❥ i’m ellen but i usually go by rose, i’m twenty-two and i’m british
❥ i am always open for a chat even if my requests are not open. while this is primarily an f1 account, i value other hobbies, fixations and most importantly mental health
❥ i recently got diagnosed with pots and i struggle on a day to day basis. it was only after my diagnosis that i got into f1 so i am still fairly new
❥ i this blog is a no hate zone. anyone bullying, hating or just being generally mean will be blocked. this is a safe space for everyone
❀ summary: toto finds out after months that his partner stopped taking her medication
❀ warnings: reader has schizophrenia and has stopped taking her medication
❀ authors note: n/a
❀ schizophrenia: a chronic brain disorder that affects thinking, perception, emotions and behaviour, often involving hallucinations, delusions and disorganised thoughts
endurance masterlist
The first thing Toto noticed was that she had stopped sleeping.
Not completely. Just enough that it caught his attention.
He would wake in the middle of the night and find her side of the bed empty, the house filled with the soft glow of the television downstairs. When he came to find her, she would always be sitting on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, insisting she simply wasn’t tired.
At first, he believed her.
The Formula One season was relentless, not just for him, but for the people who loved him too. He was leaving before sunrise most mornings and returning long after dark, exhausted and distracted, his mind still half at Brackley even when he was physically home.
She worked from home. Long hours, difficult clients, deadlines that seemed to multiply every week. Stress was hardly unusual.
Still, something felt different.
She startled more easily.
The television was always on, even when she wasn’t watching it. Music played constantly in rooms she wasn’t using. Sometimes he would walk into the kitchen and find her standing perfectly still, staring at nothing in particular, only for her to jump when she realised he was there.
“Schatz?”
She blinked rapidly. “Sorry. You surprised me.”
He frowned.
“You did not hear me come in?”
“No.” She offered him a small smile. “I was distracted.”
He accepted the explanation.
Because he had no reason not to.
Toto had known about her schizophrenia from almost the beginning of their relationship. It had been one of those difficult, vulnerable conversations people had when they were beginning to realise that this might become something serious.
She had explained her diagnosis nervously, as though waiting for him to decide it was too much.
Instead, he had simply asked what she needed from him.
She had laughed through her tears.
It had never changed how he saw her.
Over the years, she had been stable. She attended appointments, took her medication, recognised when she was struggling and asked for help when she needed it.
So when things started changing, it never occurred to him that she might have stopped taking her medication.
Why would it?
As far as he knew, everything was being managed.
The second thing he noticed was the locks.
Every evening when he came home, the front door would already be locked.
Sometimes, he would find her checking them again while dinner cooked.
“Liebling,” he said gently one evening, watching as she tested the handle for the fourth time. “The door is locked.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you checking?”
She shrugged without looking at him. “Just making sure.”
He watched her for a long moment longer as something twisted uncomfortably in her chest.
It was only later, lying in bed beside her, that he realised she had started positioning herself so she could see the bedroom door.
The realisations sat heavily with him.
“Are you anxious or something?” He asked softly.
She was quiet for a moment. “A little.”
He reached for her hand beneath the duvet. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
He didn’t push but perhaps he should have.
The season grew busier as Mercedes started to struggle.
Toto spent more nights at the factory than he cared to admit, returning home exhausted and distracted. Every time guilt surfaced, she reassured him immediately.
“I’m fine,” she would insist. “Honestly.”
And because he wanted to believe her, he did.
Until that Thursday in May.
A meeting had been cancelled unexpectedly, allowing Toto to leave Brackley earlier than planned. He arrived home shortly after four in the afternoon, expecting to find her working in her office.
Instead, the apartment was silent. Unnaturally so.
There was no television, no music, nothing.
“Schatz?” He called as he stepped inside.
No answer.
Concern prickled immediately.
He found her in the living room, sitting on the floor beside the sofa, knees pulled tightly against her chest
She looked terrified.
“Toto.”
His heart dropped.
He crossed the room instantly.
“Mein Engel, what happened?”
For a moment, she just stared at him, then her eyes filled with tears.
“I thought you were still at work.”
The answer made no sense.
“Schatz–”
“Please don’t be angry.”
Fear settled cold and sharp in his stomach.
“Why would I be angry?”
She looked away, and suddenly he knew.
“When did you stop taking your medication?”
She froze and silence stretched between them for too long.
“Oh my God,” Toto whispered.
Reluctantly, she whispered, “A few months ago.”
He felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs.
“Months?”
She nodded once, tears spilling over.
“I was fine at first.”
“Schatz–”
“I was.” Her voice cracked. “I hated the side effects, Toto. I was tired all the time and I couldn’t think properly and I just wanted to feel like myself again,”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“When were you planning to tell me?”
“I wasn’t”
The answer hurt him more than he expected.
“Why?”
“You were busy.”
Toto stared at her.
“That is not an answer.”
“You were already dealing with so much.” Tears ran freely down her face now. “Merecedes was struggling and you were stressed and I thought I could handle it.”
“You thought wrong.” The words came out sharper than he intended.
She flinched and regret hit him immediately.
Toto exhaled slowly and forced himself to soften.
“No,” he said quietly, moving closer. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “I didn’t want to be another problem.”
The confession shifted something inside him. He reached for her carefully, waiting until she allowed it before taking her hands.
“Do you really believe there is a version of this where I would rather you suffer alone than ask me for help?”
That was a hard question because she honestly didn’t know what to believe anymore. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
Toto’s chest ached. “How long have the voices been worse?”
She hesitated. “After a few weeks.”
“And you have been managing alone.”
A tiny nod.
He looked away briefly, overwhelmed by the thought.
Weeks.
She had been frightened and struggling and alone in their home for weeks while he had been obsessing over lap times and upgrades.
“Toto?”
He looked back immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
His expression crumpled. “Schatz, you do not need to apologise for being unwell.”
“But I lied.”
“Yes.”
She winced.
“But I understand why,” he continued.
Slowly, he pulled her into his arms. She came immediately, clinging to him with an exhaustion that frightened him.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“I know.”
“The voices won’t stop.”
Toto rested his cheek against her hair. “Okay.”
She frowned slightly. “Okay?”
“Yes.” His hand moved slowly up and down her back. “You are hearing voices right now?”
She nodded.
“Are they frightening?”
Another nod.
“Alright.” His voice remained calm and steady. “Stay with me for a moment.”
Her breathing was uneven. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He squeezed her hand gently as he gave her one of his jumpers from the arm of the couch for her to hold. “Tell me five things you can see.”
She blinked.
“Toto–”
“Five things.”
Slowly and shakily, she looked around.
“The sofa, the coffee table, you, the television and books.”
“Good.”
They went through all her other senses as she held his jumper, running her thumb over the cashmere. When they finished, Toto brushed damp hair back from her face.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “And tomorrow, we are calling your doctor.”
She looked terrified.
He squeezed her hand again.
“You are not doing this alone anymore.”
That was when she started crying properly. And this time, Toto held her through every second of it.
hi! if you can’t see your request it could be because the chronic illness has already been written for that driver or you didn’t submit through the form. ❤️
I know your requests are closed!! but would you ever consider doing a fic about borderline personality disorder for your endurance series? BPD is super misunderstood but I know a lot of people with it would love to be able to read a fic where someone with BPD is loved gently and wholly!
hi anon!
so it is quite far down the list but i do have a oscar piastri one where the reader has bpd. if you want another driver, feel free to request when they are open again ❤️
❀ summary: toto notices when his wife begins to have a manic episode
❀ warnings: reader has bipolar 1 disorder
❀ authors note: last time i wrote for bipolar 1 i had some advice that it wasn't quite right, so i've taken that on board and tried to improve for this fic
❀ bipolar 1 disorder: a mental health condition characterised by extreme mood swings, including episodes of mania (high energy, impulsivity) and depression
endurance masterlist
It started so gradually that neither of them could have pointed to the exact moment things changed.
At first, it simply felt like a good week.
She had more energy and more motivation. The endless list of tasks that had been sitting untouched on her desk for weeks suddenly seemed manageable, almost easy. Emails were answered within minutes instead of days. Reports were finished ahead of schedule. Her office at Brackley, usually a controlled sort of chaos, became immaculate overnight.
People noticed.
“You’re on fire this week,” one of the engineers told her with an impressed grin after she had solved an issue that had been frustrating the department for days.
She smiled and thanked him, warmth blooming pleasantly in her chest.
Because she did feel good. Better than good, actually.
She felt capable.
Everything seemed sharper somehow. Ideas connected effortlessly, conversations moved at the perfect speed, and for the first time in months she felt as though her brain was finally working with her instead of against her.
It wasn’t until the fourth night that Toto noticed something was wrong.
She was sitting at the kitchen island when he arrived home, laptop open, papers spread around her, still dressed in the same clothes she had worn to the factory that morning.
The clock on the oven read 1:47am.
Toto paused in the doorway. “You are still awake.”
She looked up immediately, smiling brightly. “I had an idea,”
He set his bag down slowly. “At nearly two in the morning?”
“I know, but listen–” She turned the laptop towards him before he could protest. “I was looking at the staffing schedules and realised there are three different inefficiencies between departments. If we reorganised the workflow slightly, we could probably reduce turnaround times by at least fifteen percent.”
Toto blinked.
The proposal on the screen was thorough. Impressively so.
But something about the scene unsettled him.
“When did you eat dinner?”
She frowned slightly. “I had lunch.”
His concern sharpened. “That was not my question.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not hungry.”
Toto studied her for a moment longer. There was colour high in her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes that seemed almost unnatural at that hour.
“How much sleep have you had this week?”
She laughed.
“I’m fine, Toto.”
That wasn’t an answer but he didn’t push. Not yet.
***
Over the next few days, the changes became harder to ignore.
She spoke and moved faster. Her thoughts seemed to outrun everyone else’s, conversations skipping so quickly from one subject to another that even Toto, as her husband, occasionally struggled to follow.
She started new projects before finishing old ones. Order books she was convinced would change everything. Rearranged the entire guest room at three o’clock in the morning because she had suddenly decided it should become an office.
And she slept much less.
By the end of the week, Toto was fairly certain she hadn’t slept more than three hours a night.
The problem was that she had never seemed happier.
She laughed more and touched him constantly as they moved around their house, kissing his cheek in passing, and pulling him into spontaneous conversations about ideas she was desperate to share.
Part of him hated being worried when she looked so alive.
The other part knew better.
They were eating breakfast one morning when she announced it, entirely casually, “I think we should buy a house in Tuscany.
Toto looked up from his coffee. “A house.”
“Yes.” She nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking at properties online and honestly, the prices aren’t terrible. We could renovate it ourselves.”
“Tuscany,” he repeated carefully.
“Mmhm.”
“We both work in Formula One.”
“Exactly. That’s why we need somewhere peaceful.”
Toto was quiet for a moment. “When did you last sleep?”
Her expression shifted immediately. “Oh, not this again.”
“You did not answer.”
“Because it is irrelevant.”
“No,” Toto said softly. “I do not think it is.”
The atmosphere changed instantly. She pushed her chair back, irritation flashing across her face.
“I knew this was coming.”
Toto remained seated.
“Coming?”
“You almost do this.” She folded her arms tightly. “The second I’m happy, everyone gets worried.”
He exhaled gently. “That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” Her voice rose slightly. “I’m productive, I’m getting things done, I feel good, and suddenly everyone thinks there’s something wrong with me.”
“There is nothing wrong with you.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
Silence settled heavily between them.
Toto set his coffee cup down carefully before speaking quietly. “I am looking at you like someone who loves you.”
Her expression faltered.
“You have slept less than fifteen hours this week,” he continued gently. “You are barely eating. Your thoughts are moving so quickly that you cannot finish a conversation before starting another.”
She looked away.
“I feel fine.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want this taken away from me.”
There it was. The real fear.
Toto stood slowly, crossing the kitchen until he stood in front of her.
“I am not trying to take anything away from you.”
“Then why does it feel like you are?”
He sighed.
“Because sometimes being ill feels good at first,” he said quietly. “And that makes it very difficult when the people who you love become afraid.”
Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes.
“I just…” She swallowed hard. “I finally feel like myself.”
Toto’s expression softened immediately as he reached for her hands.
“Schatz,” he said softly,” you do not only exist in your highs.”
The tears spilled over as Toto spoke.
He pulled her carefully against him as she finally started to cry.
“I know,” he murmured, one hand resting against the back of her head. “I know.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. She could feel her thoughts still moving too quickly, darting from one fear to the next even as she stood in his arms. The tears wouldn’t stop.
“I’m scared,” she admitted eventually, her voice muffled against his chest.
“I know.”
“I’m scared of the crash,” she whispered. “I’m scared of waking up and not feeling like this anymore.”
Toto was quiet for a moment before he gently cupped her face, encouraging her to look at him.
“Stay with me for a second,” he said softly.
She tried.
“Can you tell me where we are?”
She frowned slightly. “The kitchen.”
He nodded. “Good. And what day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Good.” His thumbs brushed gently beneath her eyes, wiping away the tears there. “ANd right now, in this moment, are you safe>”
Her breathing was still uneven, but she nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Then we do not have to think about the crash today.”
Her chest tightened. “But what if–”
“No.” His voice remained gentle, but firm. “Today, you are here. I am here. You are safe, and you are not alone.”
Something in her shoulders loosened slightly.
Toto rested his forehead against hers.
“We will deal with tomorrow when it comes,” he said quietly. “You do not have to survive all of it tonight.”
And somehow, hearing him say it made the fear feel a little smaller.
this feel like the right place to ask since so many of us are in the same boat with going through it lol
but i was wondering if you or any followers have recommendations for cute weekly pill organizer...?
hi anon! i only just got this notification.
my pill box is so boring with just the day on in sharpie but they are pastel green for morning and pastel pink for the evening. my mum has these really cute ones where they are f1 themed with 'Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Practice day, Quali day, Race day'. she uses fishing tackle boxes that she found cheap.
if you are crafty then maybe paint cute characters on them or if not you can use canva for free to design pictures or get stickers online. i did see someone turn altoid cases into pill boxes.
i don't have any more ideas off the top of my head but maybe some of my followers how see this will comment some ideas for you as well ❤️❤️
❀ summary: toto makes sure that everyone at mercedes is included in conversations, however he can
❀ warnings: reader is partially deaf and uses unspecified equipment to help her, unintentional ableism
❀ authors note: my first time writing for toto so i'm a bit nervous
❀ deafness: Partial or complete loss of hearing, which can range from mild impairment to profound deafness
endurance masterlist
The Brackley factory was never quiet.
Even away from the race weekends, away from the cameras and paddock chaos, there was always noise somewhere. Conversations overlapping across open office spaces, keyboards clattering, machinery humming faintly through the walls of the workshop floors below. People moved quickly at Mercedes, thoughts moving even faster, ideas thrown around in half-finished sentences because everyone expected everyone else to keep up.
Most days, she did.
Or at least she pretended to.
She sat halfway down the long conference table, notebook open in front of her more out of habit than necessity, eyes flickering constantly between whoever was speaking. Lip reading wasn’t impossible to her, not after a lifetime of doing it, but rooms like this made it exhausting. Engineers spoke while staring at screens. People interrupted each other. Someone would mumble into their coffee cup and expect the whole room to catch it.
By the end of most meetings, her concentration felt like a stretched wire ready to snap.
Across the room, Toto Wolff was speaking to one of the senior engineers, one hand braced against the back of a chair while the other gestured sharply towards the data projected on the wall.
She caught maybe seventy percent of it.
Enough to follow the conversation but not enough to relax.
“ –front suspension geometry,” someone said from further down the table.
Another voice answered immediately, too fast and facing away from her completely.
She missed all of that sentence.
Her eyes flicked instinctively toward whoever spoke next, trying to catch up again before the conversation moved on without her.
It always moved on without her eventually. Not maliciously, but people just forgot.
That was the hardest part sometimes. Nobody at Mercedes treated her badly because she was deaf. They were accommodating when reminded. Kind, even.
But remembering required effort, and people stopped making effort when they got busy.
A voice cut across the room suddenly.
“Can we slow down a second?”
The conversation paused almost immediately.
She looked up.
Tot’s gaze moved briefly towards her before returning to the others around the table.
“She needs to be able to see who’s speaking,” he said evenly. “One at a time.”
A flicker of embarrassment crossed a few faces and someone muttered an apology.
The room settled slightly after that, people becoming more conscious of where they were facing, speaking slowly so that the conversations became readable again instead of being impossible to follow.
She exhaled quietly, tension easing from her shoulders before she even released it.
Toto continued the meeting like nothing happened.
But a few minutes later, when someone started talking while looking down at their laptop again, he interrupted without hesitation.
“Face her when you speak.”
He didn’t sound annoyed, just firm. Like it should have already been obvious.
She felt her chest tighten unexpectedly because he always did that.
Not dramatically or in a way that would draw attention to her. He just noticed.
By the time the meeting ended an hour later, her head was throbbing faintly from concentration. Everyone around the table began gathering laptops and paper immediately, conversations splintering into smaller groups as people stood.
She stayed seated for a moment longer, rubbing absently at the space between her eyebrows.
“Tired?”
She looked up to find Toto standing beside her chair.
She smiled faintly. “A little.”
His expression softend instantly in that subtle way that it only ever did with her. It wasn’t pity, more admiration at how despite her hearing loss, she still pushed just as hard, if not harder, than everyone else.
“You missed part of the middle section,” he said quietly with no judgement, just observation.
She gave a small shrug. “The discussion about the rear wing?”
He nodded once.
“I figured.”
There was no point pretending otherwise with him. He noticed too much.
“It got messy,” she admitted. “Everyone started talking over each other.”
Toto’s jaw clenched slightly, not at her but at the situation itself.
“You should have stopped them.”
A quiet laugh escaped her. “In a room full of Formula One engineers?”
“Yes,”
She smiled despite herself.
That was another thing about Toto. He never acted like asking for accessibility was unreasonable. To him, communication wasn’t a favour people extended when convenient. It was expected.
Still, she shook her head lightly as she stood. “I’m used to it.”
Something unreadable flickered briefly across his face at that. Like he hated the sentence.
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” he said quietly.
Before she could respond, someone called his name from across the room.
His attention shifted automatically, then immediately came back to her.
“I need five minutes,” he said. “Come to my office after?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
His hand brushed briefly against the small of her back as he passed her – sublet enough that nobody else would notice it for what it was.
But she did.
They had been keeping things quiet for months now. Not exactly a secret, but private.
Most people at Mercedes probably assumed they were close because they worked together constantly. Which was true. They spent long hours together, travelled together during race weekends, shared quiet coffees between meetings and late nights at the factory.
Only a handful of people knew that sometimes she ended up at Toto’s house after those late nights.
That sometimes his hand found hers beneath conference tables where nobody could see.
That sometimes he kissed her slowly in the doorway of his office after everyone else had gone home.
His office door was open when she reached it ten minutes later.
Toto sat behind his desk, glasses low on his nose as he read through something on his laptop.
He looked up as soon as she entered. That alone made warmth flicker low in her chest.
Most people kept multitasking while speaking to her, splitting their attention in ways that made lip reading nearly impossible.
Toto never did.
“How bad was the meeting?” He asked.
She leaned lightly against the doorframe. “Not terrible.”
“But exhausting.”
She smiled faintly. “You know me too well.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
The honesty of it settled softly between them. She stepped further into the office, closing the door behind her. Toto watched her for a second before speaking again.
“I have been trying to learn.”
Her eyebrows pulled together slightly. “What?”
A flash of something almost uncertain crossed his expression then, strange on someone usually so composed.
“British Sign Language,” he clarified. “Or…” He grimaced slightly. “I thought it was British Sign Language.”
She blinked. Then watched, slightly stunned, as Toto lifted his hand carefully.
The movements were hesitant. Stiff with concentration.
Not fluent. Not even close. But it was recognisable.
How are you?
Emotion caught somewhere unexpectedly high in her chest.
“Toto–”
“I think some of it may actually be Austrian Sign Language,” he admitted immediately, frustration present on his face. “The internet was not as clear as it should have been.”
A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Toto looked deeply offended by this.
“This is not funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
“I have been studying.”
That only made her laugh louder.
The image of Toto Wolff aggressively researching sign language at midnight felt absurdly endearing.
“I know it’s wrong,” he said, more quietly now. “I just… I wanted to try.”
And suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. Her chest ached with something unbearably soft.
Most people treated communication with her like extra effort. Something inconvenient they attempted briefly before giving up.
But Toto – busy, intimidating, constantly overworked Toto – had gone home and tried learning another language just so speaking to her would be easier.
Even if he got half of it wrong.
She stepped closer slowly. “You learned that for me?”
His expression softened slightly, like the answer should have been obvious.
“Of course.”
Something warm and painful settled in her throat.
“Toto,” she whispered.
“I know it’s not correct yet,” he admitted. “The grammar is different and some signs are apparently completely wrong.”
She smiled, eye stinging.
“It’s right enough.”
The tension in his shoulders eased visibly at that.
Slowly and carefully, she lifted her own hands.
You – good. She signed gently (you are doing well).
His eyes followed the movements intently.
Then, slightly clumsy but determined, he repeated the sign back to her.
It was the wrong hand shapes and direction but close enough that her chest melted completely.
“You are laughing at me again,” he observed.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
A grin pulled at her mouth.
Tot stepped closer then, close enough that she could see the crease of concentration lingering between his brows.
“I hate watching you work so hard just to follow conversations,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty of it caught her off guard. “I’m okay.”
“I know you are okay,” he said immediately. “That does not mean it is fair.”
She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes, because most people stopped at ‘you manage well’.
Toto never did.
He noticed the exhaustion underneath it. The constant concentration and the isolation of missing pieces of conversations all day long and pretending it didn’t matter.
Without thinking, she reached for his hand.
His fingers closed around hers instantly.
“You don’t have to learn sign language for me,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Toto looked at her for a long moment before answering.
“Because I love talking to you,” he said quietly. “And I would like to understand all of your language.”
Her breath caught completely and emotion pressed hard against her ribs as he lifted their joined hands slightly.
“Also,” he added dryly, “I’m extremely competitive and now I need to learn it properly.”
A startled laugh broke out of her immediately. “There he is.”
“Yes, yes.”
Still smiling softly, she stepped closer until their foreheads nearly touched, not extra communication needed.
this feel like the right place to ask since so many of us are in the same boat with going through it lol
but i was wondering if you or any followers have recommendations for cute weekly pill organizer...?
hi anon! i only just got this notification.
my pill box is so boring with just the day on in sharpie but they are pastel green for morning and pastel pink for the evening. my mum has these really cute ones where they are f1 themed with 'Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Practice day, Quali day, Race day'. she uses fishing tackle boxes that she found cheap.
if you are crafty then maybe paint cute characters on them or if not you can use canva for free to design pictures or get stickers online. i did see someone turn altoid cases into pill boxes.
i don't have any more ideas off the top of my head but maybe some of my followers how see this will comment some ideas for you as well ❤️❤️
just a question for whenever requests are open again! ive seen you do basically all the drivers on the grid but would you consider doing a toto wolff endurance fic?
hi anon! toto wolff is actually the next four fics in my list and the first one is half written. i can’t promise when it will be out but it is coming ❤️
↳ A/N Welcome to the prologue of my brand new series!! This one is so, so special to me and might be one of my favourite pieces of writing to date as it was quite a challenge with unique characters and relationships that I had never written about before. It's been beta read and backed wholehearted by my darling T-Anon. I'm very excited to share this universe with all of you and I hope you will be open to commenting and sharing your thoughts as the story progresses :) We have lots to look forward to here...I hope you're ready x
↳ Series Summary: As a single mother, Josefine is used to doing everything on her own. Leaving everything behind to chase her son's karting dreams in England, she dedicated herself wholeheartedly to pushing him through the ranks, no matter the cost...even if it takes everything from her in the process. She knows that nothing is guaranteed and trust isn't easily won, and yet she comes to learn that the biggest lessons may not be found on the track but, rather, in the form of a retired Formula 1 driver and his daughter.
↳ Pairings: SingleDad!KartingCoach!George Russell x Single Mom!OC
↳ Chapter Word Count: 364
The flat clung onto the lingering chills of winter like an unbreakable secret. Josefine should have been used to the cold; having been raised up the coast of Norway, nestled deep between the fjords where arctic gusts used the channels to cut through the quaint towns and cities. Winter in England, she soon came to realize, had a sense of unwelcomeness to it that always felt far more bitter. Perhaps it was trying to push her back home.
Going home would mean giving up. And Josefine was never one to give up. Especially not when it came to her son.
Pulling the edge of the wool blanket farther around her shoulders, she flipped the page of the impressively thick booklet in her hand, eyes skimming over the requirements for the British Karting National Championship for the nth time that evening. Extensive lists and numbers with far too many digits stared back at her, daunting, ink on paper sneering at her in silent reminders of what little she had to offer her sweet boy who held dreams bigger than both of them.
Ten-year-old Henrik had performed so well in the British Club Championships that his progression to the British National Championship was expected. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the jump in fees that came with it and yet Josefine still felt like the rug had been yanked out from under her with just how much of an increase she was facing at the turn of the year. The list felt never ending.
With an exasperated sigh, she closed the booklet and tossed it onto the coffee table.
Maybe she just needed to look at her budget again, crunch some more numbers, pull some strings, figure out where pennies could be pinched and priorities could be shifted. With a sigh, she opened her laptop to once again stare down the barrel of her pitiful income that never seemed to be enough.
From beside her, the table lamp flickered. It was a miracle that it was even still functioning given the stack of half-paid bills resting in its bath of warmth, topped by a document donning angry red capital letters along the top margin:
EVICTION NOTICE
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Girl we had way too many fucking tornadoes here today! Oh my god! And let me tell you, tornadoes are not fun to deal with considering POTS and Brugada. My heart rate was 224 as I was running to the fucking basement.
oh my god! please stay safe. i cannot even imagine how scary that is without having pots and brugada on top of that. please please please look after yourself and i hope they’re over soon ❤️❤️
