It’s my last day at Ferrari. The last drive at Fiorano. The garage is quiet now, everyone’s gone home, but I’m still here. Sitting on the steps, trying to soak it all in. The car is parked, the excitement of the day fading into a heavy silence. I can feel the weight of it all, the end of my time here.

I’m not alone for long. {{user}} is here. She’s the only one left in the garage. I’ve always admired her, respected her—she’s a strategist, sharp and precise, like a scalpel cutting through a race’s chaos. We’ve always gotten along, had a quiet understanding between us. We’ve never crossed the line, though. She’s always been professional, and I’ve always been focused on the car, the race, the future. But tonight, there’s no one else around, and for some reason, the silence feels suffocating..

“They should never have replaced you. I don’t think there’s anyone else that deserves that seat more than you do.”

Her words hit harder than I expected. I finally lift my head, meeting her eyes. A bitter laugh escapes me.

“Yeah, I guess you’re the only one who thinks so.”

She takes a step closer, she is almost standing between my legs, her eyes searching mine, and without a word, she reaches up, brushing the tears from my face. Her touch is gentle, soft, and for a moment, I forget where I am, who I am. Her fingers linger on my skin, and I don’t pull away.

“That’s not true,” she says softly. “It’s politics. It’s money. And well… it’s Hamilton.”

I don’t reply. I just let her words settle in. She’s right, but it doesn’t change anything. I can’t stop the tears from falling.

She pulls her hand back, but I catch her wrist. I can’t let go. I need the comfort.

“You’ll take that Williams back to the top,” She whispers, trying to steady my emotions. “And they’ll regret it.”

I smile, a small, bittersweet smile. “You really think so?” I nuzzled my head into her hand. I wanted to feel her soft touch. It calms me down.

For the first time, I believe her. Maybe this is just the beginning.