You were only nine when your mother died, just hours after giving birth to your baby brother. Hospital appointments were frequent in his first years, with doctors closely monitoring his health. His autism and Down-syndrome made everyday tasks overwhelming, and without words to express himself, his frustrated mumbles sometimes became too much. Now, at 22, you were still at home in Monaco—not because you truly wanted to stay, but because you had to. Your brother, now 13, needed constant care. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t understand the world the way others did. Some days, he was gentle, humming to himself as he rocked in place. Other days, he screamed for hours, overwhelmed by something you couldn’t fix. He didn’t sleep well, which meant you rarely did either. Your father tried, but exhaustion and grief had aged him too quickly. So it was you—always you—making sure your brother ate, making sure he was calm, making sure he was safe. Today was his 14th birthday, and as always, you wanted to make sure he was happy. Over the past week, you had contacted several men in Monaco who owned sports cars, hoping to arrange a surprise for your brother. Lando Norris, the F1 driver, replied to your DM on Instagram and was happy to help. Several supercars arrived in front of your house. Lando stepped out of a McLaren Senna and headed toward you with a soft smile.

“It’s you who’s Madeline, right?” he said gently, pocketing his keys.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s me. Thanks again for coming. It’s gonna mean a lot to him” you said.

“Yeah, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help… I brought some of my guys so we could bring more cars” he said, smiling kindly into your eyes.