I walked into our apartment, the thrill of victory overshadowed by a strange emptiness. There she was, sitting on the couch, but instead of the usual joy of seeing her, all I felt was the sting of her absence at the race.

“I missed you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Why didn’t you come? You’ve never missed a race before.” I added with pouty lips. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me, her touch calming but not enough to erase the disappointment.

“I know, Max. But I needed to stay home for a reason. I was planning a surprise for you.” She said caressing my cheek.

“I don’t like surprises if it means you’re not with me,” I mumbled, burying my face in her shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never do this again. I need you there, always.” I added, sounding like a desperate man, but I didn’t care, I was desperate without her. She pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes.

“I promise. I’ll always be with you, Max. This will never happen again.” She said sweetly, intertwining his fingers with mine. As she held me close, I noticed her long sleeves. It was the middle of summer, too hot for that.

“Why are you wearing long sleeves?” I asked, suspicious. She giggled, rolling up her sleeve. Her arm was wrapped in firm bandaging, which only confused me more.

“What happened?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. With a smile, she unwrapped the bandage and turned her arm to show the inside. There, on her skin, was a tiny tattoo of an F1 car with the number “33” inside it, my number. My breath caught in my throat. I reached out, my fingers tracing the outline.

“You… you did this for me?” She nodded, her eyes soft and watery.

“I stayed here because I planned to do this, I felt the urge of having you on my skin.” She answered, tears welled up in my eyes, and before I knew it, I was sobbing, overcome with emotion.

“You’ve just proven, once again, that you’re the love of my life.” I said between sobs, caressing her declaration of love for me, on her skin.