Until my last breath

3

I leap down from the car, feeling the solid ground beneath my feet, but the moment is too surreal to process. My hands reach for my helmet, yanking it off, and in an instant, I'm engulfed by my team. Their arms pull me in, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of cheers, hands patting my back, squeezing my shoulders. The noise surrounds me, but it's their joy—our joy—that's overwhelming. I can barely breathe, my suit sticking to me, my chest heaving, but it doesn't matter. The smile on my face, the laughter bubbling up from deep inside, I can't control any of it. It's pure euphoria.

I'm celebrating with my Prema crew, each one of them feeding me the energy I desperately need, when I suddenly feel my feet leave the ground.

"THREE, BIANCHI? THREE?" Arthur's voice booms in my ear, almost drowning out the roar of the crowd. His arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground, crushing me into his chest. The weight of his words hits harder than I expect, making my heart thud with an intensity that matches the moment. He holds me so tight, it feels like he's trying to share in the very heartbeat of this victory. My chest tightens, but this time, it's not from the race. I wriggle out of his arms only to throw mine around his neck, pulling him into a fierce hug.

"Three, Arch. Three," I whisper, the words feeling heavier now as they leave my lips. My voice cracks, emotions surging beneath the surface. I bury my face into his shoulder, trying to steady myself, but it's useless. The flood I've been holding back for so long finally starts to break through. Arthur senses the shift immediately. His arms tighten around me, grounding me, holding me steady, letting me be vulnerable for just a moment.

When I finally pull away, my eyes catch sight of Charles standing a few feet away, already suited up for his race, that familiar grin stretching across his face. His eyes, though—they say everything. Pride. Love. Understanding. I rush to him, unable to stop myself, and wrap my arms around him, sinking into a deeper, quieter embrace.

"You did it again, Ree," he whispers softly, his voice like an anchor in the whirlwind of the moment. His words reach the part of me that has been holding on to doubt, to pressure, to everything unsaid.

I nod against him, my cheek brushing his shoulder, the tears I've been fighting slipping free. "I did, Charles," I whisper, my voice barely above a breath, feeling the weight of it all crashing down. "I really did."

The tears keep coming, not just for the win, but for everything that led to this moment—the sacrifices, the loss, the weight of a legacy that sometimes feels too big for me to carry. But standing here, in their arms, I realize I'm not carrying it alone.

-"Good afternoon, Bianchi. Thank you for joining us today."

Like I had a choice.

-"How are you feeling after today's win?"

-"It was a solid race, honestly. The strategy came together perfectly for both me and my teammate—we both made it onto the podium. But, more than that, I feel grateful. Grateful to be out here, doing what I love most, surrounded by an incredible team that makes it all possible."

-"Who does this win go to?"

"Every win belongs to the people who stand behind me. My family, my friends, my team—everyone who believes in me, especially when I struggle to believe in myself. You know, racing isn't just about driving fast or being the best. It's about carrying the weight of the people who've helped you get here. There are days when you're exhausted, when your body and mind feel like they've hit their limit, and it's their support that pulls you through. Every race, every victory, is a tribute to them. And above all... it's for my uncle, for my father. I would give anything for them to be here, to witness these moments with me. But in a way, I like to think they're still watching, still pushing me forward."