You and your boyfriend, Carlos Sainz, were staying in a sleek hotel overlooking the ocean in Miami, there for the buzzing chaos and intensity of the Miami Grand Prix race weekend. The city pulsed with energy — the sounds of revving engines, the shimmer of heat on pavement, and the excitement that seemed to electrify the very air.

It was Saturday — qualifying day — and what should’ve been a light, energizing lunch between the two of you had spiraled into something it wasn’t supposed to be. A small disagreement. You couldn’t even remember how it started, but emotions had been running high, and neither of you backed down.

The ocean stretched out endlessly before you from the balcony, the breeze played with strands of your hair as you sank into the chair, arms wrapped around your knees.

Then, a quiet sound behind you. The soft slide of the balcony door.

“Corazón…” His voice was low, hesitant, full of that warm accent. “Let’s talk, please. I don’t want to go into qualifying knowing you’re still upset with me.”

You didn’t turn around right away. He took a slow step closer, then another. “I hate fighting with you,” he said softly, more to the air than anything.