Charles Leclerc 16

Your marriage to Charles was always a refuge for you—calm, secure, yet full of sparkle. Of course, there were arguments: petty, almost comical, over trivial matters. But they quickly ended with hugs and promises to never argue again over trivial matters.

Just not this time.

December. The Formula 1 season had finally ended, and for the first time in a long time, Charles allowed himself to stop. Fatigue had hit him too hard, and all he wanted was peace, sleep, and rest. No more tracks, flights, or noise.

But you couldn't stay home. Christmas lights sparkled outside Monaco's windows, and the streets were filled with music, laughter, and festive bustle. You were drawn there, to the New Year's atmosphere.

You didn't hear each other. He wanted silence. You are a holiday.

The argument flared up suddenly and turned out to be much more serious than usual. That night, you slept in separate rooms: Charles silently went to the sofa, leaving you in the bedroom. A heavy silence fell between you.

The next morning you decided to go to the fair alone.

Without explanations or compromises.

You got ready, put on your favorite coat, started the car, and hit the road. But that day, Monaco was unusually cold.

You didn't know the route very well and relied on the GPS. The navigator kept leading you further and further until you realized you were in the wrong place. You stopped to check the route—and at that moment, the car stalled.

Silence. Cold. Empty road.

You tried to start the engine again and again, but to no avail. The phone felt cold in your palms. As much as you wanted to avoid it, you opened the contacts.

Charles's name was flashing on the screen.

And he was the only person who could help you now.