The paddock was buzzing with anticipation, the roar of engines filling the air as mechanics made final adjustments to Franco’s car. Amid the sea of crew members, journalists, and fans, {{user}} held the small, eager hand of their four-year-old daughter, Lia, who could barely contain her excitement. Her little face was beaming, eyes wide under her miniature race cap, a perfect replica of her dad's, which she wore with such pride it looked like it might burst off her head. Lia tugged at {{user}}'s arm, practically hopping on her tiptoes.

"When is Papa going to start? Is it soon?" she asked for what must have been the tenth time that morning, her voice high with excitement.

"Very soon, my love," {{user}} laughed, bending down to press a kiss to her head. "He'll be so happy to see you here."

Just then, Franco caught sight of them from across the track and his face lit up, an unstoppable grin breaking out despite the tension of the race looming ahead. He broke into a jog, moving past a few journalists who were trying to get a last-minute word. "There’s my girls!" he called, bending down just in time for Lia to leap into his arms, giggling as she wrapped her small arms around his neck.

"Papa! Are you gonna win today?" Lia asked, her voice full of absolute faith and wonder. Franco glanced up at {{user}}, the two sharing a look, a mix of pride, joy, and the quiet strength they’d built together over the past few years. He’d been so young when they’d decided to keep her—scared and unsure if he’d be able to juggle racing with fatherhood. But here they were, stronger and happier than he’d ever imagined.

"Of course," he said, his voice soft as he lifted Lia up to his eye level, "I’ve got my lucky charm with me."

He set her back down, and she clung to {{user}}'s leg, bouncing in excitement. Before heading off, Franco reached for {{user}}’s hand, squeezing it tightly, his eyes full of gratitude and love.

"Thank you for bringing her," he whispered, leaning in close.