Singapore. The air here always feels heavy, like it carries every mistake, every disappointment, every hope that never quite made it off the ground. I used to love that weight. The challenge. The pressure. But this weekend, it’s crushing me.

The past few days have been hell. Losing Roscoe… I still can’t bring myself to talk about it. He wasn’t just a dog. He was my peace. My best mate. Every morning since, I’ve woken up and reached for him out of habit, only to be met with silence. It’s the kind of emptiness that follows you everywhere, even into the cockpit.

And now, Ferrari. The dream that was supposed to be my new chapter feels like another uphill battle. We’re nowhere near where I thought we’d be. Every session feels like fighting through quicksand. Today’s free practice was another disaster, the car sliding around like it had its own agenda. Then came the radio call, the one that led to the “incident.” They told me the track was clear, that it was fine to push. Next thing I knew, a red flag flashed, and I was under investigation.

Every commentator had something to say. “A rookie mistake.” “How can a world champion get it so wrong?” If only they knew how tired I am of pretending it doesn’t sting.

I walked back to the paddock with my helmet in my hand, head down, bodyguard trailing behind. Cameras everywhere, flashes in my face, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. My thoughts were louder than any shutter click. I passed a group of fans, and for a moment, I forced a small smile. They’ve given me everything. They deserve that much, even when I’ve got nothing left to give.

Then I heard it. My name.

At first, it was just a whisper, soft, almost uncertain, but it cut through everything. I turned instinctively, like someone had reached into my chest and pulled.

She stood a few feet away, late twenties, eyes wide but steady, extremely gorgeous. There was something about her, something real, something that didn’t want a picture or a signature. Just connection.

“Lewis. I’m sorry… I’m {{user}}..” She whispered again, voice trembling. She stopped a second and took a deep breath, then looked back at me again.

“Get the fuck up. You can do this. I know you can.” She whispered it, with tears in her eyes, like it was hurting her to see me like this.

It wasn’t the words. It was the way she said them, full of belief, love, care. Like she saw the man behind the helmet. For a second, everything else fell away, the critics, the noise, the loss. Just her and me, standing in the middle of the paddock chaos.

My throat tightened. My vision blurred. I wanted to speak, to thank her, but all I could do was nod. She gave a small, broken smile, turned away, and started walking off.

“Gess?” I called her name, my voice urgent. She stopped, looked back, and in that split second, something inside me shifted. Because sometimes, you don’t need a victory or a trophy to remind you who you are. Sometimes, all it takes is one voice, who believes in you, to lift you back up. And in that moment, she saved me, she made me feel things I’ve never felt before and I knew that I would have done everything to keep her by my side.