If The Stars Could Reach Us - Lance Stroll

𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

❝ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ. I ᴀᴍ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴘᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ❞

・・・・・・・・ ō͡≡o˞̶

𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮'𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓿

March 11th, London, United Kingdom

"Then today is his lucky day because we are done," She says with a tremble in her voice.

"Don't do this, Maya," I try to plead, but she already walked through to door, I watch her leave as I stay frozen in the door opening.

I don't want us to be done. We are making a huge mistake.

I have no idea how long it has been before I close the door. Everything happens in a haze; closing the door, putting the dishes in the dishwasher, taking a cold shower and eventually getting in bed.

Maybe if I hadn't been so jealous the last months, maybe if I hadn't let Christopher's flirtatious behaviour get on my nerves, because I am pretty sure he is the actual problem of everything that happened the last few months.

That and Maya who failed to see his behaviour, who kept defending him and saying he was just being nice. But it was way more than that, and I could only watch now.

・・・・・・・・ ō͡≡o˞̶

March 13th 2024, London, United Kingdom

Esteban is half an hour early and I am nervously pacing through my living room. The white envelope in the middle of the table was unopened.

"What are we waiting for?" He asks and stands in front of me to stop me. "Do you need to get to your 10,000 steps first or what?"

I shake my head, "I am afraid of the results."

"Afraid of what, Lance? You said you didn't sleep with her in October."

"Not that I can remember, no. But I also can not remember how that hickey got in my neck."

"You were out of your mind drunk, she fed you drunk in the hope you'd give in on her."

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, "What if I was so drunk I did sleep with her?"

"You'll find out when you open that letter," Esteban grabs my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, in a reaction I look him in the eye. "But I believe you when you say you did not sleep with her."

With trembling hands, I grab the envelope. The logo of the fertility clinic is emblemed on it. My name is in bold letters, and I am very glad with the personal courier of this facility.

I would definitely be fucked if a normal post officer was paid an amount to spill to the paparazzi about the kind of mail I receive. And I am sure that the media would eat this shit up.

"Open it."

I nod and carefully open it, taking my sweet time as if delaying reading the letter is going to change the outcome. Esteban takes a step back, giving me my privacy to read the letter, but also to analyse my reaction to what the letters on the paper say.

Dear Lance Stroll,

It is hereby that London's Medical Fertility Clinic is to let you know that the results of your paternity test are in.

You have been tested on March 11th by Doctor E. Hayes, and she is to let you know that you are not the father of the unborn child of Miss N. Melton.