a glass of rosé

Planning to...

Charles Leclerc x reader

You’ve never really been a good sleeper. When you were a kid, sleepwalking and sleep-talking happened often enough that your family stopped being surprised by it. Then, as the years went by, you mostly grew out of it.

Mostly.

It still shows up now and then when you’re stressed or overtired. When you and Lando started sleeping together regularly, you warned him. You genuinely did. You told him you might talk, or move around, or even get up without waking. He said, “yeah, yeah, no worries,” like it was no big deal.

Except he absolutely freaked out the first time it happened.

Over the three years of your relationship, though, he got used to it. He knows how to gently guide you back to bed, how to tuck you under his arm so you settle again, how to talk you down softly until your breathing evens out.

For him it’s just part of loving you. And of course, he loved to tease you about it. He just liked how flustered you got, how you tried to hide your face in your hands, how you whined his name like he was torturing you. 

He never meant to mock you about it though. He knew you’ve always found the whole thing incredibly embarrassing. It felt completely out of your control, and you hated the idea of anyone witnessing it. The first time he caught you wandering around, you wanted the earth to swallow you. You couldn’t even look him in the eye the next morning. Yet, you preferred to know if you woke him with something, even if he always told you with that stupidly soft grin, looking absolutely delighted by your reaction. And although you hated when he did that, he somehow still made it feel less like a flaw and more like one of your quirks he secretly adored.

—

It was one of those rare nights when both of you were at home in Monaco and neither of you had to wake up early in the morning. Lando woke up to the soft creak of the bedroom door. He blinked, groggy, and turned his head. You weren’t in bed.

 “Babe?” he called out, half-hoping, half-expecting you to answer from the bathroom.

Silence.

He waited. One, two, three seconds. Nothing. No sound of faucet, no toilet lid, no footsteps coming back.

He frowned, pushing himself up on his elbows. “...you good?” he tried again, voice low. Still no answer.

Then he heard a noise coming from the living room. Something that suspiciously sounded like… Rummaging?

 “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mumbled, but there was no real annoyance in it. Just exhaustion and a kind of fond resignation. He sat up sighing, threw the blanket off and slipped out of bed, the wooden floor cold under his bare feet.

He padded out of the bedroom yawning, and followed the sounds into the living room in the darkness.

And there you were. Standing in front of the couch, perfectly still. One pillow was already on the floor, and another was in your hands, upside down.

Lando stopped in the doorway and rubbed his face. “Oh, babe…”

Yep. Sleepwalking. No question.

He approached you carefully, touching your arm in that gentle, practiced way he’d learned over the years. “Sweetheart?” he whispered. “What’re we doing out here?”

You mumbled something incomprehensible and continued rearranging the pillow that absolutely did not need rearranging. Lando exhaled slowly, fighting a smile and a groan at the same time.

 “Okay, come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go back to bed.”

You let him take the pillow from your hands. You didn’t resist when he slipped an arm around your shoulders and steered you toward the bedroom. Inside, he settled you back under the blanket, tucking you in gently. You sighed, drifting instantly into deeper sleep. Lando brushed a hand over your hair, kissed your forehead, and collapsed beside you.

You’d always been the words type.

Notes on the fridge, long text messages at midnight, compliments and heartfelt confessions when you least expected it. Love, to you, had always been something spoken.

Lando… Not so much.

He loved in quieter ways. The kind that didn’t need sentences, just the brush of his fingers at the small of your back in a crowd, the way he always pulled you into his chest during hugs like he needed you there to breathe. You started to notice it, slowly. The patterns. The way he put his arms around you during movies, or rested his hand on your thigh under the table. How he’d go still the second your fingers threaded through his hair.

Physical touch wasn’t your default, and words of affirmation weren’t his. But during the three years spent together, each other’s love language slowly became an instinct. As soon as you understood this part of each other, your relationship changed. He learned to text you back paragraphs instead of emojis, he told you out loud what he loved about in the most casual situations, and you found many different ways to say I love you without ever opening your mouth.

—

You couldn’t always follow Lando to race weekends, but you tried to organize your schedule so you could be at home when he arrived back.

You were reading on the couch, the floor lamp casting soft glow on the book on your lap when you heard the front door clicking shut. Then came the soft ruffle of shoes. You looked up just when Lando stepped into the living room, his hair messy from the hoodie he’d just pulled off, cheeks a little pink from the wind outside. He looked tired.

You set the book down without a word and opened your arms. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped onto the couch, curling into your side like it was instinct. His arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into the crook of your neck. You felt the weight of him relax, slowly, as your fingers threaded through his curls and your other hand rubbed soothing circles into his back.

 “You okay?” you whispered, lips brushing his temple.

 “Mhm.” It came out muffled. “Now, yeah.”

Lando didn’t always say when he was struggling, but you’d learned to notice. And then, he didn’t need big speeches from you. He needed a quiet space with your palm against his cheek and your fingers in his hair, where he could just exist with you, no pressure, no eyes on him.

So you gave him that.

—

In the beginning, Zak didn’t support him sleeping in the same hotel room with you. He knew Lando tended to be messy with his bedtime routine, and Zak didn’t want him to have another source of distraction. It all changed a lot over the three years, and he slept better with you tucked to his side anyway.

He was half-asleep already, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breathing slow and even. You have been tracing lazy lines up and down his arm with your fingertips for the past ten minutes, neither of you saying a word. You moved a little, and slowly started to caress his back and his shoulders, your cheek against his curls. Lando hummed, barely there, and snuggled closer.

 “Feels nice,” he mumbled, barely audible.

 “I know,” you whispered, the corner of your lips turning up. You kept stroking his back, over his shoulder, down his elbow, then up again. It calmed him like clockwork.

You fell asleep like that, with his arms around your waist, and yours soothing down his skin in gentle rhythm, just how he liked.

—

His curls were damp, sticking to his forehead as he stood between your legs while you sat on the bathroom counter. You were already dressed in the large shirt you liked sleeping in, while he still only had a towel wrapped around his waist.

 “I’m going to make you look like a prince,” you announced, your hand already combing through his hair.

Lando let out a scoff, but you hushed him, twirling his locks around your fingers. You knew he didn’t like having curly hair, which was insane to you. That was one of the physical parts you liked the most about him.

You smoothed the strands back gently, pushing his fringe off his forehead and fluffing the ends. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch without thinking. His shoulders went soft. You slowed down, fingertips massaging lightly into his scalp now.

He never said it, but you knew he would’ve stood there forever if you let him.

—

His fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently, biting on his lower lip, his jaw tense like he was one honk away from snapping. You watched him from the passenger seat. The sunglasses were hiding his eyes, but not the tension in his whole body. The traffic hasn’t been moving for fifteen minutes now, and he knew he was going to be late again.

He didn’t say anything. He had turned down the music like it annoyed him. He didn’t reach for your hand like he usually did when you were sitting at a red light. Then, he let out a long sigh, moving his hand down to rest between the two of you.

You glanced down, and then reached for it. You started at his wrist, your thumb circling gently over the warm skin. Then your fingers travelled up, stroking the inside of his forearm in smooth, rhythmical lines.

He exhaled slowly before turning his head towards you. He sent you a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

 “I hate this shit,” he muttered, looking back at the road.

 “I know,” you replied.

The ride home was quiet. Isa dozed in her car seat, thumb in her mouth, her Bunny lying on her chest. Carlos drove with one hand, the other resting on the gear shift like his grip could somehow steady his spinning thoughts.

Her stomach hurt because her heart was screaming. Because her world had been ripped in two and rearranged almost overnight. And because somewhere inside, she was still waiting for her mother to come back.

Carlos blinked hard, forcing his eyes back to the road.

He’d already known this wouldn’t be easy. But now, it was sinking in with brutal, unrelenting clarity. Isa wasn’t just adjusting to a new home. She was grieving a loss her three-year-old mind couldn’t even understand. And Carlos, a rookie father, an unplanned parent, a weekend visitor turned into full-time caretaker, was the one holding all the shattered pieces.

That night, she started sobbing again during bath time. Carlos knelt by the tub, shampoo still on his hands, and Isa suddenly burst into tears. Full, shaking sobs.

 “I want Mommy.”

Carlos’s heart cracked in half once again. He reached for the towel, pulled her out of the water, and held her to his chest. She was shivering.

 “I know,” he whispered, rocking gently. “I know, mi amor.”

He couldn’t promise she’d come back. He couldn’t say when, or if, Vivian would ever reach out to her again. So, he didn’t say anything at all. Just held her.

He was exhausted. Terrified. Drowning in guilt.

He was trying so hard to be enough for her. He read her bedtime stories, played with her, took her to the park, cuddled her, and watched cartoons with her. He held her through every meltdown. He had given up sleep, space, and silence. Given up trying to make sense of any of it.

And still, she cried for Vivian.

He didn’t blame her. How could he? Vivian was her mother. The only consistent figure Isa had known, no matter how flawed or damaging that consistency had been lately. But it still cut deep, because for real, Carlos was trying so, so hard. And every time Isa whispered "I want her" through tears, it twisted something sharp in him.

And he felt horrible for letting it get to him. Of course, he was her father, but he hadn’t been there like this before. And now he was all she had. And whatever came next, it was he who had to carry it with her. Even if she never understood why.

Even if he didn’t, either.

---

Carlos was sitting on the couch, chewing on his thumbnail as he stared at the blank page on his laptop. He somehow had to do the unexpected and let his team know that things had changed. Of course, they knew he had a daughter. It wasn’t something he could or wanted to hide from them. He was planning to write an email, but the words didn’t come. Maybe because he didn’t even have a clean plan yet. Should he hire a babysitter? Should he ask his parents to follow him to races and look after Isa?

She was sitting on the rug at his feet now, quietly focusing on stacking one coloured block on top of another, like the whole world had narrowed to that small, wobbly tower in front of her.

After a while, she stopped. She stood up, shifting her weight from one little leg to another, her eyes uncertain as she looked at him. He caught her gaze immediately and reached out his hands.

 “Qué pasa?” he asked, trying to encourage her to speak.

 “My tummy hurts again,” she mumbled.

Carlos set his laptop aside immediately. He rose to kneel in front of her and placed a warm hand on her belly. She curled into his touch like an instinct.

 “Do you remember what the doctor said yesterday?” he asked. She shook her head silently, so he continued. “Sometimes when we feel very big feelings, our tummy feels it too. Like the sadness wants to hide there. Or the worry. Or that we are missing someone.”

Isa didn’t answer, just nodded a little, lips pushed out in a soft pout.

 “But,” Carlos continued, brushing her hair from her forehead, “there is something special we can do. Did I tell you about the magic medicine?”

Her eyes lifted toward him, curious.

He scooped her up and walked to reach into the kitchen drawer. He kept some random things there for when he was working out at home, like electrolyte powder or protein bars. He pulled out a small box of glucose tablets. He had never given it to her before.

 “This magic medicine is for special girls with very brave hearts,” he said as he popped the lid open. “It doesn’t fix everything, but it helps your tummy feel a little less heavy.”

She stared at the tablet he took out, then at him.

 “And it works the best with a big cuddle,” Carlos added as he closed the drawer.

He carried Isa back to the couch and settled her in his lap, so she was lying against his chest the way she liked. He handed her the tablet, and she popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her close. They sat like that for a while, her head resting on his chest, the silence only broken by the soft sound of her chewing.

After a few minutes, she looked up. “It’s better now.”

Carlos kissed the top of her head. “Told you. Magic.”

---

In the afternoon, Carlos stared at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen again. He had typed and deleted the first sentence at least seven times.

Dear Frédéric, I wanted to update you on something important... — No, too vague.

Due to recent custody changes, my daughter Isabel is now living with me full-time... — Too clinical.

I’m still fully committed to the team, but my home situation has shifted... — God, no. It all sounded like an apology. Like a warning. Like a reason for them to cut him loose.

He rubbed his temples and exhaled, feeling the weight of every sleepless night pressing behind his eyes. What the hell was he supposed to say? That he was still fast? Still fit? Still able to give them everything on track? That despite spending the night holding a three-year-old who woke up crying, he could still function like a machine?

Beside him at the table, Isa kicked her feet under the chair, focused on her colouring book. Her tongue poked out between her lips as she scribbled with total concentration.

She held up a crayon, suddenly interrupting the silence. “This one’s my favourite,” she announced. “Yellow.”

Carlos looked at her and couldn’t help but smile. She was so sure. So simple. Like yellow being her favourite was the most important news of the day.

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Good choice,” he said softly.

Then he turned back to the email. His fingers hovered over the keys again, heart racing. He still didn’t know what the right words were.

chapter eleven

When Carlos woke up the next day, Isa was still asleep, curled up beside him. Mornings like this were rare. Most of the time, she woke Carlos up, climbing on top of him or squirming under the blanket.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He didn’t dare. Last night, it was so hard to lull her into sleep. She missed Vivian. Carlos didn’t want her to be exhausted the whole day on top of her emotional vulnerability. He just stared at her, watching the way her brow furrowed slightly even in sleep. He reached down, gently adjusted the blanket over her back, his chest aching with something deep and sharp.

This wasn’t how he imagined fatherhood would be. Nothing about this was fair. Especially not to her.

Eventually, he sighed and turned on his back. He reached for his phone on the nightstand and opened the messages. He tapped the conversation with Vivian.

“Are you free to call soon? Isa misses you.”

Seen. He sent this message before Vivian got the notice from the court. She opened it, along with the ones Carlos sent him in the past two weeks, and didn’t even bother to answer. She used to call Isa when she came over. Isa remembered that, too.

She even asked a few times, “When will Mommy call you?” And Carlos didn’t know how to answer. He checked his phone obsessively at first. Surely Vivian would at least ask how Isa was. But she didn’t. Not a single message, not a call, no reply to his texts. She didn’t pick up the phone. The only time she showed any sign of life was a voicemail, slurred and furious, two nights after the ruling. She accused Carlos of stealing her child and swore that she would take revenge for that. Isa never heard it. Carlos decided to ignore the voicemail.

Instead, he focused on what he could control. Meals. Sleep. Comfort. Safety.

Soon, Isa stirred awake next to him. She rubbed her face with her little palms and yawned. Carlos offered her a warm smile and stroked her cheek with his fingers.

 “Buenos días, Isa,” he murmured as he let her shift closer to his body. Isa understood some Spanish, but she didn’t speak it. In the past weeks, Carlos settled by talking mostly in English to her, hoping the language she knew best and was most comfortable with would bring her comfort. These days, he decided to switch languages in scenarios that would be easy to understand even if she wasn’t sure of the meaning of his words.

He knew raising a child wasn’t supposed to be about him, but he still wished Isa would start speaking Spanish, his native language that he loved so much.

She stretched her arms above her head and yawned again. Then, she looked at him and asked, “Are we going to the airport today?”

Carlos wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand, or if the reality was too big and painful for her little heart to take in. He reached out and pulled her close to his side, his fingers smoothing back the dark, messy hair from her face.

 “No, cariño. We’re staying home today,” he answered. He wondered when the time would come when thinking about their situation wouldn’t bring tears into his eyes.

 “Why?”

Carlos took a deep breath. “Because plans have changed. Do you remember what I told you yesterday? That your new home is here with me now?”

Isa nodded but didn’t say anything.

Carlos leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Te quiero, Isa.”

---

In the following days, Isa clung to him. Wherever he went in the house, she followed, silent and attached like a shadow. She wanted to be in his lap, in his arms, tucked into his chest all the time. She didn’t even ask anymore. Just reached for him like it was the most natural thing in the world. If he sat on the floor, she crawled into his lap. If he stood in the kitchen, she tugged at his pant leg until he picked her up. Then she took her thumb in her mouth, her free hand gripping his shirt, silently watching whatever he was busy with.

Carlos didn’t mind, not even a little. But it scared him. It wasn’t a regular clinginess. It was grasping. Desperate. Like somewhere deep down, Isa was afraid he might disappear, too.

After a while, she stopped asking when Vivian was going to call or when they were leaving for the airport. Carlos would’ve thought it was a sign of healing if her play hadn’t lost its colour as well.

She didn’t sing, she didn’t hum, she didn’t mumble dialogues under her breath like she used to. She just picked up her ponies or her wooden zoo, lined them up, then switched the order, over and over again. But there was no story behind it. Not anymore.

When Carlos sat down with her and offered her a plot, she always joined, at least for a while. How about we do a carnival? Let’s play nursery with them. And Isa would smile, telling Carlos what a real carnival looked like or who should be the teacher. Then, after a few minutes of playing, she always dropped her toys like she was never even absorbed in the first place.

She also started having trouble with her stomach. Small at first, quiet. Then more often. She’d press her hands to her belly and curl into a ball. She didn’t eat much.

Carlos worried he’d changed things too fast. He shifted Isa’s diet completely. He cooked soft chicken, roasted vegetables, and rice. Blended fruit smoothies with spinach. He tried to get her to eat eggs, lentils, and beans. He read articles late into the night about nutrition for toddlers with iron and vitamin deficiency. He felt like maybe, if he could get her stronger physically, everything else would follow.

So, he cut back the fiber. Added more water. He cut out certain ingredients, adjusted portions, and tried bland foods. Nothing seemed to help, so he called the pediatrician.

---

Dr. Clarke welcomed Isa like she had only seen her yesterday. She even remembered what kind of a sticker Isa got from her after the blood test. Carlos expected Isa to cry, but when her mouth first wobbled, she handed Isa the teddy again, and it distracted her just enough.

She checked Isa thoroughly. Even sent her to an ultrasound. It was in the same building, and they didn’t have to wait for long, so Dr. Clarke called them back right after.

She sat on her rolling chair and folded her hands. “So, physically, she looks fine.”

Carlos blinked. “But… She’s in pain. She’s been crying about it for days.”

 “I believe you. And I believe her. But this doesn’t seem to be a gastrointestinal issue. Her belly is soft, no inflammation, no fever, no signs of infection. Everything is normal.” Dr. Clarke took a soft breath and glanced down at Isa, sitting in Carlos’s lap, clenching his shirt like a baby koala. “Sometimes children somatise emotional distress. Especially at this age.”

Carlos frowned slightly. “You mean… This is psychological?”

 “Yes. I remember your story. When children experience hard feelings, their bodies often translate them into physical pain. It’s more common than people realize, especially when kids don’t yet have the words to describe what they are feeling.” She smiled faintly. “But their bodies speak.”

Carlos didn’t know what to say to that.

Dr. Clarke continued. “You’ve both been through something major. And I’m sure you're doing your best. That counts for more than you think.”

Carlos nodded numbly. He didn’t feel like he was doing well. He felt like he was just barely keeping her head above water… And his own.

 “What do I do then?” he asked.

 “Keep a routine. She needs predictability. Let her feel safe and let her express what she can. Drawings, pretend play, and even acting out work, whatever she is most comfortable with. Validate her. Don’t force explanations, but don’t avoid them either. And yes, it would help to work with a child psychologist who specializes in attachment trauma.”

Carlos nodded again. “Yes, we have another appointment coming up with Mrs. Berger.”

 “Good,” Dr. Clarke smiled. “She knows how to help.”

chapter ten

At dinnertime, it was just the two of them in the house again. Carlos was standing at the stove, reheating the leftover vegetables and chicken in a pan. He was trying to figure out how to add quinoa to the mix so Isa would eat it, knowing that it was good for low iron levels. The previous day, he tried it as a salad, but Isa had never seen it before, and she didn’t even want to try it.

After seeing the result of her blood test, Carlos didn’t want to settle for a cereal or a ham and cheese sandwich. Isa needed nutritious food. But the previous afternoon, he was too nervous about today’s court, so he didn’t try to reason with her for very long to try the quinoa salad. He just let her eat whatever she wanted from her plate, thinking he would have more brains and capacity to figure out another way when his nerves weren’t fried from the stress of not being sure what was coming for them.

He was scrolling through recipes for kids on his phone with one hand, the other stirring the fried vegetables in the pan. In the living room, Isa hummed as she made her toy ponies line up for a parade across the couch cushions. Her play was calm and focused, almost peaceful. It gave Carlos a sliver of hope.

 “Papá,” Isa called out for him, sitting up straight on the couch, her fingers brushing a sparkling yellow pony’s mane.

 “I’m listening,” he answered in Spanish, sending her a short glance.

 “Am I flying home in two more sleeps or three?”

Carlos’s hand stilled on the wooden spoon. For a second, he didn’t breathe. He turned the heating lower on the stove and sighed, his chest painfully tight once again.

She had no idea what had just happened today. Not a clue that her life had changed forever. He’d thought he had time. Time to read, to ask the psychologist how to explain it gently. But now it was here, crashing down in the middle of their living room, and he had no idea how to tell a three-year-old that she wasn’t going back to her mom. Not now. Maybe not ever.

 “Why do you ask that, mi vida?” he asked instead of an answer, hoping to dodge her question until he found an explanation that wasn’t as painful as the raw reality.

But Isa was determined to know. She hopped off the couch and took a few steps toward him, standing in the middle of the living room now.

 “The airplane was in the calendar,” she told him matter-of-factly, yet there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Fuck.

Carlos shut off the stove. That plane had been there since the night before Isa arrived, before Carlos even had a faint feeling about something being off at Vivian’s place. It was the part of the routine he used to ground her on those short weekend visits. He always sketched little airplanes as a visual countdown for when she'd go back to her mom, something simple she could understand better than days or clocks. One plane for arriving, one for flying back. When Carlos’s dad lifted Isa to show her in the calendar when they were coming the next time, she must have seen the airplane, too.

Carlos hadn’t even thought of erasing it. Now the drawing sat there like a ghost. A painful memory of what was and what no longer would be.

He crossed the distance between them, crouching beside her. She was still fidgeting with the yellow pony, her eyes wide, irises just as dark as his own.

 “That plane... I drew it before you came. Just like I always did. But this time…” He hesitated, his throat closing. “This time you’re not flying anywhere, cariño.”

Her head tilted. “Why?”

Carlos tried to smile. Tried to make his voice steady. “Because this is home now.”

She blinked. Thought. Then turned back to her toys without a word.

He stayed crouched there for a moment longer, watching her silently. She didn’t understand. Not yet. But she would. And when that day came, he’d have to find the right words. Until then… Dinner was almost ready.

---

The next morning crept in with a strange stillness. Isa was supposed to fly back the next day. Normally, Carlos would have spent the afternoon getting her suitcase, scanning the laundry basket, mentally checking off her toothbrush and her Bunny.

But today, the suitcase stayed in the closet. Her tiny shoes were by the door, untouched.

They had nowhere to go, nothing to prepare for. The washing machine wasn’t on, Isa wasn’t trying to help find her pink shirt that she got all messy while eating dinner, and she wasn’t on a video call with her Mommy to tell her that she’ll be back the next day. It was just… The day.

It felt wrong, like he was breaking some invisible rule. Like he’d forgotten to do something important. But there was nothing to forget because this was the new routine now. Not a weekend. Not a visit. Just… Life. Everyday life. And he had to keep going.

Isa felt something, too. Maybe his silence. Maybe the deep ache of guilt in his movements. Or maybe she wasn’t used to staying this long. Neither of them was. And even if she couldn’t name the shift, her little body felt it. Like the air had thickened, like something was missing that she couldn’t put into words.

Maybe it was the goodbye that never came. Or maybe it was just the quiet way Carlos kept staring at the fridge, lost in thought, as if trying to redraw what their life looked like now.

It started with Isa being squirmy during breakfast, pushing her spoon away, and whining that the porridge smelled nasty. Then she burst into tears because the red crayon didn’t work the way she wanted. Carlos knew the signs. Her little body was holding something too big for her.

By the afternoon, she was inconsolable. Tear-streaked cheeks, curled up on the couch, refusing snacks, even TV. When Carlos tried to hold her, she clung to his shirt with trembling fists and sobbed like something inside her had cracked open. He rocked her slowly, whispering soft Spanish lullabies, the same ones his mother used to sing.

 “I miss Mommy,” Isa finally choked out then.

Carlos closed his eyes. He held her tighter. “I know, mi amor. I know.”

Vivian still hadn’t reached out. Not a single message. Not a call. Nothing but that one drunken, disastrous appearance a few days ago. It was like she'd disappeared again, but this time Isa noticed. This time, Isa knew.

 “I want her,” she whispered, hiccuping.

Carlos felt his own eyes watering. “I know, Isa. I wish things were different.”

She buried her face into his chest and cried harder. And then, Carlos couldn’t hold back anymore, either. His own tears fell almost like hers, and he didn’t attempt to wipe them. Just hugged Isa close to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat. He was so tired, helpless, and furious at the world. At Vivian. At himself.

Vivian brought this little soul, this tiny human being, into the world with him, but without his awareness. If only he hadn’t trusted Vivian so blindly… He knew something was off with her a few days after he met her. Maybe if he’d fought harder sooner. Maybe if he’d listened to his instincts from the beginning. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But maybe wouldn’t help Isa now. She was hurting. And she didn’t deserve to be torn apart like this.

He looked down at her again. Her tiny hands clenched into his shirt, just like she always did when she needed grounding. And suddenly, the weight of it hit him in full.

This is my child.

Not in the abstract way he’d tried to process before, not just in courtrooms after she was born or sleepless nights. No, this… This little girl with his dark eyes, his nose, his jaw… She was a part of him. Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. Not just his responsibility, not just someone he was raising.

She existed because of him.

And that realization knocked the breath out of him.

Because now, she was looking to him for everything. Her whole world had cracked open, and he was all she had left to hold it together. No more weekends. No more countdowns to the next goodbye. This was it.

And the finality of it terrified him. His chest was tight with the weight of guilt, fear, and something dangerously close to panic.

How the hell was he going to do the season?

Three weeks. That’s all he had before he’d be on the road again, flying from track to track, doing press, debriefs, simulator work, trying to chase podiums with the same focus as always. But how? With Isa here, needing him like oxygen?

He felt like the world was asking him to be split down the middle. One half of him had to be the athlete, the professional, the driver with razor-sharp reflexes and ice-cold nerves. The other half? That was Isa’s dad. The only constant she had now. And she didn’t need him in pieces. She needed all of him.

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep his thoughts from spiralling. He didn’t want to choose between her and racing. He couldn’t. But something was going to give, and he knew he couldn’t let it be her.

Not after everything.

chapter nine

Carlos already knew that Vivian showing up at his house and not leaving had changed everything. When the verdict was read, Carlos didn’t flinch, but something inside him cracked.

If Vivian had just walked away that day. If she hadn’t shown up drunk, screaming, and throwing rocks at his car in front of his house. If she hadn’t slapped that police officer. If she had just listened. Then maybe... Maybe Isa could have still had a version of a mother on weekends. Maybe the court would have allowed for a softer transition.

But after what happened, they didn’t. The ruling was clear: Vivian could only see Isa under Carlos’s supervision. No overnights. No unsupervised contact. And not a single change until she completed a full rehab program.

Vivian had screamed in the courtroom, told the judge to go to hell, cried until her voice cracked. Carlos didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He saw it in her eyes. She did care. She cared too much. That was part of the tragedy.

And Isa cared, too. Isa loved her. She needed her. She was her Mommy.

Carlos hated that this was how it ended. That something so necessary, protecting Isa, could feel so much like a loss. His hands clenched into fists as he left the building, tie loosened, breath tight. He didn’t know what he felt more: heartbreak or rage. He’d won, but it didn’t feel like a win.

He asked his parents to watch over Isa while he was away. Isa had met her grandparents quite a few times already, but until now, she had never been alone with them. Carlos only had her for the weekends until now, and it made no sense to leave her with her grandparents when he could finally see her for such a short time.

When he left, Isa was crying. He didn’t know what to expect when he finally stepped inside again through the front door. It was nap time for Isa, but he was sure she wasn’t going to fall asleep with Carlos being away.

As he turned the key in the lock, he could already hear the small footsteps running down the hall. He pushed the door open, and there she was. She stood there in her socks, her hair a little tangled from the nap that probably never happened. She looked up at him, and her eyes locked on his, wide and dark, a storm behind them. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Carlos wasn’t sure how she was going to react, but he reached his hand towards her.

She stepped forward, buried herself into his legs, and held on. No tears yet.

He crouched down slowly, slipping his arms around her, lifting her up against his chest. Her little arms circled his neck, and her body pressed tight like she was trying to melt into him. But still, she didn’t say a word.

She was upset. He could feel it in her silence, in the stiffness of her fingers.

 “I’m here,” he murmured against her hair. “I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

She didn’t answer. Just pressed her face harder into his shoulder.

Carlos carried her to the living room, where his parents were waiting. He still vividly remembered the day he called them a few days after Vivian sent him the ultrasound, the shock of it lingering. He’d expected their shock, too, but nothing prepared him for the weight of that pause on the other end of the line, thick and stunned. His mother had eventually whispered “¿Cómo?” and his father didn’t say anything at all for a full minute. They hadn’t even known about Vivian. She was just a name in a brief chapter of Carlos’s life, not someone they ever imagined would become the mother of their grandchild. His parents always cherished family, and they wanted the happiness of it for their son, too. Just… Not like this. There was no wedding, no slow preparation. Just a phone call and a baby already on the way. A baby that Carlos didn’t plan. A baby from someone Carlos didn’t even want in his life. It wasn’t how they pictured it. Hell, it wasn’t how Carlos pictured it either.

But of course, they supported him with everything. Once the shock had settled, they didn’t hesitate. They flew out the next week, and assured Carlos that they were there for him, for them, however things would be. They never made him feel ashamed. Never once asked him why he hadn’t been more careful. Isa was their blood, their granddaughter, and from that moment on, they were all in.

When Carlos asked them to fly to Monaco and watch Isa while he was in court, they only asked when.

 “How was the morning?” Carlos asked quietly in Spanish, rubbing Isa’s back as she hid her face in his shoulder.

 “She cried a lot after you left,” his mother said gently. “Didn’t want to eat. But eventually, we could distract her a bit. She liked the story with the elephants.”

Carlos nodded, eyes on his daughter. She still didn’t move. His fingers found the back of her head, cradling it softly.

 “She didn’t nap,” his father added. “We tried, but she wouldn’t lie down for longer than a minute.”

Carlos nodded again. They all understood. When they arrived last night, Carlos showed them the papers while Isa was playing in the living room. His mother turned away, pretending to clean the crumbs of bread from the countertop while she cried.

Now, there was a pause. Brief, but full. His mother’s eyes met his. His father’s brow furrowed just slightly. They were both silent, searching his face for an answer to the question that they didn’t dare to say out loud yet.

Carlos looked at them both, then gave one tight nod.

He got it. Isa was his now. Completely.

---

The day after court, everything felt strangely quiet. Carlos’s parents stayed over, and around midday, they decided to grill in the garden as they used to when Carlos was young. It was their way of softening the edges, of pretending this was just a regular Friday, not the wreckage of a custody battle.

Isa played in the shade nearby, drawing in the dirt with a stick, occasionally humming to herself. She didn’t seem to notice the grief hanging over the adults like low clouds. Carlos and his parents exchanged hushed sentences while preparing the food, always stopping mid-word if Isa looked up. No one wanted to say too much. No one wanted her to hear the truth of how sad this really was.

Carlos’s parents had a flight later in the evening. They were standing in the hallway with Isa, who was only a bit taller than the huge, blue suitcase they brought. She stood next to it, pressing her palms flat against the side like she was trying to hold it in place, silently watching the texture under her fingertips.

 "Are you going back with the airplane?" she asked, looking up at them with wide, curious eyes.

Carlos’s mom smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair from Isa’s forehead. “Yes, cariño. We’ll fly home just like you did when you came to see Papá.”

Isa nodded, glancing back at the suitcase. Then she looked up at them with a slight frown and asked, “When are you coming again?”

Her grandparents exchanged a soft, surprised smile, clearly touched. It was Carlos who froze by the door.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to interrupt the moment, but the words hit him deep. She asked. Not because she feared they’d vanish, not to beg them to stay. She just asked. Curious, expectant. That quiet kind of trust.

His father crouched and lifted Isa into his arms, carrying her over to the fridge where they’d hung a calendar earlier. He pointed to a date a month away, which was marked with a pink highlighter. That was when Carlos's summer break ended, and he would need to return to the team for meetings before the race season officially starts.

Isa leaned her head against his grandpa’s shoulder as she listened to him talk about what kind of fun stuff they were planning with her. Her grandma stroked her cheek with her index finger, and Isa smiled. Carlos stayed back, hands in his pockets, watching the three of them. His heart ached with something warm. He said nothing. Just held onto that moment.

chapter eight

After reading the results, Carlos’s lawyer organized an emergency appointment with the psychologist he knew within two days. Julie Berger was experienced with early childhood trauma, and she was based right in Monte Carlo.

The best would’ve been if Carlos had met her without Isa, so Mrs. Berger could do the first interview as it was professionally required. But Carlos didn’t know anyone yet who could watch Isa while he wasn’t around, and he wasn’t even sure it was possible without Isa panicking.

He ended up writing Mrs. Berger a lengthy letter, attaching everything he had about Isa’s case, and they agreed that Mrs. Berger’s coworker would conduct the first interview with him while she observed Isa.

Mrs. Berger’s office was sunlit and warm. The soft wood tones and pastel pictures on the walls channelled nothing but safety. Yet as Carlos sat on the small couch with Isa beside him, her body curled tight against his side, thumb in her mouth, he couldn’t feel further from calm. This was the first time that while Isa was in Monaco with him, Carlos was going to let her out of his sight with someone else.

Mrs. Berger smiled gently at them both. “Carlos, if it’s alright, my colleague, Ms. Arnaud, is ready to speak with you. I’ll stay here with Isabel. We’ll just play a little.”

Carlos hesitated. Isa gripped his shirt instantly, her eyes sharp with panic. Her thumb popped from her mouth.

 “No.”

 “It’s just a short talk, mi amor,” he murmured. “Papá will come right back.”

 “Don’t go,” she said, frantic. “Don’t go.”

Carlos crouched in front of her, hands on her little knees. “You’re safe here. I promise. Look, Mrs. Berger has even more crayons than you do at home. And I’ll be back very soon.”

Isa’s breathing was quick and shallow now. Her eyes darted between Carlos and Mrs. Berger, trying to measure how true this could be.

When Carlos finally stood and stepped toward the door, Isa’s silence shattered. She bolted from the couch, ran after him, fists hitting his legs furiously. “NO! Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!”

Julie Berger remained calm. She didn’t interfere, just gently stepped closer and knelt on the rug, as if simply waiting for gravity to pull Isa’s energy back down.

 “I’m right next door,” Carlos promised, crouching again. “You can show me everything you draw. You’ll be okay.”

Isa’s little body was rigid as Carlos peeled her off him. She didn’t cry; she trembled. When he left, she stood frozen in the middle of the room, her fists tight at her sides. Mrs. Berger didn’t rush. She sat cross-legged on the carpet, holding a box of small wooden animals.

 “I wonder which one lives closest to the sea,” she said softly.

Isa didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Ten minutes passed before she sat down. Another five before she touched a toy. She didn’t look at Mrs. Berger once, but she played.

Carlos reentered the room 45 minutes later, led back in by Ms. Arnaud. Isa was on the floor, legs spread out, quietly stacking some blocks now.

When she heard the door, she didn’t turn. She didn’t light up or run to him. Instead, she froze.

The blocks slipped from her hands. And then, she pushed herself up from the rug, but instead of walking up to Carlos, she hurried to the furthest corner of the room. She didn’t even look at him. Her thumb slipped into her mouth again as she stubbornly stared at her shoes, her face rigid.

Carlos blinked. “Isa?”

She didn’t answer. It was like she didn’t even hear him. Carlos knew she did.

Mrs. Berger stood as well, gently nodding to him. “It’s alright.”

Carlos crossed the room slowly. “Mi amor, it’s Papá. I’m here. I came back. I promised I would, remember?”

No answer.

When he crouched behind her and reached out to touch her arm, she suddenly turned and smacked his hand away, her eyes watering. But then almost immediately, she flung herself into his arms with force, like she’d only now registered he was real. Her arms gripped his neck tightly. Her breath was sharp, hitching.

 “Okay, okay,” Carlos whispered, swallowing hard as he held her. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere now.”

He gently lifted her and sat on the couch with her. Her thumb immediately found her mouth again, and she gripped his shirt tight in her other fist, letting out small, hiccupping breaths. Yet she didn’t look at Carlos. She kept staring at the rug in the middle of the room, her body tense as if she was waiting for something to happen.

Mrs. Berger gave them space, waiting until Isa was a bit more relaxed in his arms, then gently sat back down across from them.

 “Carlos,” she began softly. “I remember you wrote about this kind of behaviour in your email. I know it’s confusing when she clings to you and lashes out at the same time. When she hits or screams, but won’t let go of your shirt.” She offered a warm, sad smile. “But that’s not a contradiction for a child like Isa. It’s a survival instinct.”

Carlos looked up at her, brow tense, one hand stroking Isa’s hair.

 “She’s had to internalize that the people she needs most might vanish,” Mrs. Berger continued. “She learned that love can disappear overnight, literally. Her mother’s absence when she went out without her during those two or more months taught her that she can’t trust the world to stay consistent. And children that age can’t regulate that kind of fear. So now, when she’s overwhelmed, the wires in her brain kind of cross.”

 “She gets mad at me for leaving,” Carlos murmured. “Even if I’m in the next room. She does that at home, too.”

 “She panics that you’ve left for good,” Mrs. Berger said. “But she doesn’t want you to see her scared. So, she lashes out. That’s what we call disorganized attachment. When her brain senses loss, even if it’s just perceived, she goes into fight, flight, or cling, all at once. That’s why she hits you sometimes when you comfort her. Her body’s screaming don’t leave me and don’t touch me at the same time.”

Carlos looked down. Isa had fallen silent, but he felt her breathing hard through her nose, thumb still shoved in her mouth, face buried against his chest.

 “She sleeps with me,” he admitted quietly. “I tried to put her in her own bed, but it doesn’t work anymore. She used to sleep in her room before, but now she can’t. She won’t let me leave her room. I tried to stay only until she fell asleep, but she woke up screaming. She used to come and find me or call for me if she woke up, and I always came. Always. Now she has a complete meltdown if she wakes up alone before even trying to call for me.”

“She was left alone at night for a long time, Carlos,” Mrs. Berger said gently. “Her body remembers that. Even if she can’t explain it. Even if she’s not in Britain anymore. This trauma is rooted too deep to think rationally if she wakes up alone at night.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and held her tighter. His throat felt tight again. He couldn’t bear the thought of his little girl alone in that house, crying for her mother until she learned that there was no use. Her mom wouldn’t appear in her doorway, and she didn’t know where she was or when she was going to come back. If she was going to come back at all.

But Vivian sometimes gave her a cookie if she didn’t cry, as Isa said. Carlos had to swallow again to fight back the tears.

 “You’re not spoiling her by staying close,” Mrs. Berger added, sensing the hidden meaning behind his words. “You’re rebuilding her sense of safety. And she’s not manipulating you. She’s surviving. I know some people on the internet say she shouldn’t sleep in the same bed with her parent anymore, but this isn’t a setback. This is a way to cope, and it’s the best you can do for her.”

Carlos nodded slowly.

 “She’ll need therapy,” Mrs. Berger continued. “But what you’re doing now, just being there, over and over, is already healing her more than you can see. You just have to keep showing up for her.”

Carlos bit down on his lip before he opened his mouth to speak. “And Vivian…?”

He didn’t know how to ask with Isa being there in his lap, but he needed to know. He needed a sign if Mrs. Berger was going to send her back or not. Of course, Mrs. Berger understood his wordless plea. She didn’t say anything, just shook her head a little.

And with that, it was almost final. Isa won’t go back.

---

Carlos knew that Vivian got the notice from the court. And it wasn’t because Alexandre told him that she did.

A week later, Isa was down for an afternoon nap, curled in Carlos’s bed with her stuffed bunny pressed to her cheek. He’d just stepped out onto the patio, coffee in hand, when he saw her.

Right on his driveway.

Vivian was yelling before he could even open his mouth to speak. “I’m taking her home! This is ridiculous! Isa is my daughter!” She took a step forward, but she stumbled, barely steady on her feet.

She was drunk.

Carlos stayed quiet, mostly from the shock of seeing her there. He placed his mug on the windowsill, and when he turned back to Vivian, he noticed the shards of glass not far from where she was standing.

 “I’ve let you play Dad for a while, okay? But I didn’t agree to… Whatever this is. I didn’t agree to custody. I just needed a break. And now I’m ready to be her mom again. You took advantage of me not thinking straight, and now you’re using it to keep her from me? You don’t get to do that. I’m taking her home.”

 “Vivian, you need to leave. Now. You’re drunk,” Carlos stated. “If someone finds you here like this, you’ll be in trouble. If you want to see her again soon, you have to leave right now.”

 “I don’t know what you’ve said to those people- Or what Isa had said to you- She is dramatic. She always has been. I just needed a break!” She lost her balance again, leaning against the fence for a brief second.

 “Vivian…” Carlos tried again, his patience thinning. He glanced up behind his shoulder. The last thing he needed was Isa waking up to this. But Vivian just kept going.

 “And you think you’re perfect? You’re barely there with all your races. What, you’re gonna raise her in a paddock now? You don’t even know how to be a father! You never even wanted her!” she screamed. Then she picked up a huge rock from his pathway and threw it right against the windshield of his car.

Carlos’s jaw clenched. He knew he had to act fast. He didn’t want Isa to wake up and see her mother like this. He also couldn’t allow a stranger to get involved in their business by alerting the police. He had no idea how that would affect Isa’s case. He didn’t want her to lose her mom. He just wanted her to be safe.

He stepped forward, deliberately keeping himself between Vivian and the house. “Vivian, for your sake, please leave. Otherwise, I’m calling the police before someone else does.”

 “Do it!” she yelled. “Let’s see who they believe! The mother of this child or just some guy who takes her for a weekend a month?!”

Carlos had already pulled out his phone. “Last chance. Leave before you make things worse for you and Isa. If the police catch you here like this, I can’t guarantee how you are going to see her.”

Vivian took a step closer. “I’m going inside. I’m taking her right now.”

Carlos dialled the number.

Within minutes, the sirens sounded, growing louder as a patrol car turned the corner. Two officers stepped out, calm but firm. “Madam, we need you to step away from the property.”

Vivian turned, eyes burning with rage.

 “He’s kidnapping my kid!” she snarled. “And you’re all letting him!”

The officers tried to deescalate, but she was already unhinged. She was cursing, throwing rocks at Carlos’s car. When one officer moved to gently take her arm, she slapped him across the face.

That was it. She was handcuffed.

Carlos stood frozen as they guided her, still shrieking, into the backseat of the patrol car. The chaos faded down the road, but his body didn’t stop trembling.

He looked back toward the window. Isa hadn’t woken up.

Thank God.

chapter seven

Isa was finally sitting in her seat at the back. Carlos adjusted the mirror so he could see both the road behind the car and her face. She was sucking her thumb again, holding her bunny with her free hand, crumpling its ears between her fingers. Ever since she calmed down after breakfast, she had been silent.

Even though Carlos knew this visit was for the better, he still felt the guilt in his chest. Isa was scared, and she probably wanted nothing more than peace and safety, yet he was now dragging her somewhere she was absolutely going to hate.

Half an hour later, and after tons of apologies for being late from Carlos, Isa was sitting with her bunny on the crinkly paper in the pediatrician’s room, tiny legs swinging nervously. Carlos was sitting beside her, his palm resting on her back as he talked to Dr. Clarke. She was a tall, middle-aged woman with round glasses and a kind smile that was meant to soothe Isa.

As the nurse was preparing for the blood test in the background, Dr. Clarke sat on a rolling chair to be face level with Isa. She didn’t wear a white coat, just jeans and a t-shirt with a cartoon cat on it.

 “So, Isabel. I heard that you’re super brave. Your daddy told me when we talked on the phone that you’re a really cool girl. I’m so glad that I could finally meet you,” she said as she took an empty plastic syringe from the paper wrap.

Isa grabbed Carlos’s arm and buried her face into it. Carlos instinctively pulled closer to her.

 “That’s okay,” Dr. Clarke said easily. “Most brave people are shy at first. I heard you’re not a big fan of today’s visit. Want to see something cool, though?”

Isa didn’t answer but turned her head a little.

Dr. Clarke held up the syringe. “This isn’t scary. This is just a pretend one. Wanna see how I use it?” She held her own forearm out, placed the tip of the syringe against it, and pressed the plunger slowly. “See? No ouch. Just a tiny bit of a pinch. That’s kind of what it feels like.”

Isa didn’t seem very convinced. She gripped Carlos’s arm harder.

 “Here.” Dr. Clarke handed the syringe to her. “Your turn. Show me how you’d do it. Be the doctor.”

Isa hesitated, then tentatively moved away from Carlos. She reached for the syringe. Dr. Clarke held her arm out and asked Isa to show her skill at first on her, then on a teddy.

 “Good job, Isabel! You’d be a really great doctor,” Dr. Clarke smiled, and she let Isa hold the teddy in her free hand while she turned back to Carlos. “She seems a bit pale and thin to me. Did you notice any changes in her behaviour lately? Like unusual fatigue or irritability?”

Carlos glanced down at Isa, then back at Dr. Clarke. “I… I mean, yes. I’m just not sure of the cause,” he replied slowly. “I thought it was absolutely… Situational.” He didn’t want to share much of Isa’s story while she was there and listening. He didn’t want to burden her. Whatever she knew already, it was more than enough, because Carlos was sure there was no sweet childhood innocence in her view of why Vivian wasn’t calling.

Dr. Clarke nodded. “Alright. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Bethany, are we ready?”

The nurse quickly stepped closer with the cart of equipment she had prepared for the blood test. The moment Isa spotted it, her whole body tensed. Carlos immediately noticed it, and he reached over to brush her hair from her face.

As Dr. Clarke put on a pair of rubber gloves, Isa started whimpering, desperately reaching out for Carlos’s shirt. Her bunny fell from her lap at the movement, and it only triggered Isa more. She started crying.

Carlos kept a hand on her thigh as he leaned down for Bunny and placed it back on Isa’s lap. Isa didn’t care. As soon as Carlos straightened up again, she grabbed his shirt with both hands, desperately trying to pull him closer. She hid her face in his stomach, letting out sharp, hiccupping breaths.

 “You can hold her in your lap if that helps,” Dr. Clarke offered. She already had the capped syringe in her hand, waiting for Isa to settle a bit.

Carlos nodded. He sat on the table and picked Isa up, settling her sideways on his thighs. Her arms went around his neck like an instinct, grabbing him tight. Carlos let out a small breath as he took one of her arms, holding it out for Dr. Clarke.

 “It’s okay, cariño. Just a tiny pinch. Un poquito. Like a mosquito that says sorry after,” he whispered into her hair. His heart hurt for her so much. She was terrified. Carlos wished so bad there was another way of this, but there wasn’t. “We’re going to count to ten together, alright? And when we get to ten, it’ll be over. I promise.”

As the needle approached, Carlos kept his hand gently over her eyes, and he started counting in Spanish. “Uno, dos, tres…”

He wasn’t sure if Isa was even hearing him. She just kept whimpering and crying, but at least she didn’t try to move away anymore. Dr. Clarke was done quicker than he even finished counting. Carlos held the cotton ball to her arm until she calmed down a bit.

 “Isabel, look! I have all these colourful band-aids for you. Which one do you want?” Dr. Clarke held out her palm.

Isa sniffled as she inspected the colours, then she breathed out her choice so quietly that only Carlos could hear her. After she had the yellow band-aid on, the nurse gave her a sticker and a lollipop.

 “You were so brave. Just like I knew you’d be,” Carlos said, hugging her tightly, and his chest finally eased a bit. He didn’t even notice he was holding his breath until now. He hated to put Isa through this whole process from the bottom of his heart, and it hurt even more to see how much she hated it, too.

Dr. Clarke promised to call him in the afternoon with the results, then they said their goodbyes. Carlos picked Isa up in his arms, then placed Bunny between her arms before they left the room.

One thing he would’ve never thought was that one day he would look after an IKEA plushie as it was something sacred. He always double-checked if they had Bunny with them wherever they went. Even if it was just the bathroom. He didn’t even dare to imagine what would happen if they lost Bunny somewhere, because Isa was attached to it so much.

---

Carlos took Isa to get ice cream as he promised. By the time she was gripping the tiny bowl of dessert that she had decorated herself, she was smiling again, Dr. Clarke quickly forgotten.

He drove her home, they ate lunch, and after that, he put her down for a bit of an afternoon nap. At least if the sun hasn’t settled, she could sleep alone in his bed without waking up screaming for him. As he opened his laptop in the living room, his chest suddenly felt tight again. Last time Isa visited him, she was fine in her own bed the whole night. He couldn’t even fathom how terrified she could’ve felt, being all alone at night in a huge house like Vivian owned.

Would a sane person even fucking leave a three-year-old home alone like she did?

He inhaled slowly to calm himself. This was so surreal. So damn fucked up. And the worst part was the overwhelming guilt he felt whenever he thought about it. He should’ve noticed something sooner. He should’ve done something immediately, right at the first time Vivian didn’t reply to his call. He shouldn’t have waited two months before turning to his lawyer. He should’ve known something was wrong. He should’ve… He should’ve known.

Isa was still asleep when Dr. Clarke called him. Thank heavens she sent him an email, too, because the words barely reached him.

 “So yes, her exhaustion and crankiness are expected to fade at least a bit after about a month of care,” Dr. Clarke explained. “She might have had a meltdown that often because she doesn’t feel well. I’ll send a copy of the papers to your lawyer, too.”

After they hung up, he read the email three times over. The words didn’t change.

Iron-deficiency anaemia. Vitamin D deficiency. B12 borderline low. Undernourished.

How had this gone unnoticed? How had Vivian not noticed? He knew kids could be picky, sure, but this wasn’t just that. This was a lack of care. Lack of proper meals. Her body was trying to grow without the fuel it needed. She hasn’t even been to her nursery for a while now, where at least she would get fed three times a day. Why did Vivian not take her to the nursery anyway if she didn’t want to stay at home with her? Why didn’t she give her a chance to be looked after?

He closed his laptop and rubbed a hand down his face.

He should have known. He should have noticed.

He sat still for a long moment, hands trembling as they lowered to his lap. The weight in his chest, the guilt, fury, and heartbreak finally cracked something open. His eyes burned and, without warning, tears slipped down his cheeks.

He didn’t hear Isa’s little footsteps at first. Only noticed her when a soft voice broke the quiet.

 “Papá?”

Carlos’s head snapped up, and there she stood in her pastel pink pyjamas, holding her Bunny under one arm. She just stared at him, her eyes big and uncertain.

 “You’re crying?” she asked quietly, as if she had witnessed something she was not allowed to. “Are you sad?”

Carlos quickly wiped his face with his sleeve. He had to think fast. He didn’t want Isa to see him cry, not at all, but if things were going the way he expected them to go after these results, he wanted to make sure Isa knew she was allowed to show her feelings now. And it started with him being an example for her.

He forced a steady breath. “A little bit, sí.” He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Come here?”

Isa shuffled over and climbed into his lap, settling tightly against his chest. Carlos wrapped his arms around her gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

 “You know,” he said, voice quiet. “Sometimes grown-ups… Don’t always make the best choices. Even if they think they’re doing okay.”

Isa didn’t say anything. Her fingers played with a loose thread on his shirt.

 “But it’s my job to make sure you’re safe and happy. No matter what. That’s all I want, Isa. You deserve that, every single day.”

After a long pause, she whispered. “Are you mad at Mommy?”

Of course, she put two and two together. She wasn’t blind; she was just a child. And children absorbed everything. Even things Carlos wished Isa never would.

Carlos shook his head this time. “I’m not mad. I’m just worried. But don’t you worry, okay? You don’t have to worry about grown-up things. You just keep playing with Bunny, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

But the whole truth this time was that he wasn’t only worried. He was also furious. All these years, he tried his best to find good in Vivian, even if she behaved the way she did. After all, she was Isa’s mother, and Isa needed them in peace, even if she never really saw them together in her life. But this… This was way too far from what he could ignore.

Isa buried herself more into his embrace, her thumb slipping into her mouth again. She was upset. She knew something was wrong, and this time, there was absolutely nothing Carlos could do. They just had to wait it out.

chapter six

The next morning, Carlos was staring out the kitchen window, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while Isa played quietly on the floor in the living room, lining up wooden animals like they were marching toward a tiny zoo.

As the days passed by, she seemed more and more tired. Carlos wasn’t sure if it was a result of the stress she endured or something else. She slept a lot more than in the beginning, and she became cranky very easily.

He glanced back at his daughter as Alexandre’s voice came through his phone, tight but urgent. “Carlos, we’ve got something. The nursery… She hasn’t been there in three months. Not a single day. No explanation, no call, nothing. They were about to escalate it themselves.”

Carlos watched Isa as she murmured to herself, completely absorbed. “She hasn’t mentioned nursery once,” he muttered. “Not once. I didn’t think much of it.”

“They thought Vivian pulled her out, but she never did officially. So, it’s on record as educational neglect. That’s big. Combine that with the welfare check reports, we might be building a case.”

Carlos rubbed a hand over his face. “What do we do next?”

“Take Isa to a pediatrician here in Monaco. Not a walk-in. Someone official. We need a full check-up—document everything: height, weight, developmental milestones, dental, dermatological. And a blood test.”

Carlos flinched at the thought. “She’s terrified of needles.”

“I know. But we need to know what she’s been eating. If there are any deficiencies, it all adds weight to the neglect case. The judge won’t be able to look away.”

Carlos glanced down again. Isa was now trying to make the tiny zebra kiss the tiny giraffe. He whispered into the phone, so she wouldn’t hear him. “She keeps saying she usually ate crackers because when Vivian went out, she often forgot to make her food.”

“Exactly. Let’s get it on paper. I’ll send you a list of trusted pediatricians who’ll document this properly. I also know a great psychologist. We’re almost there, Carlos.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said, voice low. “Almost.”

He hung up and took a long breath. Isa was going to hate this whole ordeal, but they had to go through with it somehow.

---

Isa knew that something was happening. Carlos tried to keep it all low-key, not wanting to alert or scare her, but she picked up on tension in a way only a child would. She kept asking about her Mommy, wondering where she was or when she was going to pick her up. The worst part was that Carlos couldn’t even give her a straight answer yet. Their case of custody was still undecided.

Vivian still hasn’t reached out, nor has she answered Carlos’s text messages. Carlos couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to hear a word about Isa while she was away. He knew she was online. He saw her being active on social media. It was infuriating.

They had an appointment with a pediatrician for Friday afternoon. After Carlos hung up, he sighed, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. Then he looked over at Isa.

She was sitting on the carpet in the living room, one hand hugging her stuffed bunny as always. She dragged that plushie everywhere with her. She was playing with the wooden zoo again, sorting the animals into small groups in complete silence.

Carlos got up and walked over to her. He picked her up into his arms and sat on the couch with her. She didn’t resist. She immediately curled against his chest like she was meant to be there, her thumb finding her mouth again.

 “We’re going to meet a nice lady tomorrow,” he said, rubbing her back. “She is going to take a look at you, if you are doing alright.”

Isa frowned. “Why?”

Carlos took a breath and kept his voice steady. He swallowed. “Because I want to make sure you’re healthy. Just like when your bunny goes to the vet, remember?”

Isa looked down at her stuffed rabbit. “Bunny hates the vet.”

“I know,” Carlos said, voice soft. “But the vet helps Bunny feel better, even if she doesn’t always like it.”

Isa stayed quiet, thumb still in her mouth. She leaned further into his chest, like the thought of tomorrow was already too much.

 “Afterwards, we are getting ice cream,” Carlos continued. “We can go to the place where you can put the sprinkles on it yourself, how about that?”

Isa nodded hesitantly.

---

Isa couldn’t sleep in her own bed yet. She didn’t want to be left alone, not even for a moment. Carlos stirred when he felt Isa shift beside him, her soft, hiccupping sobs breaking the silence of the dark room. He turned on his side, blinking the sleep away as he pulled her close.

“Isa, cariño… What’s wrong?” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

Isa didn’t answer at first. Her small fists clutched his shirt, face buried in his chest. Then, muffled and trembling, she said, “I miss Mommy.”

Carlos closed his eyes for a second. His throat tightened. He’d been dreading this moment, half-hoping she wouldn’t mention Vivian. But of course, she would. She was only three.

“I know you do,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay to miss her.”

“She didn’t call, but she always calls when I sleep over,” she cried. “Why?”

Carlos felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. He swallowed, choosing every word carefully. “I don’t know, mi amor. Grown-ups don’t always do what they’re supposed to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Isa didn’t say anything to that, just curled against him again, smaller than ever. Carlos pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and held her until she fell back asleep, her breath evening out, little by little. He stared at the ceiling, wide awake. As bad as it probably sounded, he never prepared to be a full-time father to Isa. He always thought Isa needed her mother more, anyway. And now that Vivian seemingly struggled to hold it all together, he wasn’t even sure he could be enough for his daughter. His throat tightened as he swallowed back his tears. He had no idea what was going to happen in the future. How was he going to keep his seat? How was he going to race if he had to be a full-time father from now on? Yet he couldn’t abandon his daughter for the sake of his career. Especially not now, now that her mother has seemingly already abandoned her.

---

The morning started rough. Isa woke up cranky again, her thumb already in her mouth, and a scowl that warned Carlos he was in for a ride. She clung to her blanket, whined when he opened the curtains, and refused to speak. Whatever Carlos said or did, she just buried her face in his chest with a muffled, stubborn "no."

 “Come on, mija,” Carlos murmured, lifting his whining daughter into his arms. “What do you want for breakfast, huh? Ham and cheese sandwich or cereal?”

He had read online that offering two things to choose from was a great way to deal with toddler tantrums. Well, most of the time these days, it didn’t work with Isa at all. He never needed to read parenting advice before. When Isa spent a weekend with him, she was sweet and easy to handle, and even when she didn’t have things her own way, it wasn’t too hard to soothe her.

Carlos had never thought raising a child for over a week would be this damn tough. He loved his daughter so much, but Isa’s meltdowns tired him out like nothing before. And he had no idea how to handle them, if he wanted to be honest.

He carried Isa to the kitchen, not changing her from her pyjamas yet. He had a feeling that this morning, she definitely would get food all over herself. He glanced at the clock as he placed her in her chair. They had less time to get ready and go than he wished.

Isa chose cereal. She was sitting in complete silence as he poured milk over her breakfast. Carlos was surprised that the choose-from-two technique had finally worked this time. However, when he placed the small bowl in front of her, she sent him another glare and hopped off the chair.

 “Don’t want cereal!” she told Carlos.

 “You asked for cereal.”

 “Not this cereal,” Isa stomped angrily, hugging her body with her small arms.

Carlos put her back on the chair. She started crying. He tried airplane noises. He tried silly faces. He tried pleading. She slapped the spoon away and cried louder.

And then, something in Carlos snapped.

 “Isabel, enough!” He slammed the spoon on the table with more force than he intended, his voice much louder than he expected. Isa flinched, and both his and her eyes widened. He had never yelled before.

Isa was silent for a moment… Then she started sobbing: the kind of pained sob that started with no sound, no breath, but then was loud enough to wake the dead. She slid down from her chair again to the floor, her face red. Carlos immediately cursed himself, his heart squeezing in his chest. He scared her. He didn’t mean to yell. He wanted to sort this out like an adult, like a responsible parent, yet here he was, making his daughter cry like that.

He just didn’t know what to do anymore.

She let him scoop her up, but went limp in protest, like a soggy noodle. Every movement was accompanied by a whimper or a frustrated kick, yet she was fisting his shirt like she was afraid to let go. Long minutes passed, and Carlos just held her, mumbling apologies and sweet nothings in Spanish, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He wasn’t sure if he was even capable of raising a child anymore. He wasn’t sure if he was even meant to be a dad. He didn’t know how to handle his own daughter. What if her behaviour wasn’t even a result of Vivian’s actions? What if this was simply just his poor parenting and lack of skills?

As Isa slowly stopped resisting in his arms, he took a deep breath to calm himself. He couldn’t back out of this, and he didn’t even want to. He had to make sure Isa was safe, whatever the outcome was going to be. Even if in the end, it would turn out that he was wrong and Isa was better off with Vivian. He loved his little girl too much to care about his own misery.

He managed to feed Isa a few spoons of cereal after that. He brushed her teeth and dressed her, then they were ready to leave, fifteen minutes later than he had originally planned.

chapter five

Carlos had just finished reading Elmer the Patchwork Elephant for the dozenth time. It was Isa’s favourite book since she first slept at his place. It seemed to be her way of comfort in switching countries on a weekend every month. Now she had finally started to relax, her little fingers wrapped around the edge of her blanket, eyelids heavy, thumb hovering near her mouth like she didn’t know if she should let herself feel small. Her soft bunny was sitting in the corner of her bed, right at her pillow.

Carlos kissed her forehead, smoothing her hair back. “Muy bien, princesa. Time to sleep now, okay?”

She nodded, not saying a word, just watching him with wide, tired eyes.

Carlos stood up, moving toward the switch. “I’m going to turn off this light now, but your night light stays on, sí?” Isa didn’t like sleeping in the dark, so last year, he’d bought a cloud-shaped light that changed colours smoothly, lulling her into sleep ever since. It was already on, so he flicked the switch gently.

The second the room dimmed, Isa screamed.

Not cried. Screamed.

She launched upright in the bed, breath ragged, panic exploding from her chest like it had been waiting there. “No! No, no, no, no, no!” she cried, frantically kicking at the blanket. “Don’t go! Don’t go!” She scrambled to the edge of the bed, her little arms stretched out toward him like she was about to fall off a cliff if he took one more step.

Carlos was back at her side in seconds. “Isa, mi amor, I’m just going to the living room. Your night light is on, see?”

But she didn’t hear him. She kept her tiny hands held out toward him, wriggling his fingers as if she was trying to reach him from afar, her sobs high-pitched and panicked. This had never happened before.

Carlos sat back on the edge of her bed, and she immediately climbed into his lap, her breath shuddering, fingers gripping his shirt like he was the only thing anchoring her. Her free thumb slipped into her mouth as she clung to him, her body tense within his arms. Carlos’s heart sank. She had stopped sucking her thumb when she was two. And now, apparently, she also was having meltdowns again. It felt so, so wrong.

 “Isa, amor, I was just going to be in the living room. You know you can always find me, yeah? You always did when you woke up here,” Carlos murmured, gently rocking her to soothe her. There were multiple occasions when Isa woke up in the middle of the night, and she always found him in the house. And he always came when he woke up to her crying. He was never fond of the cry-it-out method.

Isa choked out another small cry. “I don’t like being all alone.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the smell of strawberry shampoo. “You are not going to be. I’m in the room right next to yours, baby.”

 “When Mommy leaves, she doesn’t come back until the sun is up,” she whispered.

Carlos closed his eyes for a moment. There was no way in hell. “No, Isa. I wasn’t going to leave. Just to the couch. I never go far, okay? Never like that. And I’ll always come back if you call for me.”

She didn’t respond with words, only curled herself tighter against his chest like a koala refusing to let go. After her tears finally dried, he gently moved her from his lap and tucked her back under the covers. Isa gripped is hand, her eyes never leaving his face in the dim light.

He stayed there, sitting on the edge of her bed, letting her hold his hand, his other palm rubbing comforting circles on her back until she finally fell asleep. He tentatively moved away, just to see if she would stir. She didn’t, so Carlos grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stood up.

As he walked out into the living room like he originally planned, something in him snapped. He wanted to call Vivian. He wanted to yell, to ask her what the fuck she was thinking. His thumb hovered over Vivian’s name in his contacts, but something stopped him. A tightness in his chest. Calling her right now would turn into a fight. A mess. And if something was wrong, if Isa was being neglected, he couldn’t risk her covering it up or lashing out.

Instead, he scrolled back up. Found the name he kept in his phone for situations he hoped never to need.

Alexandre Caruso Lawyer

He stepped into the kitchen and dialled. It rang twice before the man picked up. “Carlos? Everything alright?”

Carlos glanced at the clock on the wall and swallowed. It was almost 9 p.m., so he would pay Alexandre gratuitously, but he couldn’t go to sleep like this. “I need advice. About Isa.” His voice cracked slightly. “I think something’s wrong at her mother’s place.”

Alexandre was quiet for a beat. “Tell me everything.”

And Carlos did. He kept his voice low, kept checking the door to make sure Isa was still asleep.

When he finished, Alexandre’s tone was calm but serious. “We need to move carefully. You’re within your rights to request a welfare check or temporary custody, especially if there’s reason to believe her well-being is compromised.”

Carlos’s heart thudded. “Would I be able to keep her here, if it comes to that?”

“If we make a case with the right documentation, yes,” Alexandre said. “Let me make a few calls in the morning. In the meantime, don’t confront Vivian yet. Let me handle that.”

Carlos nodded, even though no one could see him. “Thank you.” He needed this. Not only for Isa, but for his own peace of mind as well.

___

From that night, Isa felt seemingly safer with him. But that didn’t only mean playing with her dolls or pretend tea parties with her stuffed bunny. It also meant screaming meltdowns without taking a breath around basic daily routine. It meant refusing to eat, yelling for animal crackers, sobbing, and clinging to Carlos when he tried to put her to bed. Carlos was getting tired and more and more devastated. It seemed like she was fighting with everything to find control or test Carlos’s limits.

He hadn’t seen Isa for two months, and this was how he got back his angel baby daughter.

Carlos always had to stay until she fell asleep, and on each night, she woke up screaming. It took forever to soothe her back to sleep, and some nights she even wet her bed. After a while, Carlos just decided to let her sleep in his room with him. She was fine like that, curled up at his side the whole night. She hadn’t had a single nightmare since she started sleeping with him.

Carlos took her biking with him in the morning, so she was taking a nap in the afternoon when Carlos’s lawyer called him again. He sat at the dining table, his phone on speaker as he rubbed his eyes with one hand.

 “I’m telling you, Alexandre,” Carlos said, voice low and tight, “I can’t send her back to Vivian. I won’t.”

His lawyer sighed on the other end. “I understand. And I believe you. But the bar for emergency custody is high. Neglect is hard to prove unless it’s severe or documented. Repeated visits where Vivian’s intoxicated help, but they don’t guarantee anything yet.”

One and a half weeks had passed since Isa arrived, and Vivian hadn’t called once. She didn’t even open Carlos’s message from the day he picked up Isa from the airport. Even though Vivian told him she was going on a holiday, they conducted three welfare checks, and they found Vivian at home each time. And each time, she was heavily intoxicated. Three times. Three different days. And every single time, Vivian had opened the door reeking of alcohol, unsteady on her feet, barely coherent.

Still, not enough.

Because there hadn’t been bruises. Because the fridge had some food.

Carlos’s jaw clenched. “She kept leaving Isa home alone. We can’t prove that unless Isa is there, but I will not let her back and traumatize her further for some paperwork.”

“Yes, I know. But Vivian has legal custody. If we go to court tomorrow, a judge might say she’s struggling, not incapable. I need more. Witnesses, nursery reports, maybe medical evaluations. Do you have anything from Isa’s pediatrician?”

 “No, I don’t. Vivian never mentioned she took Isa to a doctor,” Carlos sighed, taking a sip of his already cold coffee. “But Alexandre, she was drunk every time they visited.”

“Unfortunately, unless she was a danger in the moment, passed out, violent, incoherent, it’s not technically grounds. Yet.”

Carlos closed his eyes. “I don’t care what the law says. She’s not going back there.”

“I’m with you. I’ll fight for this with everything I’ve got. But Carlos, you have to play this carefully. Keep Isa with you. Keep her safe. Don’t confront Vivian, don’t post anything online, and don’t deny access unless there's an immediate risk. We do this smart.”

“Okay,” Carlos said after a long silence. “We’ll do it your way.”

Isabel turned three by the time the legal tension was handled. Carlos told Vivian there would be no court involvement as long as she stuck to the agreement – FaceTime twice a week, a weekend a month, no excuses. Carlos didn't expect much, just consistency. But then, out of nowhere, Vivian asked him to take Isa for three weeks while she went on holiday with her new boyfriend. It was the first time she’d ever offered something like that, and Carlos, on summer break, missing his daughter, agreed without hesitation.

Vivian assured him he wouldn’t need to arrange pickup; she’d handle everything. So, Carlos waited at the airport, expecting her and Isa to walk out together. Instead, to his shock, a flight attendant walked out holding the hand of his three-year-old daughter. Vivian hadn’t even come. She'd put Isa on the plane alone, escorted by staff, without warning Carlos. He wasn’t even sure how she had done that, if that was even legal. Isa looked overwhelmed, dragging her little backpack behind her, eyes searching the crowd — until she saw Carlos and ran to him, clutching his legs like the world had gone sideways. He knelt down and hugged her tightly, his heart thundering with disbelief and fury. Vivian knew he had easy access to a private jet. He could have picked her up so easily. What was the reason behind sending a three-year-old child alone when there was a convenient option like that?

Carlos sent Vivian a message that Isa had arrived safely, but next time, he would gladly pick her up if Vivian couldn’t take her. He got no reply.

The first three days passed alright. Isa had her own room that she was familiar with. She had toys there, but she even brought a few of her favourites in her backpack. She was a little more silent than Carlos was used to, but he thought it was because they had barely any contact for two months. She loved drawing, and she kept drawing the living room of her home again and again, sometimes empty, sometimes with faceless people sleeping on the couch. When Carlos asked her about those people, she hadn’t said anything, so Carlos assumed they must have had a sleepover not so long ago.

The first warning sign came at dinnertime on the third night. Carlos thought they were settling into a rhythm. Isa had been quiet but cooperative during the day. She helped water the plants, coloured beside him while he answered emails, and even laughed once when he accidentally spilled juice on himself. She had a favourite bunny plushie that Carlos had never seen before, and dragged it everywhere with her, even when she seemed more at peace. But at dinner, it all cracked open.

It started small — Isa poking at her food with a frown, then whining softly about not wanting pasta. Carlos gently coaxed her, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, princesa, you helped pick the sauce.” But then she burst into tears out of nowhere, sobbing hard and loud, pushing the plate away with both hands.

“I want the crackers,” she wailed. “The animal crackers! From home!”

Carlos blinked, startled. “The animal crackers? I know you love those, but you remember that they’re not in the shops here, right? They’re British, babygirl.”

Isa kicked back her chair with force, slumping onto the cold tiles. Her fists were clenched, her face flushed red as she screamed. “I want the animal crackers!”

Carlos crouched down by her side, reaching out to hold her, thinking she was just homesick. It had happened a few times before, and Carlos knew cuddles always calmed her.

But not this time.

Isa barely even noticed her. She didn’t let herself be held. She kicked at Carlos, trashing against him as he tried to pull her into his lap. Carlos had never seen Isa like this, not even close, and it sent a cold fear down his spine. He held her tighter despite her wriggling, whispering Spanish words of comfort, heart pounding. This didn’t sound like homesickness. It was a storm. A raw, choking panic. A tiny girl desperately trying to reclaim a piece of control.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally collapsed into his chest, hiccuping and exhausted. Carlos stroked her hair, shaken. He knew from articles and random Instagram pages he followed that children often let loose when they were feeling safe, yet this didn’t feel like Isa was feeling safe by his side at all.

She didn’t want her pasta, but Carlos managed to feed her a sandwich instead.

After that, he drew her a bubble bath. Isa was still a little cranky when Carlos helped her into the warm water, but as she ran her fingers through the thick foam, a tiny smile appeared on the corner of her lips.

Carlos smiled as well. “You want your mermaid toys?”

She nodded, so Carlos got up and gently poured a small container of mermaids and sea animals into the water. Isa immediately grabbed the purple-haired mermaid – her favourite. She played in silence for a while, deep in her thoughts. Then she looked up at him, watching his face as if she were trying to puzzle out something.

 “¿Qué pasa, cariño?” he asked, reaching out for a green little fish.

 “Do you drink?”

Carlos paused, brow furrowing. He wasn’t sure what Isa was referring to. “Drink?” he echoed, distracted. “You mean water or juice? Or… Alcohol?”

 “Not alcohol,” she shook her head. “Wine.”

He blinked. “Wine is alcohol, cariño.”

She shook her head again. “Mommy says it’s grape juice, but for grown-ups.”

 “Why are you asking?” Carlos leaned back a little.

 “Cause Mommy does,” Isa shrugged. Then she dipped the mermaid underwater again. “Mermaids can’t drown.”

 “They can’t,” Carlos hummed in agreement. There was a tiny frown on her face, so he decided to follow her previous trail of thoughts. “I guess your Mommy had a free night, didn’t she? Did you guys have a house party?”

Isa shook her head silently.

Carlos’s expression started to match her frown. This didn’t sound like a huge deal, yet it seemed to bother Isa a bit. It might have intimidated her a little, Carlos thought. “When did you see Mommy drink wine?”

Isa didn’t answer that. “There is also the spicy water. It looks like water, but it’s spicy and smells bad. Papá, do you think mermaids go to school?”

They started talking about mermaids then, until the water cooled down.

After he helped to brush her teeth, they settled on the carpet in her room to play with the dollhouse before she went to bed.

Isa was sitting cross-legged on the floor in her pyjamas, hunched over her dollhouse with the kind of intense concentration only a three-year-old could manage. Carlos lay on his side beside her, propped up on one elbow, watching her tiny fingers move the plastic family around their miniature kitchen. “And now,” Isa said, her voice high and sing-songy, “the mommy goes out with Nick, and the baby stays at home alone, so the baby cries and goes to bed hungry.”

Carlos blinked. “Wait— Qué?”

Isa didn’t even look at him. She shifted the dolls around again. “Then the mommy comes back and she’s giggly, and drinks her juice, and sleeps on the couch with Nick.”

Carlos sat up straighter, his stomach clenching in unease. Nick was Vivian’s new partner. What was Isa even babbling about? How could she make up something like this? Then he remembered Isa’s drawings from the past three days, and a frown fell on his face.

The mommy sleeps on the couch with Nick.

Isa has been drawing those strange, faceless people sleeping on the couch for three days. And the giggly mommy who drinks juice? Like… The juice she was talking about in the bathtub?

Carlos shifted closer. “What kind of juice is the mommy drinking, Isa?” he asked carefully, trying to keep his voice soft.

 “You know, the juice from grapes,” she said. “That’s what Mami says. She takes it from the grown-up cupboard.” She glanced at him, then back at the dollhouse. “She says I can’t have any.”

Carlos swallowed hard. He didn’t want to draw conclusions, but so far, this didn’t sound like a one-time occasion like he first thought.

 “And why is the baby hungry?” Carlos asked, facing the dollhouse himself. Isa reached out for the small figure, and for a minute, she didn’t say anything. “How about we feed the baby?” Carlos asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

Isa shrugged. “The baby can eat the animal crackers because the mommy is asleep until the sun comes up.”

The animal crackers. Carlos didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. Not at all. Not after the meltdown he witnessed over those crackers just an hour ago.

 “And what happens when you’re hungry?” Carlos asked, trying to sound casual.

Isa dropped the dolls as if Carlos had blown all her will to play by his question. She picked up a plastic dog instead. “I eat animal crackers. Sometimes Mommy just forgets.”

Carlos’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay still. Breathe. Don't alarm her. Don't push. Isa was three. Kids her age made things up—but they also told the truth in roundabout ways that sounded like fiction to adults. He had to listen.

“Does that happen a lot?” he asked gently. “Mommy forgetting?”

Isa scratched the plastic dog’s ear with her thumb, not meeting his eyes. “Only when she’s sleepy on the couch after her juice. Or when she and Nick go out.”

Carlos blinked slowly. Juice from grapes. Nick. Couch. Going out…?

His stomach flipped, and not in the way it did before a race. This was heavier. Uglier.

He looked around the room. Her little socks were tossed by the bookshelf, her bedtime book still open on the couch, and there was an empty cup of warm chocolate milk he'd given her earlier. Everything he tried to do to create normalcy. To build something soft and safe. And still… This was what she carried. This was what she put into her playing.

Isa was now making the dog bark softly. “The dog says 'wake up, wake up', but nobody listens.”

Carlos didn’t realize how tight his fists were until his knuckles ached. He didn’t want to ask more. He didn’t want to know more. But he had to. For her.

 “Who is with you when they go out?”

 “No one.”

Carlos blinked. “No one?” he repeated, his voice thinner than he meant it to be.

Isa’s small fingers fidgeted with the edge of his t-shirt. “I stay home. With my soft bunny.”

He couldn’t breathe. Not properly. There was a ringing in his ears, like he was underwater. He stared into her deep brown eyes, and he felt sick. Actually, physically sick. His hands trembled. He tucked her closer to sit on his lap, as if by holding her tight enough, he could rewind time and take every single one of those nights away from her.

“Isa,” he said, voice breaking despite himself. “You shouldn’t ever be alone at home. Not ever, mi amor. Not even for a minute.”

“But Mommy says I’m a big girl now,” Isa whispered. “And she gives me a cookie sometimes if I don’t cry.”

Carlos shut his eyes. His stomach turned. A cookie. A reward for not crying. For staying alone in a flat while her mother and some man went out for the night.

This wasn’t confusion anymore. This was neglect.

And maybe he had been trying to be diplomatic. Maybe he’d told himself Isa needed both parents. Maybe he’d wanted to believe that despite Vivian’s recklessness, Isa was still safe in her hands.

But this? This was too far.

Isa yawned between his arms. The dog dropped from her fingers and rolled across the floor.

And as he rocked her gently, his mind churned. He’d been so careful not to start a war with Vivian. Not legally, not emotionally. But this wasn’t about custody schedules anymore. This was about hunger and neglect and alcohol. This was about Isa’s safety, both inside and outside. Her meltdown over the animal crackers at dinner suddenly made so much sense now. That wasn’t just about trying to find control, it was a cry for help.

Carlos kissed the top of her head, his throat tight.

He will put Isa to bed and call his lawyer. This couldn’t wait.

Carlos wasn’t looking for anything serious.

He was in between races, the season still fresh, the pressure high, and the adrenaline constantly simmering just beneath the surface. He’d met British Vivian Taylor in Monaco — she was bright, magnetic in a way that Carlos couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Long, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, fit and feminine.

They’d bumped into each other at a yacht party. Someone handed her a glass of champagne when she locked eyes with Carlos across the deck. She looked as if she’d heard every silent thought in his head and wanted to see if he was brave enough to say any of them aloud.

He was.

They both agreed on keeping things private, just as a distraction. They didn’t share dreams or favourite childhood movies. They had long nights and short conversations, and for a while, that was enough.

She told him she was on the pill.

He asked once. She laughed and kissed him. “Of course,” she said, sliding her hands up the back of his neck. “I’m not stupid.”

Carlos never imagined it was a lie.

Vivian was a social butterfly. She was loud and flirty, charismatic in that sharp-edged, intoxicating way that made her impossible to ignore when she was around. She played the game like she’d invented it. She loved attention.

Maybe a little too much, even.

She was constantly asking if she could join Carlos at the Grand Prixes and social events. Carlos always turned her down. He played with open cards – he’d told Vivian he didn’t want anything serious right in the beginning, and he wouldn’t change his mind anytime soon.

But she wanted to be seen. She wanted to stand next to him at the paddock and hold his hand at the airport. She wanted to live in his spotlight before he’d even had a chance to figure out if she belonged there. That made him uneasy. Everything about his life was high-speed and public. The only thing he had control over was who he let deep into it. And he didn’t trust her yet. Hell, he didn’t even know if Vivian was still there because of him or because of the opportunities that came with him.

He broke things off a few days later, back in Madrid. She didn’t scream or cry. She just stared at him, stunned, like no one had ever told her no before.

 “You’re making a mistake,” she said quietly, pulling on her coat.

Carlos exhaled. “Maybe. But I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

She nodded slowly. “You’ll regret this.”

He didn’t say anything. He just held the door open. He thought that was the end.

But two weeks later, Vivian called him out of the blue. Her voice was steady. Too soft. Too calm. The kind of calm that makes your stomach twist because you know something is coming.

“I’m pregnant.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, no. You said you were on birth control.”

“I was,” she said. Then a pause. “And then I wasn’t.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed like the air had left the room.

“You stopped?”

“I thought if you really knew me… Really had to know me… You’d see this could work. You wouldn’t just throw me away.”

Carlos closed his eyes. His pulse thundered in his ears.

“You lied to me.”

“I wanted a family, Carlos. With you. I want this child. You’ll thank me later.”

He didn’t answer. He slowly realized that no matter what he wanted, this was already happening. Vivian was having his child. And Carlos had no say in it.

As long as he could, he had been clinging to the idea that Vivian was bluffing. That it was a game. A desperate ploy to pull him back in. That in a few days, she’d text him saying it was a false alarm, or a mistake, or something he could forget ever happened.

But then came the ultrasound photos.

He stared at them for ten full minutes in the dim light of his kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator loud in the silence. His hands were steady, but his heart was beating too fast. The message below it was short.

“Ten weeks. It’s real. You can come to the next scan if you want.”

No exclamation marks. No emojis. No threats. Just a truth that settled over him like concrete.

He wasn’t going to be a father someday. He was going to be a father soon. The weight of it made him sit down, elbows on the table, pressing his thumbs into his eyes. The world didn’t spin, but it shifted. Subtly, permanently.

Carlos had always pictured himself with kids, but not like this. Not now, when he was only 26. Not with a woman who’d lied to him. Not like some trap he’d walked into.

But none of that changed the fact: a child was coming. His child.

Vivian constantly tried to pull him back, inviting him for scans and checkups, or furnishing the nursery room. Carlos stood his ground. He wasn’t going to meet Vivian, not until he had no other choice.

He had always been a family man in a deeply Spanish way. He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t abandon his child. He would show up, but it didn’t mean he’d go back to Vivian.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t trust her. She’d made a choice for both of them without his consent, and that meant something. It wasn't something he could overlook or romanticize. He couldn’t love someone who manipulated life into existence.

Still, the baby didn’t choose any of that. The baby was innocent.

Within a few weeks, he found a family lawyer in Monaco. Alexandre Caruso seemed like he knew what he was doing. He advised that after the baby was born, Carlos should request a paternity test before taking any further steps.

On the 13th of June 2021, the baby girl was born, and the test came back positive. Vivian, as a last resort, registered her birth name as Isabel Sainz. She didn’t want to include her last name – this way, it sounded more like they both belonged to him.

Vivian was living in the United Kingdom. She expected Carlos to move there, but he stayed in Monaco. Then she wanted to move to Monaco with baby Isabel, but Carlos didn’t support that. Moving to Monaco was pricey, Vivian couldn’t afford that on her own, and Carlos didn’t want her nearby. He had his way to a private jet anytime, and he could visit Isabel whenever he wanted, anyway.

Carlos was shocked at how much Isa looked like him. Huge, brown eyes and thick, dark hair, just like her father’s. When she started speaking, she even picked up on some Spanish that Carlos tried to teach her, even though their main language was English. She didn’t use Spanish, only a few words when Carlos encouraged her, but she understood most things he said to her.

Time flew by, and Isabel turned two. Vivian started dating a new man. At first, Carlos tried not to care; he wasn’t interested in Vivian’s love life, only in Isa. But the only problem with Vivian finally moving on was that out of the blue, she didn’t want Carlos to be involved anymore. Their regular FaceTime calls with Isa — legally agreed to happen twice a week — began to slip through the cracks. At first, it was “Isa’s asleep” or “we’re out,” but quickly turned into total silence unless Carlos relentlessly texted and called. He had to beg just to see his daughter’s face, and every time he asked, Vivian claimed Isa was busy. Two months passed, and Vivian didn’t let Carlos meet Isa in either of them despite the papers. Carlos finally snapped and contacted his lawyer again. Enough was enough.

Chapters

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The heat was brutal today.

The loudspeaker repeatedly warned the spectators to drink plenty of water and seek shade whenever possible. You watched the race from an air-conditioned room, arms crossed in front of your chest. Earlier, you were outside as well. Of course, the black asphalt absorbed the heat and radiated it right back, making it feel like you could literally melt.

You couldn’t understand why the calendar wasn’t changed. This had been a problem in the previous years as well. Especially last year, when multiple drivers complained about feeling sick from the extreme heat in the car. Some even had to visit the medical centre during the weekend.

No one was having it easy. You watched Lando break too hard into a corner at the very end of the race. He dropped back to fourth place, which then he couldn’t recover anymore.

When the race ended, someone from the team started talking to you. You nodded, smiling politely, trying to excuse yourself as quickly as you could. Then, you grabbed a cold bottle of water and started jogging towards where Lando was.

He was already out of the car when you arrived. His face was flushed, jaw tight, his cheeks way too pink even for him. To your surprise, there was no water in his hands yet. He just wrestled a melting hot car for nearly two hours. There was a team member near him, but his eyes were focused on Oscar, who finished second and was now giving an interview.

You approached Lando carefully. He wasn’t always in the mood to be bothered right after getting out of the car, especially not when he didn’t finish on the podium. You noticed how he was pulling at his race suit, trying to get out of it as soon as possible, still breathing hard. His eyes were on the crowd in the distance, not focusing on anything in particular. He was soaked in sweat.

At first, he didn’t even notice you, even though you had already called his name. You touched his wrist, and he jumped, turning his head towards you. He didn’t smile.

You handed him the water bottle. “Careful, yeah?”

He grabbed the bottle and nodded. Of course, he knew he wasn’t supposed to chug water after getting this dehydrated, but it was hard to resist. He took a long gulp, then poured some down the back of his neck, eyes shutting as he let out a breathless, “Fuck.”

 “You okay?” you asked softly, knowing damn well he wasn’t.

 “No podium,” he said flatly. “All that for fucking fourth.”

You watched him place the bottle cap back, his hands slightly trembling - not from nerves, but sheer physical exhaustion. His chest rose and fell fast, like he was still trying to catch his breath.

 “I know,” you murmured. “It’s brutal out here. You did amazing, though.”

He shook his head, but not harshly. More defeated. “It should’ve been third. I had it.”

Your hand gently brushed his arm, careful not to overwhelm him while his system was still cooking under the heat. “You finished. You kept it clean. You brought it home when half the grid looked like they were about to pass out.”

His eyes flicked to you, softer now, though his frustration still simmered under the surface. Then, he looked down and rubbed his eyes, letting out another long breath. “I feel sick.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice so no one around would hear. “Sit down, baby. You’re overheating.”

Reluctantly, he let you guide him to the chair in the shade, breathing through his nose while you grabbed the cooling towel the team had ready. As you pressed it gently against the back of his neck, he let out a shuddered sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

 “Did you drink anything during the race?” you asked, despite knowing him well. He very rarely drank and often ended up with a headache, even after much cooler tracks than this one.

He just shook his head.

You took a long breath and bit down on your tongue. He didn’t need lecturing, you reminded yourself. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a bit pissed over his horrible habits on the weekends. Often, he was so nervous before races that he could barely eat, and no matter how many times his team reminded him, he still wouldn’t drink enough. He was fit and strong, yet sometimes it backfired.

 “I fucking hate this track,” he muttered, drawing back your attention.

 “I know,” you whispered, pressing your lips lightly to his temple, careful not to touch too much. “But I love you anyway.”

His eyes opened just slightly, exhaustion softening the edge of his anger now.  “You always know how to make me feel like I didn’t completely mess it up.”

 “Because you didn’t.”

He smirked faintly, his hand finding yours in his lap. “Fourth place sucks a little less with you here.”

You smiled. “That’s the idea.”