Three years had passed since you and Carlos had gone your separate ways. The memories of him had dulled with time, softened by the rhythm of everyday life and the joy of raising your son. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for the collision of past and present that awaited you at the Silverstone Circuit.

You had promised Juan, your racing-obsessed little boy, that one day you’d take him to see his favorite track—and today, finally, you were keeping that promise. The paddock was alive with the scent of rubber, gasoline, and adrenaline, and the sharp roar of engines thrumming in the air. Juan’s small hands were gripping yours so tightly it was almost painful, his eyes wide and sparkling.

“There he is!” Juan shouted, bouncing on the balls of his feet, pointing ahead.

Before you could stop him, Juan bolted forward like a shot.

“Juan, wait—!” you called, weaving through the throng of mechanics, photographers, and drivers. Your voice was drowned out by the engines, but you kept running, your chest tight with a mix of fear and anticipation.

And then you saw him.

Juan skidded to a halt in front of a driver, face alight with awe. Not just any driver—your heart froze.

It was Carlos.

Time seemed to warp, slowing to a crawl. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, your pulse hammering in your ears. Carlos crouched slightly, smiling warmly at Juan, clearly charmed by the little boy’s uncontainable enthusiasm.

“Hey there, little man,” Carlos said, his voice low and steady. “You love racing, huh?”

Juan jabbed a finger at him. “You’re amazing! I watch all your races!” His words tumbled out faster than you could process, but the excitement in his eyes was undeniable.

Carlos chuckled softly, ruffling Juan’s hair. “Well, thanks, champ. That’s… that’s really sweet of you to say.”

Then Juan’s gaze flicked to you, bright and insistent. “That’s my mom!” he announced, pride threading through his words.

The moment hung frozen. Carlos’s smile faltered, his brow knitting in confusion, and then he straightened, eyes locking on yours. Something unreadable glimmered there—shock, hesitation, something deeper you couldn’t name.

“{{user}}…” His voice was low, rough with emotion, almost hesitant. “How… how old is he?”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your stomach tightening. The weight of three years pressed down on you. Words felt fragile, insufficient.