warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
The peace doesn't last.
It never really does.
Not when the internet exists.
By the following week, Lando is everywhere.
Not in her life.
Just on her phone.
Every other video seems to be him climbing onto another yacht somewhere impossibly blue, sunglasses balanced on his nose, surrounded by people she doesn't recognise.
Influencers.
Models.
Content creators.
People filming every second of every day.
Asteria isn't even looking for him.
The algorithm simply decides she should.
One clip.
Then another.
Then another.
"Lando spotted in Ibiza."
"Lando enjoying the off-week."
"Summer with friends."
Comments fly past faster than she can read them.
He's finally living his best life.
He deserves to have fun tbh.
Party boy lando is so back đ
He's healed.
She scrolls.
Scrolls.
Scrolls.
Until she stops on a video someone stitched together.
Old photos.
New photos.
Comparisons.
How much he'd changed over the last year.
The smile looks different now.
Less...
Grounded.
She can't explain why she thinks that.
Maybe she's imagining it.
Maybe she just knew him too well once.
Then another video appears.
Not about him.
About the girl.
His ex.
The comments are almost worse.
People picking apart everything.
Who left who.
Who moved on first.
Who deserved better.
Asteria watches for maybe twenty seconds before locking her phone.
She remembers what that feels like.
Strangers deciding your relationship for you.
Inventing conversations they'd never had.
Creating villains because real life is apparently too boring.
She sighs.
Then, almost without thinking...
She opens instagram again.
Finds the girl's account.
Hits follow.
That's all.
No message.
No comment.
Nothing weird.
Just...
A quiet moment of sympathy from someone who understood exactly what public heartbreak looked like.
She forgets about it almost immediately.
The internet doesn't.
"Have you looked at Instagram today?"
Aster asks from across the breakfast table.
Asteria doesn't even glance up from buttering toast.
"No."
"You should."
"I don't want to."
"You really should."
Auria looks up from her coffee.
"What happened?"
Aster slides her phone across the table.
"So..."
Asteria looks.
Immediately regrets it.
One of those Formula One gossip pages.
Millions of followers.
A screenshot.
Nothing more.
Her profile.
The other girl's profile.
A single red circle around the word Following.
The caption reads:
Fans have noticed Lando's baby mama now follows his ex on Instagram... thoughts? đ
"Oh, for God's sake."
Asteria drops her head into one hand.
The comments are already unbearable.
Girlhood.
Maybe they should start a support group lmfao.
That's embarrassing.
Noo wait that's actually kind of sweet.
Imagine your baby mama and your ex becoming mutuals đ
She locks the screen.
Slides the phone back.
"I hate the internet."
Aster laughs.
"I thought it was funny."
"It isn't."
"It kind of is."
"It really isn't."
Across the table, Auria is trying, and failing, not to smile.
"You accidentally started gossip."
"I followed a girl."
"Mhm."
"I felt bad for her."
"I know."
"That's literally it."
"I know."
Aster reaches for another piece of toast.
"You've got people making conspiracy theories already."
"I don't care."
"You absolutely do."
"I don't."
"You looked offended."
"I was offended."
"There we go."
Asteria groans dramatically.
"I miss when nobody knew who I was."
"You dated one of the most famous racing drivers in the world."
"I know."
"And had his child."
"I know."
"And now you're pregnant again."
Asteria points a knife at her.
"Careful."
Aster raises both hands.
"I'm just saying."
Auria finally gives in and laughs.
"To be fair..."
She grins over the rim of her mug.
"...that is objectively funny."
"It isn't funny."
"It'll be funny in five years."
"I doubt it."
"You'll laugh eventually."
Asteria shakes her head.
"No."
"...Probably."
The strangest part is...
She doesn't actually miss him as much anymore.
Not in the desperate, aching way she had a month ago.
Home has done something to her.
The children are always around.
Gianna barely asks about him now.
She's too busy chasing cousins through fields.
Too busy convincing her grandfather every horse secretly belongs to her.
Too busy existing in a world that doesn't revolve around airports and race weekends.
And because Gianna isn't asking...
Asteria isn't answering.
His name comes up less.
His absence feels...
Quieter.
Not smaller.
Just...
Less constant.
Sometimes she catches herself going an entire afternoon without thinking about him.
Then she remembers she's carrying his baby.
And the silence comes rushing back all over again.
The call comes on a Thursday.
Ordinary enough that Asteria almost doesn't remember the date afterwards.
The whole family is at the main house again.
Not for any particular reason.
They rarely need one.
Dinner somehow grows from six people into fifteen every time someone says, "Just stay for a bit."
Children weave between chairs.
Atlas and her father are halfway through a discussion about two new horses arriving the following week, disagreeing over bloodlines like it's a matter of national importance.
Asteria only half listens.
She likes hearing them talk.
It reminds her that not every conversation has to change someone's life.
"...I'm telling you," her father says, cutting into another piece of roast. "The mare has an exceptional temperament."
Atlas shakes his head.
"The stallion throws better foals."
"They're not breeding stock."
"They could be."
"They're certainly not if you keep buying geldings."
Asteria smiles into her plate.
"You two have had this exact conversation six times."
"Because he's wrong," her father replies.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Before Atlas can defend himself againâ
Her phone buzzes.
Face down beside her plate.
She glances at the screen automatically.
Then freezes.
Lando.
Video calling.
For a second she simply stares.
Like seeing his name somehow feels stranger than it should after weeks of silence.
Auria notices immediately.
Her eyebrows lift.
Asteria doesn't move.
The phone continues vibrating against the table.
Then it stops.
She lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.
Atlas looks between the sisters.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah."
Too quickly.
"Just spam."
Auria looks at her.
Says nothing.
The conversation around the table picks back up almost immediately.
Her father is already talking about fencing costs again.
Asteria flips her phone over.
Screen black.
Gone.
She tells herself she'll deal with it later.
Then it lights up again.
This time...
A voice call.
The vibration seems louder now.
Louder than the conversation.
Louder than the clinking cutlery.
Louder than her own heartbeat.
Auria glances down.
Their eyes meet.
"GO", Auria mouths.
Asteria stands almost immediately.
"Sorry," she says quietly.
"I'll be back."
Nobody questions it.
She slips out through the kitchen, past the pantry, and onto the back porch before answering.
The cool evening air hits her instantly.
She presses the phone to her ear.
"...Hello?"
There's half a second of silence.
Thenâ
"Finally."
His voice.
Exactly the same.
Like no time has passed at all.
"I've been trying to get hold of you."
Asteria leans against one of the porch posts.
"I know."
"You declined the video call."
"I was eating dinner."
"Oh."
A pause.
Then, immediatelyâ
"Where's Gigi?"
No hello.
No how are you.
No I've missed you.
Just...
Where's Gigi?
Asteria can't help smiling to herself at the irony of it all.
"She's outside somewhere."
"Outside?"
"With her cousins."
He goes quiet for a second.
"The ones on the farm?"
"Mhm."
"I can hear children."
"About nine of them."
He laughs softly.
"Sounds chaotic."
"It usually is."
"Can I talk to her?"
Asteria looks out across the fields.
From where she's standing she can just make out a group of children racing across the grass toward the stables, their laughter carrying through the evening air.
Gianna is somewhere in the middle of them.
Tiny.
Happy.
Completely impossible to catch.
"Honestly..." Asteria says with a small laugh, "she probably wouldn't even answer to me right now."
Lando chuckles.
"That bad?"
"She's forgotten I exist."
"I doubt that."
"She's got cousins now."
"Ouch."
"They've replaced both of us."
"I don't believe that for a second."
Asteria smiles.
"I'll call you back before she goes to bed."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Alright."
A small silence settles between them.
Neither hangs up.
Neither seems particularly eager to.
Finally, Lando clears his throat.
"So..."
Asteria waits.
"...How've you been?"
The question lands strangely.
Almost awkward.
Like they're strangers trying to remember how conversations work.
She watches the sun sink lower over the fields.
"I've been alright."
"You sound alright."
"I am."
Another pause.
"And you?"
He laughs quietly.
"I'm surviving."
She almost asks what that means.
Instead she says,
"I've seen."
Silence.
Longer this time.
Then...
"Oh."
He knows exactly what she means.
The yachts.
The parties.
The endless photos.
"I can explain."
Asteria closes her eyes for the briefest moment.
"I didn't ask you to."
Another silence.
This one heavier than the last.
Neither of them realises yet...
That this conversation is about to become something neither of them expected.
I just found your blog and love love love the series. Wanted to ask if we will get any lando content soon? Where he cones into the picture a bit more?
thank you so so much 𫶠this genuinely made my day. and yes, i promise lando isn't disappearing. I just needed the story to slow down a bit before bringing lando back into the picture. Chapter 14 was going to be way longer but I decided to save the rest for chapter 15 so keep an eye out!!
summary: back home, old feelings linger, new hopes blur the lines, and reality is never far behind.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship.
The countryside has a way of pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist.
It doesn't erase it.
It just muffles it.
The roar of engines becomes distant birdsong. Flashing cameras are replaced by the rhythmic clatter of horses being walked back to their stables. Headlines stop mattering quite so much when there are muddy boots left by the front door and someone's child inevitably crying because a pony refused to be brushed.
Two weeks pass almost without Asteria noticing.
Not because life has become easier.
Because it has become fuller.
Every morning begins the same way.
Gianna is awake before everyone else, somehow convinced the horses have been waiting all night just for her.
"Mummy," she whispers one morning, climbing onto the bed with the subtlety of a stampede, "Apollo's probably lonely."
Asteria groans into her pillow.
"Apollo has twenty-seven other horses to annoy."
"But not me."
"No," Asteria mumbles. "Lucky him."
Gianna giggles, already pulling at the duvet.
"Come on."
"No."
"Pleeeease."
Five minutes later, Asteria is outside in an oversized hoodie and leggings, her hair thrown into the kind of bun that only exists because she gave up halfway through.
The air is cool enough to sting her cheeks.
The fields are still damp from the night's rain.
Beyond the white fencing, the horses lift their heads one by one as Gianna comes running, carrots clutched triumphantly in both hands.
The estate feels alive long before the rest of the house does.
Stable hands exchange greetings.
Her father is already halfway across one of the paddocks discussing feed deliveries with someone.
Atlas disappears somewhere with fencing plans tucked beneath his arm.
Allistair is arguing with Aster over something entirely insignificant before breakfast has even been served.
Normal.
Wonderfully normal.
Asteria hadn't realised how desperately she'd needed normal until she'd come back here.
The nausea still visits every morning.
Reliable as sunrise.
She disappears into the downstairs bathroom while Gianna is distracted outside, splashes cold water across her face afterwards and pretends nothing happened.
By the time she joins everyone at breakfast, she's smiling again.
No one comments anymore.
Not after the announcement.
Now, if Auria catches her looking pale, a glass of water simply appears beside her without a word.
If her mother notices she's pushing food around her plate instead of eating it, she quietly swaps it for dry toast.
Nobody makes a fuss.
They simply... adjust.
The baby has settled into the rhythm of the household before it's even visible.
Carlos calls on a Wednesday.
She isn't expecting it.
His name appears across her screen while she's sitting on one of the paddock fences watching Gianna attempt to convince a stubborn pony that daisies are an acceptable substitute for carrots.
She answers on the fourth ring.
"Hi."
"Hi."
His voice still carries that familiar warmth.
Not overwhelming.
Not demanding.
Just... there.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me."
She smiles despite herself.
"I've been slightly occupied."
"I noticed."
A pause.
"I heard you escaped London."
"I did."
"And?"
Asteria looks out across the fields.
Gianna's laugh carries easily on the breeze.
"I don't think I realised how much I missed this place."
Carlos hums softly.
"I figured."
Another comfortable silence settles between them.
He never seems desperate to fill them.
It's one of the things she likes most about him.
"You sound happier," he says eventually.
The words catch her slightly off guard.
Not because they're untrue.
Because someone noticed.
"I think I am."
"I'm glad."
Simple.
No hidden meaning.
No expectation attached to it.
Just genuine happiness that she's doing better.
It feels... easy.
Dangerously easy.
"So," Carlos says after a moment, "I'm in England next week."
She blinks.
"You are?"
"Sponsor meetings."
"Convenient."
"I thought so too."
She laughs quietly.
"You planned that."
"I absolutely planned that."
His honesty makes her laugh a little harder.
"I was wondering..." he continues carefully, "...whether you and Gianna might like to have lunch."
There it is.
Not pressure.
Just hope.
Asteria leans back slightly against the fence.
She could say no.
It would probably be kinder.
Cleaner.
Instead-
"Lunch sounds nice."
Carlos is quiet for just long enough that she knows she surprised him.
"Really?"
"It's only lunch."
"I know."
"But don't make it into more than that."
His answer comes immediately.
"I won't."
She believes him.
Because Carlos has never once tried to force her into something she wasn't ready for.
Never pushed.
Never guilted.
Never asked for promises she couldn't give.
Sometimes she wonders whether that's exactly why she can't seem to fall in love with him.
He makes loving him look so uncomplicated.
And Asteria has forgotten what uncomplicated feels like.
When she hangs up, Auria appears beside her with impeccable timing.
"That smile," her older sister says.
Asteria startles.
"I wasn't smiling."
"You absolutely were."
"I absolutely wasn't."
Auria folds her arms.
"Carlos?"
Asteria sighs dramatically.
"How do you people always know everything?"
"You've lived here for six weeks."
"Five."
"Same difference."
Asteria rolls her eyes.
"He called."
"And?"
"He's here next week."
"Oh?"
"He asked if Gianna and I wanted lunch."
Auria waits.
"So?"
"I said yes."
A grin spreads slowly across her sister's face.
"Oh, this is excellent."
"It is literally lunch."
"Mhm."
"It is."
"I'm agreeing with you."
"You don't sound like you're agreeing."
"I don't believe you."
Asteria laughs, shaking her head.
"It's just lunch."
"You know," Auria says thoughtfully, "there's something deeply fascinating about the fact that the emotionally available man has to book appointments while the emotionally unavailable one lives rent-free in your head."
"Auria."
"I'm just observing."
"You are absolutely not."
She bumps her shoulder lightly against Asteria's.
"You deserve someone who chooses you on purpose."
The smile fades slightly.
"I know."
"Do you?"
Asteria doesn't answer.
Because that's the problem.
She does know.
She just isn't convinced she'll ever stop wanting the one person who never seemed capable of doing it consistently.
Across the field, Gianna lets out an excited squeal as the pony finally accepts the daisy.
She spins around triumphantly.
"Mummy!"
Asteria waves.
"I saw!"
Gianna beams like she's conquered the world.
Asteria smiles back instinctively.
Whatever complicated feelings exist beyond these fences...
They can wait.
For now, there are horses to feed.
A little girl to chase through muddy fields.
And a family that somehow keeps making room for every broken piece she brings home.
The days settle into a rhythm Asteria hadn't realised she'd been craving.
Morning sickness still greets her before sunrise more often than she'd like, but it doesn't linger anymore. By breakfast she's usually outside, wrapped in one of her father's old jackets, watching Gianna disappear across the paddocks with whichever cousins happened to sleep over the night before.
The estate never seems empty.
Someone is always arriving.
Someone is always leaving.
Cars crunch over the gravel drive from dawn until dinner.
Children move between houses as if every front door belongs to them.
It feels less like separate homes and more like one enormous family that simply refuses to spread out.
Asteria fits back into it surprisingly easily.
Almost dangerously easily.
Because the more comfortable she becomes here, the less she thinks about going back to London at all.
Carlos notices.
He starts calling more often.
Not constantly.
Just enough that she notices the pattern.
A photo of a ridiculous breakfast with the caption:
You'd hate this coffee.
A picture of a dog he'd passed in the paddock.
A video of rain flooding the circuit.
Nothing romantic.
Nothing pushy.
Just...
Present.
Sometimes she'd reply hours later.
Sometimes the next morning.
Sometimes not at all.
Carlos never complained.
One afternoon while Gianna is asleep on the sofa after insisting she wasn't tired, Asteria answers one of his FaceTimes from the kitchen.
His grin appears instantly.
"There she is."
She laughs softly.
"You make it sound like I've been missing."
"You have."
"I replied yesterday."
"Exactly. Twenty-three hours late."
She rolls her eyes.
"I have a child."
"You've been reminding me of that for four years."
"And yet you keep acting surprised."
Carlos smiles to himself.
"I miss talking to you."
The honesty catches her slightly off guard.
She busies herself slicing strawberries instead of looking directly at the screen.
"We are talking."
"You know what I mean."
She does.
Which is exactly why she pretends she doesn't.
"You've been hiding in the English countryside."
"I've been living with my parents."
"Same thing."
A small silence settles between them.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Carlos breaks it first.
"When are you coming back?"
Asteria shrugs.
"I don't know."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm not."
"You like it there."
"I forgot what home felt like."
He nods slowly.
"I can tell."
Another pause.
Then-
"When you're ready..."
He hesitates.
"...I'd still like to take you to dinner."
There it is.
Not pressure.
Just hope.
Asteria smiles sadly.
"Carlos..."
"I know."
He lifts both hands dramatically.
"No speeches. No guilt."
"I can't."
"I know."
"I don't even know who I am right now."
"I know that too."
She hates how understanding he is.
Because understanding somehow feels worse than disappointment.
Carlos smiles anyway.
"When you do figure it out..."
He points at the camera.
"...call me first."
She laughs.
"I'll consider it."
"Liar."
"Probably."
He laughs too.
They hang up a minute later.
Asteria places her phone face down on the counter and stares out the kitchen window.
She did give him something.
Not intentionally.
Just enough kindness to keep the possibility alive.
Not enough to be fair.
"You know you're leading him on."
Auria doesn't even look up from the carrots she's peeling.
Asteria nearly drops the bowl she was carrying.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
Auria hums.
"You're just doing it accidentally."
"I told him I couldn't."
"You also smiled."
Asteria blinks.
"...What?"
"You smiled."
"People are allowed to smile."
"Not like that."
"I smiled normally."
Auria finally looks at her.
"No."
She grins.
"You smiled politely."
Asteria narrows her eyes.
"There are different smiles?"
"There absolutely are."
"You're making that up."
"I've known you your entire life."
Auria points the vegetable peeler at her like she's presenting evidence in court.
"You have a customer service smile."
"I do not."
"You have a Gianna smile."
Asteria sighs dramatically.
"Oh my God."
"You have a family smile."
"Auria."
"And then..."
She wiggles the peeler.
"...you have the smile."
"What smile?"
"The one men become stupid over."
Asteria throws a tea towel at her.
"Oh, shut up."
Auria catches it effortlessly.
"I'm serious!"
"I was being nice."
"You were."
Auria nods.
"Which is why he'll probably wait another six months."
Asteria groans.
"I don't want him waiting."
"Then stop accidentally giving him hope."
"I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
Asteria opens her mouth.
Then closes it again.
Because...
Maybe she had.
Not intentionally.
But enough.
Enough that Carlos hadn't given up.
Enough that part of him still believed there might be a future where she eventually looked at him the way he looked at her.
She hated that.
Because she couldn't honestly say there wasn't a tiny part of her wondering...
What if?
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
But one day.
And somehow that made her feel guilty.
Not because of Carlos.
Because of Lando.
Even now.
Still.
After everything.
Even carrying another man's baby somehow felt less complicated than trying to imagine loving somebody else.
Which was completely ridiculous.
She knew it.
Auria knew it too.
She just didn't say anything.
Not yet.
The problem with being home is that nobody lets you disappear for very long.
Someone always finds you.
Usually Gianna.
Sometimes one of her nieces or nephews asking for help catching chickens that absolutely did not need catching.
Occasionally Atlas, pretending he isn't checking whether she's eaten lunch.
Most often...
Auria.
It happens almost every night now.
Once the children are asleepâor at least containedâand the rest of the house has settled into its familiar creaks and quiet conversations, Asteria inevitably ends up outside with her sister.
Sometimes on the back steps.
Sometimes in the stable aisle.
Sometimes wrapped in blankets on the patio while the horses shift lazily in distant paddocks.
Tonight it's the patio.
The air is cool enough that Asteria has stolen one of her father's oversized hoodies.
Auria notices immediately.
"You've officially become one of those pregnant women."
Asteria looks down at herself.
"...I'm wearing a hoodie."
"It's Dad's hoodie."
"So?"
"You used to care about fashion."
"I work in fashion."
"Exactly."
Asteria snorts.
"I also throw up before breakfast now. Priorities change."
Auria laughs into her mug.
"Fair enough."
For a while they just sit.
Watching moths circle the porch light.
Listening to horses huff softly somewhere beyond the fencing.
It feels...
Peaceful.
Dangerously peaceful.
Asteria breaks the silence first.
"I think I've figured it out."
Auria doesn't even ask what.
She simply waits.
"I'm going to marry him."
Auria slowly turns her head.
"...Who?"
"Lando."
A beat.
"I'm sorry?"
Asteria nods confidently.
"Yeah."
Auria blinks once.
Twice.
"...Go on."
"So..."
Asteria shifts further into the blanket.
"He'll eventually realise I'm obviously the love of his life."
"Oh, naturally."
"We'll move somewhere with loads of land."
"Of course."
"White house."
"Mhm."
"Wrap-around porch."
"Classic."
"Big kitchen."
"Obviously."
"Two horses."
"You already have access to about thirty."
"Those are Dad's."
"Right."
"So ours will be emotionally significant."
Auria bites the inside of her cheek.
"Emotionally significant horses."
"Exactly."
"And then..."
Asteria continues, completely straight-faced.
"...he'll propose."
"Oh?"
"Very private."
"No photographers?"
"No."
"No Instagram?"
"Absolutely not."
"Interesting."
"Probably somewhere sentimental."
Auria nods thoughtfully.
"The stable?"
Asteria gasps.
"The stable."
"Perfect."
"He'll cry."
"Lando?"
"Mhm."
"The man who barely cries when he breaks bones?"
"Exactly."
Auria presses her lips together.
"He'll write vows."
"Oh, definitely."
"They'll be beautiful."
"They'll be awful."
"They'll be beautiful."
"They'll start with 'I don't really do speechesâ'"
Asteria immediately laughs.
"Stop."
"'âbutâ'"
"No."
"'âI suppose I've always loved you.'"
Asteria is laughing properly now.
"And then," she continues between giggles, "we'll have loads of babies."
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"...Maybe four."
Auria stares at her.
"Four?"
Asteria nods confidently.
Auria snorts.
"You already have two. Four more?"
Asteria gasps dramatically.
"I meant four altogether!"
"Good," Auria laughs. "Because for a second I thought you were planning on starting your own football team."
"Six isn't a football team."
"No, but it's enough to bankrupt Lando."
Asteria grins.
"He can afford it."
"Financially?" Auria says. "Probably."
She points at her sister.
"Emotionally? Absolutely not."
Silence.
A gentle one.
Then Auria reaches over and flicks her forehead.
"Ow!"
"Oh, good."
"What was that for?"
"I was checking whether anyone was home."
Asteria rubs her forehead dramatically.
"You're rude."
"No."
Auria grins.
"I'm bringing you back to Earth."
Asteria laughs quietly.
"I know."
"You've built an entire fictional marriage."
"I know."
"With matching horses."
"I know."
"And a proposal."
"I know."
Auria nudges her shoulder.
"You do realise none of that exists?"
The laughter softens.
Asteria stares out across the fields.
"...Yeah."
"And he hasn't spoken to you properly in weeks."
"I know."
"You're carrying his baby."
"I know."
"He doesn't even know."
"I know."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then Asteria sighs.
"I just..."
Her voice is smaller now.
"...sometimes it's easier to imagine the version of him that exists in my head."
Auria doesn't joke anymore.
"Than the real one?"
Asteria nods.
"The real one leaves."
Auria reaches across, lacing their fingers together.
"You've always done that."
"What?"
"Fall in love with people's potential."
Asteria smiles sadly.
"I think I fell in love with both."
"Maybe."
"But one of them only exists because you keep filling in the blanks."
That hurts.
Mostly because it's true.
Asteria leans her head against her sister's shoulder.
"You know what the worst part is?"
"What?"
"I still think he'd make a really good dad."
Auria doesn't answer immediately.
Finally she says quietly,
"I think he already is."
Asteria looks at her.
"He loves Gianna."
"More than anything."
"He just..."
"Doesn't know how to stay still," Auria finishes for her.
"Yeah."
Neither of them speaks for a while after that.
Eventually Auria bumps her shoulder.
"For the record..."
"Hm?"
"If he ever proposes in a stable..."
"...Yeah?"
"I'm saying no on your behalf."
Asteria bursts into laughter.
"You don't get a vote."
"I absolutely do."
"You absolutely don't."
"I'll object."
"At my wedding?"
"Very loudly."
They both dissolve into laughter again, loud enough that a porch light flicks on inside the house.
Aster's voice calls through the open kitchen window.
"Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep!"
Auria calls back immediately.
"You're twenty-two! Buy earplugs!"
"I'm twenty-one!"
"Same thing!"
Asteria is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes.
summary: Back in the place she calls home, Asteria has carefully begun building her calm.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
England has a way of making time feel softer.
Asteria has been at her parentsâ place for a month now, and somewhere between unpacking boxes she never fully opened and watching Gianna run barefoot through wet grass, she stopped feeling like she was just visiting.
The apartment in London is already listed.
She decided that quietly, one evening after a wave of nausea left her curled on the bathroom floor, staring at tiles sheâd memorised too well. By the time she reaches her third trimester, she wonât need it anymore. Not with maternity leave coming up. Not with everything shifting.
It felt strange at firstâletting go of a space that had held her life together when nothing else did.
But it also felt right.
Like closing a door sheâd been leaning against for too long.
Work is next.
Vogue still emails her.
Still expects replies.
Still sends deadlines like she hasnât been slowly slipping out of that version of herself for months.
Sheâs been thinking about it more latelyâtoo much, probably.
About leaving.
About going somewhere else entirely.
A PR role has been mentioned more than once in passing conversations. Structured. Predictable. Less chaos than fashion deadlines and flight schedules and editors who think urgency is a personality trait.
Something quieter.
Something stable.
Something she might actually survive right now.
She hasnât decided yet.
But the thought is there now.
And it wonât leave.
The pregnancy still doesnât show.
Itâs almost insulting, the way her body refuses to announce whatâs happening inside it. No bump. No obvious changes. Just morning sickness that arrives like clockwork and disappears the second she thinks she might be fine.
No cravings either.
Just exhaustion that clings to her bones and lingers longer than it should.
Sheâs already started buying things.
Unisex baby clothes folded neatly in drawers she didnât have before. Tiny white vests stacked like sheâs preparing for a version of life she hasnât fully accepted out loud yet.
Gianna helps.
Or thinks she helps.
She insists everything should be âsoft and small and not itchy,â which apparently rules out half of what stores sell.
Itâs easier like this.
If she doesnât say it too loudly, it doesnât feel real enough to break her.
Lando has been unreachable for two weeks.
No calls.
No replies.
No check-ins that come in at random hours like heâs trying to pretend consistency isnât impossible for him.
Before that, he was still there in fragments.
Asking about Gianna.
Sending voice notes when he had time between races.
Short updates that never said enough but somehow still felt like something.
Then it stopped.
Not dramatically.
Just⌠gone.
She hasnât told him.
About the pregnancy.
Not yet.
She keeps telling herself thereâs a reason.
That heâll find out when he comes back.
When he visits.
When life aligns itself enough to make space for a conversation neither of them will know how to survive.
Gianna, however, has opinions.
Too many.
And she expresses them loudly.
All week sheâs been asking the same question in different forms.
âWhen is Daddy coming?â
âCan we go see him?â
âWhy is he not answering?â
It builds.
Until Asteria finally gives in.
Not because sheâs ready.
Because sheâs tired.
She stays.
But she starts thinking about him more than she wants to admit.
The next race is Miami.
She knows itâs coming.
Sees it everywhere without trying.
Schedules. Headlines. Clips from paddock interviews she scrolls past too quickly to absorb anything real.
She doesnât plan on watching it.
Being home has softened something in her.
Not fixed it.
Just⌠softened it.
The house is never empty.
There are always cousins running through hallways, someone cooking in the kitchen, shoes left by the door that donât belong to her.
Her siblings drift in and out constantly now that everyone lives close again.
Auriaâs children fall asleep on sofas like itâs normal.
Gianna has stopped asking permission to exist loudly.
It feels like belonging.
Real belonging.
Not borrowed space.
Not temporary rooms in hotels.
Just⌠home.
And for the first time in a long time, she starts to believe she might actually stay here.
She just has to tell them first.
Her parents.
Her brothers.
All of them.
Because nothing stays quiet in this house for long.
And thisâthis canât stay quiet forever.
The problem with telling her family is not that they wonât understand.
Itâs that they will.
Too quickly.
Too loudly.
Too completely.
Asteria stands in the kitchen the next morning longer than she needs to, pretending to look for something she doesnât actually want. The kettle is already boiling. Someone has already made coffee. The house is already awake in the way big houses like this always areâdoors opening, footsteps upstairs, distant laughter from somewhere near the stables.
Gianna is outside with her cousins again.
Mud. Horses. Chaos.
Normal life, in motion.
Asteria grips the edge of the counter and exhales slowly through her nose.
She still hasnât said anything.
Not to her mother.
Not to her father.
Not to Auria again after that first conversation where she almost admitted too much and stopped herself just in time.
The truth sits in her like something heavy and alive.
And it keeps moving.
Upstairs, a door opens.
Heavy footsteps.
Her brother first.
Of course.
Atlas always moves like he owns the ground he walks on. Calm, deliberate, too observant for his own good. He enters the kitchen mid-sentence, talking about something to do with fencing repairs, then stops the second he sees her.
âYou look like you havenât slept,â he says immediately.
âI have,â she replies.
âThatâs a lie.â
She sighs. âItâs not.â
He doesnât argue. Just watches her for a second too long, like heâs trying to figure out what version of her heâs looking at.
Then, softer
âEverything alright?â
Asteria almost says yes.
Almost.
But the word gets stuck behind her teeth.
Because nothing about her life feels simple enough to be âalrightâ anymore.
Before she can answer, thereâs more noise.
Auria is downstairs now, calling for someone to move a bag.
Someone else laughing.
Giannaâs voice outside, high and excited.
The house fills itself up around her like it always does.
And suddenly, Asteria canât breathe around the silence sheâs been holding inside herself.
Atlas notices the shift immediately.
âYouâre doing that thing again,â he says.
âWhat thing?â
âThat one where you decide youâre going to deal with everything alone and then act surprised when it stops working.â
She lets out a short, humourless breath.
âIâm notââ
âDonât,â he interrupts gently. Not harsh. Just certain. âDonât lie to me.â
That shuts her up because Atlas has always been the worst kind of perceptive. The kind that doesnât miss things even when you want him to.
She looks down at the counter.
Her fingers flex against the edge of it.
âI need to tell you something,â she says finally.
Instant stillness.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
Atlas leans slightly against the counter opposite her.
âGo on.â
Asteria opens her mouth.
Then closes it again.
Once.
Twice.
Itâs ridiculous how hard it is to say something so simple.
One sentence.
Thatâs all it would take but it changes everything.
Behind them, the house continues like nothing is about to break.
A kettle clicks off.
A door shuts.
Someone laughs.
Life, refusing to pause.
Atlas watches her carefully now.
âRia,â he says quietly. âWhat is it?â
She exhales.
Long.
Slow.
And finallyâ
âIâm pregnant.â
The words land differently than she expected.
Not explosive.
Not dramatic.
Just⌠quiet.
Too quiet.
Like the world didnât quite register it yet.
Atlas doesnât speak immediately.
And that silence is worse than anything else.
Asteria keeps her eyes down, bracing herself for whatever comes next.
Shock.
Questions.
Anger.
Disappointment.
Anything.
Instead, Atlas just asks, very calmly:
ââŚWho?â
She closes her eyes.
Of course thatâs the first question.
Of course it is.
When she opens them again, she says it anyway.
âLando.â
The reaction is instantâbut not loud.
Just a shift.
A tightening in his jaw.
A slow inhale through his nose.
Not anger yet.
Calculation.
Processing.
âYouâre sure?â he asks.
âYes.â
Another pause.
Then Atlas pushes himself off the counter.
Not aggressive.
Just decisive.
âIâm going to need coffee for this conversation,â he mutters.
Despite everything, Asteria lets out a small, broken laugh.
âThatâs your response?â
He looks at her then.
Really looks.
âYouâre my sister,â he says simply. âIâll deal with the rest after I have my coffee.â
It almost makes her cry.
Almost.
But she holds it in.
Because thereâs still more people to tell.
And Atlas, for all his bluntness, is only the beginning.
That evening, the house gathers without meaning to.
It always does.
Dinner happens at the long table like it used to when they were younger. Too many chairs. Too much noise. Someone arguing over food. Someone else stealing bread. Gianna sitting on someoneâs lap, talking too loudly about horses like she owns them.
Asteria sits at the edge of it all.
Watching.
Listening.
Trying to find the right moment that doesnât feel like tearing something open.
But there isnât one.
There never is.
Eventually, she sets her fork down.
The sound is small.
But it cuts through enough.
Conversation slows.
Not stopping.
Just⌠shifts.
Asteria looks up.
Everyone is still.
Watching her now.
She swallows.
Then says it again.
Clean.
Simple.
Unavoidable.
âIâm pregnant.â
Silence hits the table immediately.
Not confusion this time.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Auria closes her eyes briefly.
Atlas stops moving entirely.
Someone down the table whispers, âOh my God.â
And then her father speaks.
Not loudly.
Not immediately.
But when he does, it lands heavier than everything else in the room.
âSo itâs him again.â
Asteria stiffens.
He doesnât look angry at first.
Just tired.
Disappointed in a way that feels older than the conversation.
âI thought we were done with this,â he says, setting his fork down with controlled precision. âI really did. I thought after everything and after how much that boy already dragged you through, that heâd learn to stay away from you properly.â
Asteriaâs chest tightens.
âDadââ
âNo,â he cuts in, shaking his head once. âLet me finish.â
The table is silent now.
Completely.
Even the air feels like itâs holding still.
âYouâre twenty-three now,â he continues, voice steady but sharp underneath. âYouâve built something for yourself. Youâve worked. Youâve kept yourself together. And somehow he still finds a way to walk back in and turns everything upside down again.â
Asteriaâs fingers curl under the table.
âThatâs notââ
âIt is,â he says simply. âBecause it keeps happening.â
A beat.
Then softer, but worse somehow:
âAnd I donât know how many times Iâm supposed to watch you get pulled back into this before it stops being a mistake and starts being a pattern.â
Asteria looks down at the table.
Her throat tightens.
Auria shifts beside her, like she might speak, but doesnât.
Atlas is still watching their father now, jaw tight, but he stays quiet too.
Her father exhales through his nose.
Not angry anymore.
Just worn down by it.
âIâm not saying this to punish you,â he adds. âIâm saying it because I watched you come apart because of him. And I swore I wouldnât watch that happen again.â
Silence stretches.
Long.
Heavy.
Asteria finally looks up.
Her voice is quieter than before.
âItâs not the same.â
Her father studies her.
âIt rarely feels different when youâre in the middle of it.â
That lands.
Because heâs not wrong.
He just doesnât know everything.
And she canât say everything.
Not here.
Not like this.
So she sits in it instead.
The weight.
The history.
The disappointment she knew would come eventually.
Around them, dinner slowly resumes in fragments.
Too careful now.
Too quiet
but nothing feels normal anymore.
Not anymore.
The silence doesnât fully break after her father finishes speaking.
It just⌠rearranges itself.
Like everyone is waiting to see what shape the moment settles into next.
Asteria keeps her eyes on the table. Her hands are still under it, fingers curled tight enough that her nails press into her palms.
She can feel it coming.
Not the judgement.
The reactions.
Her mother is the first to move.
She exhales slowly, setting her napkin down with deliberate care, like sheâs trying not to add more weight to the room.
âAsteria,â she says softly.
Not disappointed.
Not angry.
Just⌠tired in a different way than her father.
âYou donât need me to tell you what this complicates,â she continues carefully. âBut I need you to think beyond just you for a moment.â
Asteria swallows.
Her motherâs eyes donât leave her face.
âThereâs Gianna,â she adds. âThereâs your work, your plans, your stability.... and thereâs him.â
The way she says him isnât cruel.
Itâs factual.
Like a variable that keeps reappearing in equations it shouldnât still be part of.
âIâm not judging you,â her mother says, softer now. âBut I need to know youâre not walking into something that will hurt you again.â
Asteria nods once.
But it doesnât feel like agreement.
It feels like absorption.
Next comes Atlas.
He leans back slightly in his chair, arms crossed, watching her with that steady focus he always hasâthe kind that feels like heâs already worked out three possible outcomes and doesnât like any of them.
âYou didnât tell him yet,â he says.
Itâs not a question.
Asteria shakes her head.
âNo.â
He exhales through his nose.
âThatâs going to blow up in your face,â he says bluntly.
Auria shoots him a look immediately.
âAtlasââ
âWhat?â he cuts in, still calm. âIt is. You all know it is.â
He looks back at Asteria.
Not unkind.
Just direct.
âHe doesnât do well with silence,â Atlas adds. âAnd youâre giving him a situation where silence is all there is.â
Asteriaâs jaw tightens slightly.
âI know,â she says quietly.
âThatâs the problem,â he replies. âYou always know. You just donât act on it fast enough.â
That lands harder than he probably means it to.
Then Allistair shifts.
Her twin.
Heâs been quiet until now, leaning forward slightly, elbows on the table, watching her with something more unsettled than the others. Less judgement. More conflict.
When he finally speaks, his voice is lower.
âIâm not going to pretend I understand all of it with him,â he says. âBut I do understand timing.â
Asteria looks at him now.
He meets her gaze without hesitation.
âThis isnât just about you anymore,â he continues. âItâs about how you handle what comes next. Because thatâs what matters now. Not how it happened. Not how many times itâs happened. What you do with it.â
A pause.
Then quieter,
âAnd whether youâre prepared for him to react exactly how he always does when he feels out of control.â
Asteriaâs stomach tightens.
She hates that heâs right too.
Finally, Auria shifts.
Of course she does.
Sheâs been holding it in longer than anyone else.
She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table, looking directly at Asteria.
âYouâre all being dramatic,â she says.
Atlas snorts faintly.
Their mother exhales like she expected this exact energy shift.
Auria ignores them both.
âIâm not saying itâs simple,â she continues. âIt isnât. Clearly it isnât. But youâre acting like this is some disaster you canât survive, and itâs not.â
Asteria looks at her.
Auriaâs expression softens slightly.
âItâs messy,â she admits. âItâs very you. But youâve survived worse than messy.â
A beat.
Then she tilts her head slightly.
âAnd youâre not alone in it, even if youâre pretending you are.â
Asteriaâs throat tightens.
She looks down again before anyone can see too much.
Because thatâs the part that hurts the most.
Not the judgement.
Not even the disappointment.
Itâs that all of them are right in different ways.
And none of it makes the decision any easier.
Her father finally exhales again, quieter this time.
âYou need to tell him,â he says.
Not harsh anymore.
Just certain.
Asteria nods faintly.
âI will.â
But she doesnât sound like she believes it will go smoothly.
And nobody at the table looks like they do either.
The dinner continues after that but it doesnât feel like dinner anymore.
Itâs just the aftermath of something that hasnât even fully started yet.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
England feels quieter after Japan.
Not silent â never silent on the Van de Kamp estate â but softer somehow. Slower. The kind of quiet made of distant hoofbeats, creaking fences, wind rolling through open fields instead of engines screaming down straights.
Asteria forgot what real dark looked like until she came home.
No neon bleeding through curtains. No hotel corridors humming at midnight. Just countryside stretching endlessly beyond the windows and the warm glow of the stable lights cutting through the cold spring fog.
For the first time in months, the apartment in London feels far away.
Good.
She needed far away.
The estate sits tucked into the hills like it always has, old brick stables wrapped around sprawling paddocks and white fencing. Horses graze lazily beyond the house while the smell of hay and damp earth clings to everything.
Home.
Or the closest thing she still has to one.
Most of her siblings still live nearby on the property now, close enough that someone is always dropping by unannounced or stealing milk from the main house fridge.
Itâs loud when everyoneâs together.
Messy.
Comforting.
Gianna loves it instantly.
By the second day sheâs already running around in tiny muddy boots, cheeks pink from the cold, clutching carrots in both fists while trying to feed horses three times her size.
âSlowly,â Asteria laughs, crouching beside her near the paddock fence. âYouâll lose a finger if you feed Apollo like that.â
Gigi gasps dramatically.
Apollo snorts against her palm anyway, lips ticklish and warm.
âMummy! He kissed me!â
Asteria smiles before she can stop herself.
The farm suits Gigi.
Too much, maybe.
Because everywhere Asteria looks, there are ghosts.
Near the west stable thereâs still the exact fence he leaned against that Christmas almost three years ago, snow dusting his curls while Gigi sat bundled in his arms wearing a knitted little hat with reindeer ears.
Someone had taken a photo while he laughed at something Asteria said.
It still exists somewhere online.
Fans loved it.
Domestic.
Family man.
Asteria remembers the way heâd looked at her that day like he genuinely believed theyâd have forever.
Funny, the things people believe before they ruin them.
She doesnât realise sheâs staring until her twin bumps his shoulder against hers.
âYouâre brooding again.â
âIâm literally standing here.â
âExactly,â he says. âBrooding.â
She rolls her eyes.
But later that night, itâs her sister she ends up talking to.
They sit curled at opposite ends of the enormous sectional couch in the main house while rain taps softly against the windows. Somewhere upstairs, children are asleep in piles after refusing to stay in their assigned rooms.
Asteria has a blanket over her legs and a glass of wine sheâs barely touched.
Her sister notices immediately.
âYouâre thinking too loud.â
Asteria snorts softly.
âThat doesnât even mean anything.â
âIt does when itâs you.â
Silence settles comfortably between them.
Then she asks casually, âSo. Japan.â
Asteria groans instantly.
âOh my God.â
âWhat?â she grins. âYou thought you could come home after disappearing into the paddock with your emotionally constipated ex and not get interrogated?â
Asteria throws a cushion at her.
She catches it one-handed.
âNothing happened.â
âThatâs a lie already.â
Asteria sighs hard enough to hurt.
âIt was just⌠messy.â
âMessy how?â
She hesitates.
So she tells her the easier parts.
The arguments.
The jealousy.
The paddock tension.
The kiss after the race.
Carlos standing in the middle of it all â steady, present, refusing to be pulled into chaos.
Her sister listens quietly.
âAnd how do you feel?â she asks eventually.
Asteria laughs tiredly.
âLike Iâm seventeen again.â
âThat bad?â
âThat stupid.â
Her sister studies her.
âYou still love him.â
Not a question.
Asteria stares into her wine.
âYeah,â she admits softly. âUnfortunately.â
She sighs like she already knew.
âWell. He still looks at you like you invented oxygen.â
Asteria laughs despite herself.
Then changes the subject before she says too much.
Before she says everything.
Three nights later, she wakes at 3:07 a.m. with nausea clawing up her throat.
At first she thinks itâs wine.
Then stress.
Then something worse.
She barely makes it to the bathroom before sheâs throwing up, cold sweat breaking across her skin.
And then it clicks.
Japan.
The hotel.
Him.
Her stomach drops.
âOh, fuck.â
Her voice is barely a whisper.
Her hands shake as she grabs her phone.
Her sister answers immediately.
âRia? What happened? Is Gigi okay?â
âI need you to not ask questions.â
That wakes her instantly.
ââŚOkay?â
Asteria swallows hard.
âDo you have a pregnancy test?â
Silence.
Then:
âIâm coming.â
Nine minutes later, headlights sweep across the gravel.
Her sister appears in slippers and pyjamas, holding a pharmacy bag.
âI bought three,â she whispers. âBecause apparently this is the kind of crisis weâre having.â
Asteria buries her face in her hands.
âThis is not funny.â
âItâs a little funny.â
âItâs not.â
They go upstairs.
The house is silent.
The test sits on the counter between them.
Waiting.
Her sister tries to lighten it.
âSo. I didnât think you were still⌠active.â
Asteria freezes.
âWhat does that mean?â
âIt means youâve been emotionally hung up on one man for years and youâve got a toddler full-time. I barely get any and Iâm married.â
âStop.â
âIâm just saying, where do you even find the time?â
Asteria goes still.
Too still.
Her sister notices.
âOh my God.â
Asteria doesnât answer.
A beat.
Then she grins slowly.
âYou fucked lando-"
âDonât.â
âYouâre going to let him get you pregnant twice?â
"Stop.â
They both wait.
Three minutes.
Too long.
Asteria finally picks up the test.
And forgets how to breathe.
She stares.
Her sister stares at her.
Then quietly:
âOh,â she says.
Not playful anymore.
Real now.
Asteria sits down slowly.
âNo,â she whispers.
Her sister leans forward.
âThatâs not negative.â
âI can see that.â
Silence drops.
Heavy.
Asteria sets the test down like it might break.
Her mind doesnât catch up.
Just circles.
No.
No.
No.
Her sister sits beside her.
âYouâre not panicking.â
âI think Iâve moved past panicking.â
âThatâs worse.â
Asteria laughs once, hollow.
âWhat am I supposed to do?â
Her sister softens.
âHave you told him?â
Asteria shakes her head immediately.
âNo.â
âOkay. Good. Donât.â
Asteria exhales.
âI canât do this again.â
Her sister nods slowly.
âI know.â
Then softer:
âWhatever happens, youâre not alone.â
That almost breaks her.
Almost.
The house is still dark when they go downstairs.
Asteria finally says it out loud.
âI need to tell him.â
Her sister doesnât look up.
âYeah. But not like this.â
Asteria nods.
Because she already knows.
Somewhere out there, he is asleep.
And in a few hours, heâs going to wake up in a world that has changed without him being ready.
Again.
And she has no idea how to say it without everything breaking.
summary: Suzuka pulls them all back into the same orbit. One misread moment, one public kiss, and everything between Asteria and Lando fractures again, while Gigi just keeps believing heâll stay.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
The moment doesnât end when Lando lets her go.
It just⌠multiplies.
It spreads.
Like a ripple that refuses to die out, hitting everything it was never meant to touch.
Asteria feels it first in the silence.
Not the absence of noise, since there is no absence here, but the shift.
The way the air changes when a camera catches something it shouldnât have.
The way people stop pretending not to look.
Gigi is back in Landoâs arms again, calmer now, cheek pressed against his shoulder like she belongs there without question. Heâs still holding her too tightly, like if he loosens his grip even slightly, something will slip out of place that he canât fix later on.
Asteria stands just far enough away that she can pretend she isnât part of the frame.
But she is.
She always is.
Carlos shifts beside her.
He doesnât speak immediately. He doesnât have to. His presence alone is steady, grounding, quiet, and protective without making a performance of it.
Across the barrier, Lando is still looking at her.
Not at Gigi.
At her.
Itâs not soft anymore. Itâs not angry either.
Itâs something worse.
Something exposed.
Then a team assistant calls Landoâs name gently, breaking the moment before it can stretch further. Lando hesitates just a fraction too long before handing her back.
Asteria notices it.
The reluctance.
The way his fingers linger, like letting go costs him something.
And then the world moves again.
Cameras shift. Engineers call out. Life resumes its manufactured chaos.
Carlos exhales quietly beside her.
"Messy", he mutters.
Asteria doesnât respond.
Because there is nothing to respond to.
They donât speak properly until theyâre back at the hotel.
The ride is quiet in the way exhaustion makes everything quiet. Gigi falls asleep halfway through it, head lolling against Asteriaâs arm, still wearing the oversized hoodie like itâs armour.
Carlos carries her again when they arrive.
Asteria doesnât stop him.
She doesnât even pretend to argue this time.
The hotel hallway feels longer than usual. Like itâs stretching on purpose.
When they reach her room, Carlos shifts Gigi carefully into her arms.
Asteria adjusts her instinctively, pressing a soft kiss to her hairline.
"Sleep," Carlos murmurs.
âI will.â
âYou wonât.â
That earns the smallest flicker of something almost like a smile from her.
âProbably not",
He doesnât leave immediately.
He never does when she looks like this.
Instead, he leans against the doorframe.
âYou want me to stay?â he asks.
She shakes her head.
âNo. I want you to go to dinner like youâre supposed to.â
He snorts quietly.
âTeam dinner is overrated.â
âYouâre P2 today. Theyâll forgive you for ten minutes of celebration.â
His eyes flick over her face for a second too long.
Then he nods once.
âCall me if he shows up again.â
Asteria sighs.
âHe wonât.â
Carlos raises an eyebrow.
Neither of them believes that.
But he doesnât argue.
âTry to sleep, Ria.â
She watches him go until the corridor swallows him completely.
Then she closes the door.
Locks it.
Twice.
Sleep doesnât come.
Gigi is asleep within minutes, small and warm and safe in the middle of the bed, like she always ends up when everything feels unstable.
Asteria sits beside her for a while, just watching her breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Eventually, she reaches for her phone.
There are already notifications.
Too many.
She scrolls anyway.
A clip.
Then another.
Then a photo.
Then ten more.
Angles from the paddock.
Blurred but unmistakable.
Lando.
Her.
What the world thinks it saw.
She freezes.
Her stomach tightens anyway.
Perception is enough.
She switches the phone off.
It vibrates again.
Lando: Are you awake?
She doesnât answer.
It rings immediately.
She picks up.
"Don't," she says.
A pause.
Thenâ
âRiaââ
âDonât start.â
His voice drops.
âI didnât mean for it to happen like that.â
âThatâs your problem,â she whispers. âThings just keep happening around you.â
Silence.
Then:
âI saw you with him.â
Asteria stills.
âCarlos didnât do anything.â
âI know," Lando says, quieter now.
Jealousy still sits underneath it. Unsorted. Unfair. Human.
âI donât like it,â he admits.
âThatâs not my responsibility.â
Silence again.
Thenâ
âIâm not done talking to you,â he says.
âI know.â
But neither of them fixes anything.
A knock comes at the door.
Asteria freezes.
Carlos.
Of course.
She opens it.
He takes one look at her face.
âTrouble?â he asks.
She doesnât answer.
Behind her, the phone is still connected.
Still listening.
Carlos notices it.
âIs that him?â
âYes,â she says softly.
Carlos exhales.
âOf course it is",
Landoâs voice snaps through the phone.
âWhat is he doing there?â
Carlos doesnât react.
He doesnât step in.
He just stays where he is, steady, present, and not escalating anything.
âI was making sure she was okay,â Carlos says calmly. âThatâs it.â
Silence.
âPut her on," Lando says.
Asteria hesitates.
Then does.
"Lando", she says.
âIâm here,â he replies.
And for once, thereâs no immediate fight.
Just exhaustion.
âI donât know what Iâm doing anymore,â he admits.
Neither does she.
âI know,â she says.
Silence stretches.
Thenâ
âAre you coming back?â he asks.
She looks at Gigi.
At Carlos.
At everything, split in half.
âI donât know,â she says honestly.
And for once, he doesnât argue.
âOkay,â he says softly.
And the call ends.
Asteria lowers the phone.
Carlos doesnât speak immediately.
Then quietly:
âYouâre carrying too much of him.â
She lets out a tired breath.
âI know.â
âAnd Iâm not the solution,â he adds.
âI know that too.â
He nods.
Good.
Because that was never the point.
âIâll go," he says.
She nods.
He pauses at the door.
âYouâre not alone in this, Ria.â
Then he leaves.
Asteria sits beside her sleeping daughter long after the room goes still again.
summary: on race day in Suzuka, old habits resurface.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
Morning doesnât feel like morning. It feels like something she has to push through.
Asteria stays in bed longer than she should, staring at the ceiling while Gigi sleeps beside her, small and warm and completely unaware of anything that changed overnight.
The note is still on the nightstand.
She looks at it. Looks away. Looks back again.
Eventually, she picks it up.
I didnât mean for it to happen like that. I donât regret it. I just donât know how to do this right. L
Her chest tightens in a way she refuses to name.
Typical. Always almost saying something real. Never quite enough to fix anything.
She folds it back up and slips it into her bag instead of the drawer.
âMummyâŚâ
Gigiâs voice is soft and sleepy.
Asteria turns instantly. âHey, baby.â
âWhereâs Daddy?â
âHeâs working.â
Gigi frowns. âHe didnât say bye.â
âHe didnât want to wake you.â
That seems to be enough.
âCan we go see the cars again?â
Asteria nods. âYeah. We can.â
The paddock is louder on race day. Everything is sharper. Faster. Heavier.
Gigi tugs her hand through the crowd, bouncing ahead in her oversized hoodie, completely unaware of how tight Asteriaâs chest feels.
She feels him before she sees him. Lando.
Across the garage. Focused. Locked in.
Then he looks up. Sees them.
Something shifts instantly.
âDaddy!â
Gigi runs.
He catches her immediately, lifting her like itâs instinct.
âHey, you came to see me race?â
âYes!â
Asteria stays where she is. Watching. Waiting.
During the race, Gigi ends up in the McLaren hospitality viewing area with a team assistant.
Asteria stays outside the glass.
Watching her daughter pressed against the barrier, eyes locked on the screen.
She doesnât understand strategy. She doesnât understand timing. She just watches him.
Every time Landoâs car flashes past, Gigi leans forward like she might fall into the screen.
âThatâs Daddy,â she says once.
Asteria swallows. âYeah. Thatâs him.â
The race ends. Chaos. Engines screaming down into silence. Flags waving.
Parc fermĂŠ begins.
Carlos finishes P2.
He climbs out, still breathless, helmet off, sweat at his hairline.
And the moment he sees them, he moves immediately.
Straight through the chaos. Straight to Asteria.
He pulls her into a hug first. Quick. Tight. No hesitation.
Then Gigi notices him.
âUncle Carlos!â
He crouches instantly, brushing her hair back and kissing her forehead like itâs instinct.
âHey, superstar.â
Itâs live. Cameras catch it.
But he doesnât stay long. Still, he lingers just long enough. Not wanting to leave. Not yet.
Then everything in the air tightens again.
Lando is still not there.
Heâs in post-race interviews. Podium prep delays him.
He won. So he goes last.
Thatâs the problem.
And the reason everything collides.
Carlos is still with them when it happens.
Standing near the rail in front of the podium area. Asteria beside him. Gigi is half clinging to Carlosâs hand.
Then the energy shifts.
Everything gets faster. Cameras move. Teams scatter. Engines cool. The world starts pretending the race is already becoming history.
Asteria is still trying to steady Gigi when it happens.
She doesnât see Lando coming at first. Only the change in atmosphere.
Then heâs there.
Still in his suit. Helmet off. Hair is damp at the edges. Eyes locked onto her like heâs been holding that gaze the entire race.
Before she can step back, heâs already close.
âYou watched?â he asks.
She blinks. âOf course I did.â
A beat.
Then he kisses her.
Not careful. Not distant. Not like everything is complicated and messy and public and wrong. Just him.
Asteria freezes.
Her hands tighten slightly around Gigi without thinking.
The world sharpens.
Cameras somewhere behind them catch it. Always do.
When he pulls back, itâs only a fraction. His forehead almost brushes hers.
âI saw you with him,â he says quietly.
Her voice is barely there. âYou always see what you want to see.â
Something flickers in his jaw.
But before it becomes anything else, Gigi stirs fully now.
âDaddy?â she mumbles.
Lando hears her.
And for a second, all the tension drops out of him.
He reaches for her immediately.
Gigi ends up in his arms over the barrier like she always does, as if she belongs there without question.
He holds her against his chest, rocking slightly, pressing a kiss to her hair.
âHey, baby,â he says softly. âYou did so good.â
She clings to him without hesitation.
Asteria watches it happen like itâs happening to someone else.
Around them, everything keeps moving.
But for a few seconds, none of it matters.
Not the cameras. Not Carlos. Not the noise.
Just this.
Then someone calls his name. Then again.
And the moment fractures.
He lowers Gigi gently, lingering for half a second longer than he should.
summary: By morning, heâs gone againâleaving only silence, a glass of water, and something Asteria canât name yet⌠but already feels everything changing.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
The room still feels off after he leaves the first time.
Not emptyâjust⌠unsettled. Like the air hasnât settled back into place yet.
Asteria sits on the edge of the bed for a while, listening to Gigi breathe softly in her sleep, trying to convince herself that whatever just happened is done now. Over. Contained.
But she knows Lando too well for that.
And of course, he comes back.
The second knock is softer. Less angry. More unsure.
She opens the door anyway.
Heâs still there.
No cap now. Hair messier than before, like heâs been running his hands through it nonstop. The anger is gone, but whatâs left doesnât feel better.
It feels worse.
Because now he just looks tired. And lost.
"I shouldnât have come like that,â he says straight away.
Asteria doesnât answer. She just looks at him, waiting for the rest of it.
âI didnât mean it the way it came out,â he adds. âI just⌠I saw you with him, and IâI lost it.â
âThatâs not my fault,â she says quietly.
âI know.â
But he doesnât leave.
Neither of them moves.
Somewhere behind her, Gigi shifts in her sleep, a small sound that pulls everything back into reality for a second. But even that doesnât break the tension between them.
Landoâs eyes flick toward the bed.
âShe okay?â he asks.
"Asleep", Asteria says. âFor now.â
The silence comes back heavier this time. He steps inside before she can decide whether to stop him or not, closing the door gently behind him.
That shouldâve been the moment she told him to leave.
But she doesnât.
âI hate this,â he mutters.
âWhat part?â she asks.
âAll of it,â he says. âYou being here and not being mine. Her calling him âuncleâ like Iâm just⌠nothing.â
He stops himself, jaw tightening.
Asteria crosses her arms.
"You donât get to be absent and possessive at the same time.â
That hits him. She can see it.
"I know,â he says again, quieter now. âI know.â
"And then it just⌠hangs there.
Everything they never say out loud is sitting between them.
He steps closer.
Then again.
"RiaâŚâ His voice breaks a little around her name. Not angry this time. Just⌠wrecked.
She should move.
She doesnât.
"You always do this,â she whispers.
"Do what?â
"Come back like nothingâs changed.â
His jaw clenches.
âBecause something hasnât changed for me.â
"Thatâs not true.â
"It is,â he says. âI didnât stop. I tried. But I didnât stop.â
That lands differently.
Heâs too close now. Too familiar. Too much everything sheâs been trying not to feel for months.
âI didnât stop either,â she says, almost like she hates herself for it.
And thatâs what breaks it.
Thereâs no build-up after that. No more arguing. No more space between them to pretend theyâre fine.
It just happens.
Like theyâve both been holding their breath for too long and finally forgot how to keep stopping themselves.
She doesnât push him away.
Not at first.
And thatâs the part sheâll think about later.
The part that matters.
The part that changes everything.
â
Morning light is too bright when she wakes up.
The space beside her is warmâbut empty.
Heâs already gone.
Of course he is.
Thereâs a glass of water on the nightstand.
And a folded note she doesnât open right away.
Because somehow, she already knows this isnât just another mistake she can brush off.
hey love! Are You going to keep writting Still Yours? I love it!!
hiii!, I'll resume writing mid December cause im really busy w school rn (._.) and i kinda stopped writing for a while due to the lack of reads. I'm glad you loved it! thanks for reading, just lmk and I'll make sure to add you to my taglist! <3
summary: Asteria watches Carlos care for Gigi while she wrestles with guilt about seeing Lando again. Lando shows up at her hotel room and they fight, the same old wounds reopened. After he leaves, Asteria finds quiet comfort in Gigi and Carlosâs steady presence â even from afar.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
Gigi falls asleep on Carlosâs lap in the hospitality suite an hour later, warm and boneless, a little sunburn pink on her cheeks despite the cap Asteria kept pulling down over her eyes. She dreams with her mouth open, soft snores muffled by her Totoro plushie, one small hand curled around the sleeve of Carlosâs hoodie.
Asteria watches them from the little couch across the room, hands wrapped around a paper cup of tea she hasnât touched. The paddock hums beyond the glass â reporters with questions nobody really answers, engines clearing throats, a tangle of cables and crew radio chatter. It feels both exactly the same and not at all like the world she left behind.
Carlos glances up, catches her staring.
âYouâre doing that thing again.â
âWhat thing?â
He shifts a little so Gigi doesnât slide off his thigh, brushing her hair back with careful fingers. âPunishing yourself for being here.â
She scoffs softly. âIâm not.â
âYou are.â
She tips her head back, eyes flicking to the ceiling lights. âI feel like an idiot.â
âWhy?â
âYou know why.â
Carlos shrugs, but itâs deliberate. Heâs baiting her to say it out loud. She doesnât.
Instead, she says, âHe looked at me like I betrayed him.â
âHeâll get over it.â
âWill he?â
Carlos meets her eyes then, calm but unyielding. âItâs not your job to manage his feelings anymore.â
She wants to believe that. She does. But they both know better.
Outside the tinted windows, she can see Landoâs garage from here â half a dozen mechanics leaning over the front wing, engineers tapping tablets, his car gleaming under a soft layer of dust. Heâs not there right now. Heâs probably inside the motorhome, helmet off, head in his hands or maybe on his phone pretending none of this scratches at him the way it scratches at her.
âI hate that he still gets to feel hurt,â she murmurs.
Carlos laughs under his breath. âGood. Hate it. Makes you feel alive again.â
She looks at him. Really looks. Heâs got one hand resting on Gigiâs back, anchoring her, the other draped over his knee. He looks like he belongs here more than she ever did â calm, steady, unbothered by the storm that follows her like a stray dog.
âThank you,â she says.
âFor what?â
âFor making me come.â
He gives her a small, crooked grin. âDonât thank me yet. Thereâs still qualifying tomorrow. Youâll hate half of it.â
âTrue.â
âThen weâll sneak out and get ramen after lights out. Just like old times.â
She smiles despite herself. âSheâll be asleep.â
âSheâll be fine. Weâll bring her back something weird from a vending machine. That kidâs half sugar already.â
Asteria laughs â really laughs, the sound scraping something loose in her chest thatâs been stuck there for months. Carlos smiles too but doesnât make a big deal of it. He never does.
She stands and crosses the small space to crouch by his chair. Gigi stirs, mumbles something half-dreamed. Asteria smooths her hair, presses her lips to her forehead. She smells like sunscreen and cotton and child.
âYou want to go back to the hotel?â Carlos asks.
âIn a bit.â
âYou want me to drive you?â
Asteria snorts. âIn what? The team bus?â
He shrugs again. âIâve done worse.â
They sit like that for a while. She watches the paddock. He watches her. Neither of them talks about Lando. Neither of them mentions how heâll probably find her later, how there will be a knock at the hotel door or a message half-apology half-accusation waiting when she switches her phone off airplane mode.
For now, though, the door is half open and half shut and thatâs good enough.
They slip out of the circuit just after sunset, Gigi balanced sleep-heavy on Carlosâs hip while Asteria tugs the duffel over her shoulder. The shuttle ride back to the hotel is quiet â just the low thrum of the tires and the murmur of Gigiâs breathing against Carlosâs chest. Asteria presses her forehead to the window, watching neon signs flicker past, kanji she used to know by heart.
By the time they reach the hotel lobby, Gigi is awake again, giggling at her reflection in the polished elevator doors. She clings to Carlosâs neck when he tries to set her down, so he doesnât. They look like they belong that way â Gigi draped over him, Asteria trailing behind with the bags, like a family that never quite became one.
In the hallway outside her door, they pause. Gigi has her cheek pressed to Carlosâs shoulder, half-asleep again.
âDo you want me to stay until sheâs down?â Carlos asks.
Asteria shakes her head. âIâve got it. You have a team dinner, donât you?â
He huffs a quiet laugh. âIâll survive missing another one.â
âGo,â she says, softer now. âIâll text you.â
Carlos nods. He shifts Gigi carefully, passing her over like sheâs something precious that might break if handled wrong. She burrows into Asteriaâs neck without waking up all the way.
âNight, superstar,â Carlos murmurs against Gigiâs hair, then looks at Asteria. âText me. If heâŚâ
She cuts him off. âI know.â
He doesnât argue. Just lifts his hand, like he might brush her cheek, but stops short. Drops it. Walks away.
Inside, the room is too quiet. She lays Gigi on the bed, tugs off her hoodie, the tiny shoes, the socks. She curls up instantly, thumb in her mouth, Totoro tucked under her chin.
Asteria sits on the edge of the bed for a long time, one hand resting on her daughterâs back, waiting for the guilt to let her breathe again. It doesnât.
She almost makes it to the shower when the knock comes. Not a soft knock either â a sharp, impatient rap that makes her stomach twist. She knows before she looks through the peephole.
Lando. Of course itâs Lando.
When she opens the door, heâs leaning against the frame, cap pulled low, hotel lanyard around his neck. He looks tired. He looks angry. He looks like he doesnât know which one he wants to be more.
âYou werenât going to tell me you were here?â
She keeps her voice low, mindful of the sleeping child just a few feet away. âYou saw me. I didnât hide.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
She folds her arms, bracing herself against the door. âWhat do you want, Lando?â
He scoffs under his breath, runs a hand through his hair. âI want to know why you thought this was okay.â
She shakes her head. âCarlos invited me. Gigi wanted to come. Thatâs it.â
He laughs â not because itâs funny, but because he doesnât know what else to do with the twist in his chest. âYou think Iâm stupid? You think I donât know what this looks like?â
Asteriaâs eyes narrow. âWhat does it look like, Lando?â
He leans in, too close, voice sharp but hushed. âIt looks like youâre dangling her in front of him to get back at me.â
She lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. âYou think everything is about you.â
He flinches at that. Just a flicker in his eyes, but she catches it.
âIsnât it?â he says, softer now, the edge slipping into something rawer. âItâs always about me, Ria. Itâs always my fault, my job, my schedule, my mess.â
Asteria steps back, crossing her arms tighter. âGo back to your room, Lando.â
He moves forward instead, stepping inside like he owns the space. He shuts the door behind him, careful not to slam it, but the click of the latch sounds final.
Gigi shifts on the bed but doesnât wake. Landoâs eyes flick there, soften for a second, then sharpen again when they meet Asteriaâs.
âDonât do this with him,â he says. âDonât do this to me.â
Her laugh cracks something in her throat. âDo what, Lando? Let someone show up? Let someone help?â
His voice drops, low enough that it trembles. âI do help.â
âYou FaceTime once a week and send hoodies,â she snaps. âThatâs not help, Lando. Thatâs you easing your guilt.â
He doesnât answer right away. He just looks at her, chest rising and falling, something ugly and vulnerable caught behind his teeth. Then, so quiet she almost doesnât hear it: âYou donât miss me at all?â
Itâs the wrong question. Itâs always the wrong question with him.
She shakes her head, blinking hard. âI miss you every day. Thatâs the problem.â
He looks like he wants to touch her. He doesnât. He backs up instead, eyes on the sleeping shape of his daughter.
âWhen are you leaving?â he asks.
âAfter the race.â
He nods once, jaw tight. âTell Carlos to stay the fuck out of it.â
She tilts her head, voice barely a whisper. âWhy? So you can keep not showing up?â
Lando bites down a reply. He doesnât win this one. He knows it. He just stands there another moment, then pulls the door open again. He doesnât say goodbye. He never does. The door shuts soft behind him.
Asteria stands in the middle of the room, every nerve raw, listening to Gigiâs quiet breathing, wondering if it will ever stop feeling like this.
Asteria locks the door behind him. Itâs not like heâd come back tonight, but still, the sound of the bolt sliding home steadies her hands.
She checks on Gigi. Her little chest rises and falls, Totoro squashed under her chin, lips parted in a tiny sleep-snore. Safe. Oblivious.
Asteria drags herself to the window. The city is soft outside â neon bleeding onto rain-slick pavement, a haze of distant tail lights disappearing toward the highway. She presses her forehead to the cold glass until her pulse slows down enough to think.
He always does this. Shows up late, all tangled warmth and soft apologies hidden under sharp words. He never says sorry outright â he just looks at her like thatâs enough. Maybe once it was. Maybe thatâs the part she hates most.
She pulls her phone from the nightstand. Sheâs not going to call him â not tonight. But her thumb hovers over his name anyway, old muscle memory. She deletes it again, just to spite herself.
Thereâs only one person she can text, so she does.
Asteria: You up?
She almost hopes he wonât answer. That heâll be asleep somewhere warm and quiet and far from this mess she drags him into every time she lets him stay close.
It only takes a minute.
Carlos: Always.
What happened?
She doesnât bother dressing it up.
Asteria: He came by.
Carlos: Want me to come up?
Asteria: No.
He was angry. Same fight. Different walls.
Carlos: You okay?
She reads it three times. Okay. What a word. She thinks about telling him sheâs not. That sheâs tired of being the one holding the line so tight her knuckles split. That sheâs tired of rooms that still smell like him hours after heâs gone.
Instead she types:
Asteria: Iâm fine. Sheâs asleep.
Carlos: Good.
Do you want me to come up?
Asteria: I said no.
Carlos: I know.
Iâll stay awake anyway. Just in case.
Asteria huffs out something like a laugh, dry and silent in her chest.
Asteria: Go to bed.
Carlos: Night, Asteria.
She doesnât type Night, Carlos. He knows she means it.
She sets the phone down, slips under the blankets beside her daughter without changing out of her clothes. Gigi shifts in her sleep, tiny fingers curling around the collar of Asteriaâs shirt. Itâs enough. It has to be.
Outside, the city hums. Tomorrow thereâll be cameras again, more fences to stand behind, more places to pretend she doesnât see him watching her out of the corner of his eye.
But right now, thereâs only this: her childâs heartbeat pressed to her ribs, the soft weight of her trust. Asteria stares at the ceiling until her eyes blur. She doesnât cry â not tonight. Sheâs too tired for that.
When sleep finally comes, it isnât deep. But itâs quiet. And thatâs enough for now.
summary: Suzuka was supposed to be hers. But stepping back into the paddock with Carlos at her side reminds Asteria that Lando still owns every corner of her heart sheâs too tired to defend. Gigi runs to him. Carlos stands guard. And Lando does what he does best: ruins her peace just by standing there, wanting her in a way that always costs more than it gives back.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
April, Japan.
The paddock feels too bright the second Asteria steps through the gates with Gigiâs small hand tight in hers. Suzuka had always been her favorite â the smell of burnt rubber on crisp spring air, the low hum of engines winding down the straights. It used to thrill her, this whole circus of speed and steel. Now it feels like stepping back into a dream she almost managed to forget.
Carlos keeps close, carrying half her bags because he wonât let her argue. Gigi bounces ahead, her new hoodie sleeves flopping around her wrists like puppy ears. Asteria wants to tell her to slow down but her voice gets stuck somewhere between her ribs and her throat.
She should feel better being here. She should feel free. Instead, every step further into the paddock just makes her more aware of how small she is, how close she is to slipping back into something she promised herself sheâd never do again.
Carlos notices. Of course he does.
âYou good?â he murmurs, leaning closer, voice swallowed by the noise of a nearby tire gun spitting air.
She nods once, eyes on Gigi, whoâs pressing her face against the fence to see the cars better. âIâm fine.â
âYouâre lying.â
âI know.â
They donât push it further. They never do.
He doesnât see them at first. Heâs half-buried under his engineerâs arm, talking split times and front wing adjustments, pacing around the front of the garage like he owns the asphalt.
Gigi spots him first.
âMummy! Look! Daddy!â
Her voice cuts through the white noise like a blade. Asteriaâs gut clenches, but she forces herself to smile when Gigi whips around, eyes wide, breath fogging up the inside of her tiny helmet visor.
âGo on then,â Carlos nudges, giving her the small push she needs. âGo get him, superstar.â
Gigi bolts, trainers squeaking over the concrete. Asteria watches her daughter run straight into the orbit of a man who makes everything harder without even trying.
Lando doesnât see her until sheâs practically at his knees. She calls his name again, tiny voice, huge echo, and he spins so fast he almost drops the water bottle in his hand.
The relief that hits his face is raw and real for exactly one second. He drops to his haunches, scooping Gigi up before she can topple over. He squeezes her so tight Asteria wonders if he remembers how easily he bruises her ribs.
Heâs mumbling something only Gigi can hear, something that makes her giggle and slap her little hands against the sides of his helmet.
Asteria wants to look away. She canât.
When his eyes finally find hers, itâs like flipping a switch.
His grin slips. The warmth on his face evaporates, replaced by a flicker of something that looks suspiciously like betrayal.
âYou didnât tell me you were coming.â
Itâs not a question. Itâs an accusation, made worse by the fact he doesnât even look at her properly when he says it. His eyes flick between Carlos and her â Carlos, who stands just behind her shoulder like heâs ready to catch her if Lando decides to throw knives instead of words.
âIt was Carlosâs idea,â she says evenly. She hates how defensive it sounds. She hates how guilty she feels, like sheâs been caught in a lie she didnât tell.
âWas it?â He shifts Gigi on his hip like sheâs a prop he needs to hold onto so he doesnât say something worse.
Carlos doesnât flinch. âShe needed it.â
âYeah? Did you think to ask me?â
âNot your call,â Carlos fires back, calm as ever, but Asteria can hear the warning there, buried under the polite tone.
Gigi wiggles in Landoâs arms, oblivious. âDaddy, Daddy! Uncle Carlos got me ice cream! And I saw the pit lane and a big red car and Uncle Carlos said I can wear my Totoro on the planeââ
Lando laughs but itâs brittle around the edges. He kisses her cheek too fast. âYeah? Uncle Carlos is real good at treats, huh?â
Asteria feels her cheeks flush hot. She knows that tone â the one he uses when heâs jealous, petty, territorial. He doesnât hide it well.
One of the junior engineers hovers nearby, eyes darting to them like he knows he shouldnât be seeing this. Lando doesnât care.
He drops Gigi gently back to the ground. She immediately runs back to Carlos, arms up. Carlos picks her up without even thinking about it, her hoodie sleeves flapping against his chin.
Lando watches them like theyâre a wound he canât stitch up.
âYou know this isnât fair, right?â he says, quiet enough that only Asteria can hear.
She folds her arms, nails digging into her sweater sleeves. âWhatâs not?â
âBringing her here like this. Letting him play house with my daughter.â
Asteriaâs stomach twists. âSheâs not a house to play in, Lando.â
He scoffs, a dry sound. âYou think this fixes something? Bringing her here? Letting him do this with you?â
âYou werenât there.â It comes out sharper than she wants it to. âYouâre never there.â
They stand too close. She can smell the sunblock on his neck, the hint of machine oil on his sleeves. He smells like he always did, that familiar warmth that makes her heart squeeze in her chest.
He leans closer, voice lower. âDonât do this in front of her.â
âThen donât make me do it,â she fires back.
For a second it looks like heâs going to say something, something real, raw, the thing theyâve been swallowing for months, but then a handler calls his name, voice bright and fake.
He glances at Carlos, who hasnât moved, whoâs balancing Gigi on one hip like itâs the easiest thing in the world.
âUnbelievable,â Lando mutters. Then he steps back, wipes a hand over his mouth like heâs smothering something that might crawl out if he doesnât. He throws her one last look â not quite pleading, not quite angry. Just tired.
âEnjoy the show.â
Then heâs gone, helmet swinging at his side, body swallowed by the engineers and the cameras and the fans who have no idea he just left the only thing that really matters standing in the shadow of another manâs arms.
They watch him go. Gigi doesnât understand. She just waves at his back until he disappears behind the pit wall.
Carlos adjusts her on his hip, gives Asteria a look she canât read. He doesnât say I told you so. He doesnât have to.
Asteria lets out a breath she didnât realize she was holding, fists still clenched tight around nothing.
summary: The rain lifts but the chill doesnât. Just when Asteria thinks another promise might break her, Carlos calls from half a world away with an offer that feels like freedom.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
April comes in cold, but not sharp. Just a dull chill that soaks into the apartment walls and makes the floors feel like ice under Asteriaâs bare feet. She leaves the heating on too long some days. It dries out her throat, makes her cough.
Gigiâs new hoodie is too big but she wonât take it off, not even to sleep. At night Asteria untangles her from it while sheâs half-awake, only to find her wearing it again in the morning, sleeves dragging behind her like a flag for someone who never comes home.
The days feel elastic. They stretch out, snap back, stretch again. Asteria works. She checks her phone too often. She pretends she doesnât. She deletes Lando's name from her quick-dial and adds it back the next night. The kitchen drawer holds the note, folded and re-folded until the edges feel like gauze.
When the knock at the door comes that Friday evening, she almost doesnât answer. Itâs late for deliveries, too early for drunks. She wipes her hands on her leggings and opens it anyway, half-expecting no one.
Itâs not Lando. Of course itâs not. It never is.
Itâs a package. No name on the label she recognizes, just an international return address and the neat scrawl she knows too well. Not his, though. This one is more careful. Carlos.
Inside: a soft toy for Gigi. Not Bluey, thank God. A Totoro plushie, fat and gray and a little squashed from the flight. Thereâs a note tucked under it. Just three lines:
Youâve both been too quiet. Pick up when I call.
âC.
She wants to be annoyed. She wants to feel cornered. Instead she feels steadied.
When he calls an hour later, sheâs sitting on the floor with Gigi in her lap, the Totoro squeezed tight to her chest. She lets it ring once, twice, picks up.
âHey.â
Heâs somewhere windy. She can hear it whipping past the mic. She imagines him leaning on a railing somewhere warm, hotel balcony or a paddock that never sleeps.
âYou got it?â he asks. No greeting. Thatâs how theyâve always been.
âYeah. She loves it.â She shifts the phone so Gigi can shout her thanks, giggling something into the mic about her big fluffy kitty.
Asteria waits until Gigi drifts off to the TV before bringing the phone back. She leans her head against the wall. âYou didnât have to.â
âDidnât want to hear you sound like that again,â he says. Not soft, not hard. Just true.
She lets the silence settle between them for a minute. Carlos doesnât fill it the way Lando does. He just waits. Lets it breathe.
âWhere are you?â she asks eventually.
âShanghai.â
âChina already?â She rubs at her temple. âFeels like you were just in Melbourne.â
âTwo weeks ago,â he says. âThen Suzuka.â
She snorts softly. âI remember when you used to text me flight numbers like I knew what they meant.â
âYou did know,â he says. âBetter than most of us.â
She smiles at that. Tiny. Private. She doesnât say I miss it. He already knows.
He clears his throat. Thereâs that pause, like heâs gauging if sheâll hang up if he pushes too far.
âYou should come to Japan,â he says. Same tone as if heâd asked if sheâd eaten dinner yet.
âCarlosâŚâ
âDonât say no yet. Just think about it.â
âItâs not that simple.â
âIt is.â She can hear the wind die down a little. âYouâve got the days off. Youâll say you donât, but you do. You havenât taken a real break sinceââ
âSince Gigi.â She finishes it for him.
âYeah.â He doesnât soften the truth. She appreciates that about him more than she admits.
âAnd Lando'll love that, wonât he?â Her voice has an edge now.
Carlos lets out a short laugh. âLando can get over it.â
âHeâll think itâs you picking sides.â
âMaybe I am.â It comes quick, like he didnât mean to say it out loud. Then he sighs. âAsteria. You know itâs not about him. You know that.â
She rubs a thumb over the corner of the phone. âHeâll be there.â
âHeâll be busy,â Carlos says flatly. âHeâll show his face. Smile for Gigi. Then heâll disappear again when it suits him. And youâll still be there, carrying all of it.â
She doesnât argue. She canât.
He goes on, voice softer now but not weak. âYou used to love it there. Remember? You and me sneaking out of the hotel at midnight for ramen. You telling me you wanted to take Gigi one day when she was old enough to understand why the cars mattered to you too.â
Her throat tightens. She remembers. She remembers the noodles. The neon. The sticky night air and him next to her, his laughter echoing off shuttered stalls. Lando had been there too, but it hadnât felt like this with him.
âBring her,â Carlos says. âLet her see what you loved. Let her see you when youâre not waiting for someone.â
She feels it then, low in her ribs. Not a spark exactly. Just a warmth that might be hope if she lets it be.
âI canât promise,â she murmurs.
âI donât need a promise. Iâll book your tickets anyway. Youâll come if you want to.â
Itâs infuriating, how he says it like a fact. She wants to laugh, wants to fight it â but she knows him. Heâs right.
âSleep,â he says, voice dropping lower like itâs late for him too. âYou sound done in.â
âI am.â
âGo to bed. Iâll call tomorrow. Tell the tiny monster I said goodnight.â
Asteria smiles before she can stop herself. âNight, Carlos.â
âNight, Asteria.â
She hangs up. Checks the door twice. Stares at the open suitcase in the corner of her room. Then she drags it out, just to see if the zipper still works.
She doesnât pack. Not yet. But she folds the note from the drawer and tucks it inside the front pocket, hidden under the lining.
In case she needs the reminder: that someone else tries too.
When she turns off the light, she doesnât feel warmer exactly. But for the first time in weeks, she doesnât feel cold either.
---
authors note: FINALLY IT'S WEEKEND... have a great one guys cause it goes by so fast. (âŹâŹďšâŹâŹ)
summary: March wonât let go. Gigi keeps asking when heâs coming home, and Asteria keeps lying to both of them. One late-night call, one more half-promise, and another box on the doorstep that fixes nothing but makes pretending a little easier.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
March drags on like wet wool.
By the third week, the rain finally breaks, but the cold stays, sinking into the bones of the little apartment like itâs setting up camp. The kind of cold that doesnât let go, even when the sky clears and the sun tries to press through the windows.
Gigiâs cough fades to a sniffle, but the restlessness clings to her like a shadow, crawling up Asteriaâs spine every time the house falls too quiet. Thereâs no music on, no radio playing in the background, just silence pressing in.
Asteria works, folds laundry, watches the same three episodes of Bluey until she dreams in squeaky voices. She keeps the note he sent folded in a kitchen drawer, pretending she doesnât take it out sometimes, just to hold it in her hands, proof that he tried. That he cares. Or at least that he wants her to think so.
Thursday afternoon, and Gigi is sitting cross-legged on the living room rug. Crayons are scattered like fallen leaves around her â red, blue, purple â colors splashed wildly across a sheet of paper.
âMummy, Daddy and me,â she calls it, a lopsided drawing full of crooked stick figures.
Asteria watches her daughterâs small hands grip the red crayon so tightly it snaps in half. The crack echoes like a dull thud in the quiet room.
âMummy?â Gigi looks up, eyes hopeful, unaware of the ache sheâs about to cause. âWhenâs Daddy coming home?â
Asteria bites the inside of her cheek until it stings, forcing herself not to cry right there on the floor. She crouches down beside her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Gigiâs ear.
âHeâs busy, baby. Heâs racing, remember?â Her voice sounds brittle even to herself.
âBut when?â
âSoon.â The word comes out sharper than she means it to. Itâs a lie. They both know it, but they need it to be true.
Gigi nods, trusting like only a child can.
That night, Asteria calls him first.
She hates herself for it, hates how easy it is to give in when the loneliness presses hard and the hours drag on.
Itâs late where he is, somewhere warm. She can tell by the way his voice sounds half-asleep when he answers.
âHey,â he murmurs, soft and crackling with static.
âHey.â Her tone is flat, but it doesnât hide the ache.
âYou okay?â
She stares at the ceiling, trying not to let the tears come. âYeah. Iâm just trying to cope with Giannaâs nagging⌠I donât know what to say to her anymore.â
He exhales, long and quiet, like heâs trying to hold the guilt inside his ribs. âI know. Iâll FaceTime her tomorrow.â
âShe needs you around, Lando. Sheâs growing up so fast. I donât want her thinking this is normal, because it isnât.â
âRiaâŚâ
She hates how her name sounds in his mouth, how it makes her want to believe him when she knows she shouldnât.
âCan you come?â The words slip out raw and humiliating.
Thereâs silence. She hears him shift, voices murmuring in the background, hotel walls maybe, or a team dinner wrapping up.
âYou know I canât,â he says finally, gentle, like that soft edge makes it better.
âYou wonât,â she fires back. âItâs different.â
He sighs. âYou know Iâd be there if I could. Itâs race week. Then Iâm back in the garage. Then media day. Itâs my job, Asteria.â
âAnd you love it,â she snaps before she can swallow it back.
Thereâs a beat. A soft, hollow laugh. âYeah. I do.â
It hits her where it always does, deep in her gut, the ugly truth that there will always be a version of him she canât reach, no matter how many nights she waits by the phone.
They donât hang up. They donât fight either. They just sit in the silence they built together.
âYou remember,â she says quietly, âwhen you promised youâd be there for her?â
Heâs quiet. She knows he does. Knows he hates when she brings it up.
âI remember.â
âYou donât, though,â she whispers, softer now. âYou remember for a second. And then you get on a plane.â
âThatâs not fair.â
âNothing about this is fair.â
Gigiâs soft snores drift down the hall. Asteria pictures him lying in some hotel bed, the TV flickering on mute, his phone balanced on his chest, his stupid half-smile because he knows sheâll always pick up when he calls.
âWhy did you send Bingo?â she asks suddenly, breaking the quiet.
He huffs a soft laugh. âShe likes Bluey.â
âShe loves you.â
Silence. Then softer, âI know.â
Asteria presses her thumb into the corner of her eye until it hurts. âItâs worse when you pretend like that fixes it.â
âIâm trying,â he says, voice breaking in that rare way that makes her hate him and love him in the same breath.
âTry harder.â
They stay on the line, half-talking, half-waiting for the other to say what they shouldnât.
âYou ever think about justâŚâ he starts, trailing off.
âJust what?â
âQuitting. The job. The noise. All of it.â
She lets out a tired, genuine laugh. âYou wouldnât last a week.â
âIâd last a week,â he protests, playful now, the warmth that made her love him in the first place curling back in around her ribs.
âAnd then youâd miss the rush,â she says. âYouâd miss the roar. The cameras. The girls in the paddock pretending they donât see the bracelet with Gigiâs initials you wear every race.â
He flinches. She can feel it through the line.
âThatâs not fair,â he says again, but softer.
âI wish I could come visit. I swear,â he says, and she knows he means it. But meaning it isnât the same as doing it.
âMe too.â
She almost says I wish I didnât want you to, but bites her tongue.
The next morning he keeps his promise to FaceTime Gianna. Gigi squeals so loud the neighbors probably hear her. He makes silly faces, tells her about the next race, promises her a surprise when he wins. Itâs stupid, but it makes Gigi beam like heâs right there in the room.
When they hang up, Asteria tries not to look at her own reflection in the black screen. She wishes sheâd brushed her hair. She wishes she didnât look so tired. She wishes it didnât matter.
Sunday afternoon, a courier knocks on the door. Another box, this time itâs a tiny Mclaren hoodie, Gigiâs size, with her name embroidered on the sleeve.
The note says: For her next sleepover. One day.
One day. Not today.
She folds it and tucks it in the drawer with the rest of the things he tries to fix from a continent away.
Gigi squeals anyway. She runs around the living room in her too-big hoodie, arms out like airplane wings.
Asteria watches. She tries to smile. She almost pulls her phone out to call him back.
Almost.
---
authors note: pray for me cause i'm writing midterms and it's gonna kill me mentally... -_-
summary: Asteria is left alone with the mess Lando leaves behind â Gigiâs cold, bills piling up, and her own feelings she keeps trying to bury. A sick kid makes her call him first. One kiss that still means too much. One late-night call that says too little. A toy in the mail. Another half-promise she wants so badly to believeâ even though she knows better.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
It always started with the little things sheâd pretend not to notice. The mug still on the counter. His name still on her call log. Giannaâs tiny shoes lined up by the door next to her own like they were waiting for someone to step back into them.
The days blurred. By the second week of March, the rain came down in sheets. Leaking windows. The chill that made her bones ache. Gigi caught a cold that turned into a cough that clung to her for days. Asteria spent whole nights perched on the edge of her daughterâs bed, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead, counting breaths like prayers.
Work didnât stop. Deadlines stacked. She filed half-hearted pieces about spring wardrobes and pastel editorials, words she didnât believe in anymore. She thought about quitting sometimes, just to prove to herself she could. But the rent wouldnât pay itself, and Gigiâs feet kept growing, her daycare fees kept climbing, and the fridge kept emptying faster than she could fill it.
One Wednesday, when the cough had finally loosened its grip, Gigi asked to call him. She asked so sweetly, blue eyes big and wet with leftover fever. âPlease, MummyâŚâ
So Asteria called. She almost didnât. She hated how her thumb hovered over his name for a second too long. It rang forever. She nearly hung up when he answered, breathless, background noise crackling.
âAsteria? Whatâs up?â Like it was casual. Like she hadnât wanted to scream his name at 3 a.m. for a week straight.
âItâs not me,â she said, her voice dull. âItâs Gigi.â
âreally? Where's my girl?â His voice shifted instantly, warm in a way that made her bite down on her tongue. âWhatâs up? You feeling better?â
Gigi babbled about Bluey, about pancakes, about the park, her voice thick with leftover cold. She asked when heâd come home. Asteria watched the way her daughterâs eyes sparkled at every half-promise he fed her through the speaker.
When Gigi finally shoved the phone back into her hands and ran off to feed pretend soup to her doll, Asteria didnât hang up. She almost did. She didnât.
âYou couldâve called her,â she said, not quite looking at the fridge where the last of Gigiâs crayon drawings fluttered under a magnet. âYou didnât have to wait for me to do it.â
Silence. A shuffle. He mustâve moved somewhere quieter. She pictured him on a hotel balcony maybe, somewhere humid and bright, too many miles away for it to mean anything.
âI know,â he said finally. âIâve been⌠I donât know, Ria. Busy.â
âYouâre always busy.â
âDonât start.â
She pressed her palm flat to the counter, grounding herself. She wouldnât yell. Not tonight.
âI just wish youâd show up when youâre not here,â she said, voice low, measured. âFor her. For me â not for me. For her.â
âI know.â He sounded tired now, older somehow. She hated how easily she pictured the crease between his brows, the way heâd rub a hand over his mouth when he couldnât find the right words.
âDid you mean it?â The question slipped out before she could catch it.
âMean what?â
âThat kiss. That stupid kiss.â
A beat. He exhaled like heâd been punched.
âYeah,â he said. Small. Helpless. âYeah, Ria. I did.â
She waited for more. Something big. Something that would make it better. It didnât come.
âYouâre good at that,â she said quietly. âSaying just enough.â
âI donât want to fight.â
âIâm not fighting.â She swallowed the ache in her throat. âYou donât get it. You get to forget. You get on a plane. You race your car. You go to dinners. I stay here. I keep all of it. You donât even have to try.â
âRiaââ
âI have to go.â She was already pulling the phone away from her ear. âGoodnight, Lando.â
He said her name again, soft. She hung up anyway.
The next day, she didnât think heâd call. He didnât. She didnât expect him to. But around midnight, when Gigi was finally asleep in her own bed for once, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
[Lando]: Are you awake?
She stared at the message for a full minute. Then she typed âYeah, whatâs wrong?â and immediately hated herself for it.
The phone rang. She answered. This time, she didnât say anything. Let him speak first.
âHey.â He sounded like he was in bed too. The background was quiet. Private. Intimate in a way that made her chest ache.
âHey,â she said back, hating how soft it came out.
âI shouldnât have let you hang up like that.â
âYou did.â
âI know.â Another pause. âI miss her.â
Her throat tightened. âYou miss her?â
âAnd you.â
She squeezed her eyes shut. âDonât.â
âI do, Ria. I think about you all the time.â
âNot enough to be here.â
âYou know I canâtââ
âYeah.â She rubbed her palm over her forehead. âDonât do this. Donât call if youâre going to say shit you donât mean.â
âI do mean it.â
He was quiet for so long she almost thought heâd fallen asleep.
âI hate you sometimes,â she whispered into the dark. âI hate that you can say it like it costs you nothing.â
âI know,â he said again, softer than before. âBut I mean it anyway.â
They stayed on the line for a while after that, saying nothing. She listened to the static hum. Maybe he listened to her breathing. When she finally hung up, the bed didnât feel so cold, but it didnât feel warm either.
Two days later, a package arrived. Asteria let Gianna rip it open on the floor, squealing when she found the stuffed animal inside. Another Bluey plushie â Bingo this time, bigger than the one she already had.
âMummy, look⌠itâs Bingo!â she shrieked, hugging it tight.
Asteria found the note tucked underneath. Didnât know what else to send. Tell her I love her. Tell her Iâm trying. She studied the scrawl â rushed, familiar. Another little thing sheâd pretend not to notice. Another thing sheâd pretend was enough.
She folded it up, tucked it into a drawer. Sat down on the kitchen floor next to Gigi, who was babbling about showing Lala her new toy on FaceTime.
She didnât believe it. Not really. But she wanted to. That was the worst part.
summary: Asteria tries to hold it together after Lando leaves again. The house stays quiet, the mug stays in the sink, and Gigi keeps asking when heâll come back. She tells herself it doesnât mean anythingâ but she knows it does.
warnings: soft angst, emotional tension, complicated co-parenting, past relationship
It always felt heavier when he was gone. Not because the house got louder, but because it didnât. The quiet settled deep in her bones. The dishwasher hummed too loud. The fridge clicked on and off. Every tick of the clock on the stove sounded like a countdown to nothing.
Asteria stood barefoot in the kitchen, wiping down the counter that was already clean. She kept wiping it anyway, dragging the rag over the cold marble like it might wipe her brain blank too.
There was a mug in the sink. Not hers. The one heâd used that morning. She thought about rinsing it but left it there. Maybe so sheâd have proof heâd been there at all. Maybe so she could pretend he still was.
On the table sat his hoodie, grey, worn soft. She wondered if heâd left it on purpose, like he always did. Little pieces of him scattered around her house like breadcrumbs she kept trying not to follow. She folded it neatly. Unfolded it. Folded it again.
Gigi was asleep on the couch, Bluey squashed tight under her chin. One sock was gone. Asteria found it wedged between the throw pillows and slid it back onto her daughterâs tiny foot. Gigi stirred, breathed out a soft snore. She was getting too big for this couch. Too big for this tiny apartment.
Maybe the quiet might have felt gentle if Gianna's toys werenât everywhere, a silent reminder of the morning. The pancakes. The squeals.
She tried to sit at her laptop. The cursor blinked on a half-finished feature about spring trends â linen, coastal blue, muted brights. It all felt stupid now. Who cared about muted brights when her daughter had asked if Daddy would stay for her birthday next year?
She typed one line. Deleted it. Stared at the headline. Clicked to another tab. His Instagram. Nothing new. She scrolled anyway, through old photos. Cars. Planes. His grin half-cropped by someoneâs arm around his neck. She hated how easily the algorithm knew what to show her.
The Portuguese model popped up again. The one always standing too close to him in grainy club videos. Asteria had almost written about her before. Her editor loved that girlâs face â it sold. But British Vogue hadnât touched her yet. Asteria hoped they never would. Some lines were too cruel to cross. Even for work.
She glanced at the time. Almost midnight. He was probably on a plane by now or drinking airport coffee in some sterile lounge, eyes on his phone, replying to messages that werenât from her. He might text, maybe. Or maybe he wouldnât. When he was racing, he didnât think about her. Or Gigi. Not really. It was easier that way.
The jacket stayed draped over the chair all week. She moved it from the chair to the back of the door. Then to her closet. Then back to the chair. She couldnât decide if she wanted him to remember it was there or not.
On Thursday night, Gigi crawled into her bed after a nightmare. She was half-asleep when she mumbled, âMummy, whenâs Lala coming?â Her voice was small, sticky with sleep.
âSoon, baby. Heâll call tomorrow.â
It was a lie. They both knew it. But Gigi nodded like it was gospel. Burrowed her head under Asteriaâs arm. Asteria stayed awake until dawn, counting her daughterâs soft breaths, wondering how many ways the same heart could break.
Friday, she dragged herself through work. Edited stale copy about minimalist dressing for the third time. Smiled in meetings like she wasnât picturing him sitting next to some PR girl on a private jet. She almost texted him to remind him to call Gigi. She stopped herself. He shouldnât need reminders. All he had to do was want to.
On Saturday, she let Gigi paint in the kitchen. Finger paints everywhere on the floor, the fridge, her own cheeks. They made pancakes for lunch. Gigi ate them sitting on the counter again, swinging her legs, telling Bluey all about Daddyâs plane and how fast it flew. Asteria nodded along, trying not to shout every time Gianna asked about âLalaâ.
She wanted to be angry. Really angry. She wanted to break plates or scream or throw his stupid hoodie out the window. But she didnât. She just kept wiping down the counter.
Sunday morning, the mug was still there. Sheâd seen it the night before but left it. It was stupid, she knows, but touching it felt like admitting too much. Now, under the kitchen light, she lifted it, breathing in stale coffee. Her stomach twisted. She scrubbed it clean like she was scrubbing him out of the house, then set it upside down to dry. No traces. No excuses.
At night, Gigi slept pressed up against her side again, Bluey crammed between them. Asteria stayed awake long after her daughterâs breathing turned deep and even.
She thought about that pizza place. The way his knee pressed against hers. The way he didnât even ask. The way she hadnât stopped him. How heâd kissed her like it still meant something. How sheâd let him. How sheâd wanted him to do it again.
She wondered if he remembered. If he even felt it echo when he was gone.
When she closed her eyes, she still heard his voiceâ âGod, I wish I knew how to leave you alone. I really do.â
Maybe someday he would.
Maybe someday sheâd let him.
---
authors note: hi angles! i know this is extremely cowardly of me đ... but i had to redo chapter 3 đ
