𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒: 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 | 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

[ 037 ]

'You can't make decisions based on fear and the possibility of what might happen.'
- Michelle Obama

The Asian meal they had ordered was excellent and afterwards they lay back on the couch with full stomachs. They had a series on, but weren't watching it at all; instead, they laughed hilariously at photo albums that he had found in a cupboard.

"That's incredibly sweet," he said in love, pointing to a picture of her sitting in one of her brothers' single-seaters and adoring Charles with her gaze.

"Charles sees that as proof that I'm using him as a role model," she rolled her eyes, even though she knew it was one hundred percent true at that age.

"I mean, the way you look," he chuckled.

He flipped to the next page and saw pictures of her standing on a podium that day, holding the trophy with her brothers. She smiled broadly. This was followed by pictures of the four of them and a picture of Lorenzo giving her a piggyback ride.

They continued to leaf through the book. They looked at each photo together and she told him the story. In September, she saw her first attempts at figure skating. She had taken up figure skating that year. And her world had suddenly changed.

"Was that your first time on the ice?" he asked, pointing to a picture of her wearing black leggings, a pink tutu over them and then a jacket.

"Yes," she grinned quirkily.

"Do you still train in that outfit?" he laughed.

"Always." She laughed too, "I think it's a beautiful outfit."

She kept turning the pages and found hundreds of pictures. With her brothers. At her first competitions. With friends. In the park. In the water.

Everything was documented by her parents. For her eighteenth birthday, they took the trouble to print out the pictures and arrange them chronologically in photo books. So there is a separate photo book full of memories for every year of Luise's life. Her mom had done the same for her brothers.

"There are hardly any pictures in this book. Why is that?"

It was when she was eleven years old. It was the year they found out that she had been abused by her father. After it all came out, everything was different. She was no longer so happy and took a long time to recover. Which is why not so many pictures were taken.

"It was the year it came out about my father. I was really unwell at the time."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," he suddenly said quietly. His expression was depressed.

"Lando, you don't have to be sorry."

His gaze continued to express pity. His hand slid to hers and squeezed it.

"Did you actually have good contact with your father before?" he asked suddenly, "You don't have to answer me, of course."

"It's all right," she said, "He didn't think much of being a father. So I didn't see him often. Maybe once a month. Sometimes only once every two. My mother actually insisted that I stop seeing him, but then he decided he wanted to be a father again. But as you can imagine, nothing ever happened. Charles and Arthur's biological father was therefore my real dad. He did everything for me. And loved me dearly."

His face was now even more full of sadness and pity. He continued to squeeze her hand worriedly. Gently, he kissed her on the forehead.

"That's terrible. It could have been prevented."

"I know," she said sadly.

The subject was completely closed for her. There were no more why questions. Or why her in particular. It was over. There was nothing she could do about it anyway. It had happened.