Silverstone. My home race. My dream. And today..I actually did it.

I won.

Everything is a blur of noise and emotion. The garage is buzzing - cheering, clapping, people clapping me on the back, Zak’s got that proud grin on his face and someone from the team hands me a bottle of champagne I barely register. My fireproof is clinging to me, soaked in sweat and champagne, the race suit tied around my waist. The trophy in my hands still feels unreal - heavy, sharp-edged, glowing under the harsh lights of the garage.

But even as my team celebrates around me, my eyes keep flicking to my phone.

Still nothing.

I gave her space, I didn’t want to bother her all morning, but I haven’t heard from her all day. Not since that short message in the morning: “Thinking of you. Go win it.”

{{user}} - she’s in Monaco. She had to stay behind. The baby’s due any day now and flying at this stage was out of the question. I tried not to let it mess with my head too much, but God - every second of that race, a part of me was with her. Wondering. Hoping. Praying she’s okay.

And then - finally.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. The screen lights up. FaceTime: {{user}} 🤍

I step back, just outside the circle of noise, my heart thudding harder than it did during the final lap. “Guys, one sec.” I mutter, brushing past one of the engineers. I press accept.

The screen is still dark. Connecting..

And when the image appears, I nearly drop the trophy.

“Babe?” I breathe.

She’s not on the couch in Monaco.

She’s in a hospital bed.

Her hair is messy, her face pale and flushed, but her eyes - those soft eyes - are locked on me, full of something I can’t even describe. And then I see it. The little bundle in her arms. Wrapped in a white blanket, the tiniest hat on her head.

A baby. Our baby.

I freeze. My lips part. I forget how to breathe “Wh - {{user}}..”

She smiles, tired but radiant, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Congratulations, Daddy.”

My knees nearly buckle. My vision goes blurry.

I blink fast, but it’s too late - tears are spilling down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat and champagne. I grip the edge of the table next to me to steady myself.

“You - when - how?” I stammer. My voice cracks on every word.

“Right before the race started.” {{user}} says gently. “My water broke. I didn’t want to tell you..I knew you had to focus. She came just as you crossed the finish line.”

My throat closes. “You’re serious?”

She nods slowly. “You both made it to the finish line at the same time.”

My chest caves in on itself. I’m crying. Fully crying now. I don’t even care who sees. The garage is still celebrating behind me, but it all fades into the background. My entire world is on this screen. {{user}}. And our daughter.

“She’s beautiful.” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “So are you.”

{{user}} tilts the camera slightly so I can see her tiny face better - eyes closed, soft cheeks, a perfect little nose. She yawns in her sleep and I feel like I’m going to collapse from love.

I smile through the tears, my chest so full it aches. “I’m on the next flight. I swear.”

She brushes her fingers against the screen, as if trying to touch me. “We’re waiting for you.”

And I know it then - this win, the trophy, the cheers, the celebration - it means everything.

But this? This is the real victory.