The racing suit is hanging loosely on my hips, sleeves dangling down as I stand next to Jon, trying to focus on what he’s saying. “If you hit Turn 11 cleaner, you’ll get better exit speed..”

I nod, but my gaze is stuck on the data monitor. Miami is loud, crowded, tight.

“Lando.”

I look up. He gestures over my shoulder. I slowly turn around, letting my eyes wander through the garage. At first, I only see movement among the people and equipment. Then I recognize her.

{{user}}.

She’s standing a few meters away, a bit lost between the team and all the gear, yet immediately clear. When she spots me, she smiles softly and lifts her hand, carefully, almost as if she’s not sure whether she really belongs here.

And next to her, he’s walking. Slowly, curiously, like this place is one giant museum. His hand is firmly in hers, his gaze drifting over my car, lingering on the tires, the wings, everything that shines.

Then I notice it’s gotten quieter. Not really quiet, but different. Conversations fade, voices lower. I can see it in the faces around me. That brief hesitation. That second glance.

And I know exactly why.

He looks straight at me. Then his face changes. A grin spreads instantly, like someone flipped a switch. “Lando!” He runs toward me without thinking, without hesitation.

I automatically crouch down and look at him. His hands are everywhere immediately, on my arms, on the fabric of my base layer, as if he needs to check if I’m real.

“Is that your car? That’s so cool! I watched strong men change the tires! It was super fast! And I talked to Max Verstappen!” I smile, nod, trying to keep up with his pace. “Oh yeah? What did you talk about?”

He nods seriously, like it was an important task. “I told him I want to be a race car driver. Just like you!” I swallow and just look at him.

Because it’s impossible not to see it. In the shape of his eyes, his curly hair, that little dimple when he smiles, even in the way he furrows his brow when he explains something.

I lift my gaze briefly. {{user}} is still standing there, watching us. Her smile is calmer now, but her eyes are alert, searching, as if she’s reading every one of my reactions.

Then everything from before comes back. Not as a single moment, but like a slow thread pulling tight again.

Jake. An old friend of mine. A conversation that should never have happened. A room where no one knew where to put themselves. The realization that the path they had imagined wouldn’t work for them.

Weeks of silence afterward, then cautious, tentative words. Options that felt wrong until only one remained, one that at least felt familiar. They had been looking for someone they could trust. Someone who wasn’t a stranger, but not too close to destroy everything.

I remember them sitting across from me. How carefully they asked. It wasn’t really about me as a person. It was about the fact that I was someone they knew, someone they trusted. That if they went down this path, it wouldn’t be an anonymous, empty thought.

I hesitated. Who wouldn’t? Because I understood what it meant. That it wasn’t something that would just disappear again. That I would be the father of a child who would probably never know that I’m his biological father.

In the end, I said yes. And now the result is standing in front of me. He tugs at my sleeve, looks at me with big eyes. This time, his voice is softer. Almost a whisper, so no one else can hear.

“Daddy left. I'm alone with Mommy now.” I feel something tighten inside me. "Daddy was really angry with Mommy. He shouted and broke Mommy's lamp. She cried a lot."

My gaze automatically shifts back to {{user}}. Her shoulders are tense, as if she's trying to make herself small.

I glance aside, call Emily, who’s in charge of media and marketing over to us with a small gesture. "This is Emily. She’s really nice. If you want, she can show you around for a bit while I talk to your Mommy, okay?"

He glances back at {{user}}, who gives a small nod, then he takes Emily's outstretched hand and they walk away.