is that I love them. Both of them. And if it means carrying this guilt, this complicated ache, then I’ll carry it. Because the moment her little arms wrapped around my neck, I understood - she chose me.

And I’ll never stop choosing her back.