Forgotten on the Grid

Next day. Next race. P6.

Not what I wanted—not even close—but better than him.

Arvid finished P8. He made a mess of it today. Locked up, lost time in the pit window, couldn't recover. I watched it all unfold in my mirrors.

No one said anything after I crossed the line. A quiet "good job, Lydia" in my ear from Rose, and that was it. No cheers. No team rushing out to meet me.

But I didn't care.

Because for once, I beat him.

And he knew it.

He didn't even look at me when we got out of the cars. Just stormed off toward the truck, helmet still on.

I might not have been on the podium, but today?

Today felt like a silent win.

—————-

The quiet in the car feels heavier than the engine humming beneath us.

I stare out the window, counting every tree we pass, every fence post, every break in the hedgerows. Anything to stop myself from overthinking this visit.

Seb drives in silence. He doesn't push conversation. He never does on days like this.

We pull into the care home just past noon. It's small, tucked away behind a garden that would be beautiful if the weather wasn't so stubbornly grey.

I feel my hands curl into fists in my lap.

"She might be asleep," I say quietly, though I'm not sure if I'm hoping for it or not.

"She might not," Seb replies gently. "Let's see."

The nurse at reception greets us like she always does—soft voice, sad smile, like she's memorised exactly who we are and why it hurts when we come here.

Lucia is in the sunroom, sitting by the window. A blanket is folded over her lap. Her hair's longer than I remember, a bit messier too.

She's staring out at the garden. I wonder if she even notices we're here.

We walk in. My footsteps feel too loud.

"Mum," I say softly.

She turns, slowly.

Her eyes land on Seb first. There's a flicker of recognition—or something close to it. Then she looks at me.

Nothing.

Not confusion. Not fear.

Just... absence.

"Hi," I whisper, trying to smile. "It's me. Lydia."

She blinks.

Still nothing.

I sit next to her. Seb stays back, giving me space.

"I had a race last weekend," I begin, voice trembling around the edges. "I came sixth. Not great. But... better than some."

I laugh a little. It sounds forced.

"I wanted to win. I really wanted to win. But sometimes, trying isn't enough."

Lucia reaches for something on the table beside her—just a coaster. Her fingers trace the edges slowly.

I wonder if she even hears me.

I keep talking anyway.

"Seb's been helping me a lot. You'd be proud of him too. He's a good uncle, even if he pretends he's not."

Seb smiles faintly at that, arms crossed loosely as he leans against the wall.

I watch Mum's face. Still blank.

Still not me.

A lump rises in my throat and I swallow hard. "I miss you," I say, barely audible. "Even if you don't remember me."

Lucia's hand shifts. Her fingers brush mine.

Just for a second.

It could mean nothing. A twitch. A fluke. But I pretend it means everything.

I close my eyes and hold that tiny moment like it's enough to fill all the empty space inside me.

Because right now, it has to be.

——————-
Seb

She looks so much like her.

I stand in the doorway, arms folded across my chest, watching Lydia sit beside Lucia in the sunroom. Her voice is soft, steady—almost too steady. She keeps talking, filling the silence with stories from the last race, little jokes, bits of life. She's trying. I can hear it in every word. Trying to keep something alive. Trying not to fall apart.

Lucia doesn't respond. She rarely does anymore.

It still knocks the wind out of me, seeing my sister like this. My big and tough sister. The one who used to scream at the TV during football matches, who could out-argue anyone with half the facts. She used to have this spark—fiery, sharp, untouchable.

And now... this. A shell. Her eyes don't even recognise Lydia most days.

I hate it.

I remember the night she told me she was pregnant. Her voice over the phone was shaking, but she tried to hide it. She didn't want me to hear how scared she was. She said she was keeping the baby, no matter what. And she already loved her. But the father? He didn't stay. Of course he didn't.

I knew he was the wrong kind of man from the beginning. Too smooth. Too calculated. The kind who always looked out for himself first. When Lucia told him, he disappeared like he'd never existed. No responsibility. No apology. Just gone.

And our parents... God. They made it worse. So much worse.

They disowned her. Treated her like she'd brought shame to the family. As if loving her child made her less worthy of theirs. They never came to see her again. Not for the birth. Not for birthdays. Not when things got hard. Not even now.

She was twenty-three, alone, pregnant, and abandoned.

She called me not long after—quiet, barely audible, asking if she could come stay with me. I was already in Formula 1 then, caught up in the chaos of early fame, but none of that mattered.

I told her yes. Of course yes. For as long as she needed.

She never went back home. And honestly, I don't blame her.

Now I look at Lydia—still talking to her mother even though nothing's coming back—and I feel this ache I can't describe. The kind that settles deep, where guilt lives. Because she shouldn't have to fight like this. Not on the track. Not at home. Not with people ignoring her or underestimating her at every turn.

She's got Lucia's fire. That unbreakable will. But she's also got her silence. Her isolation.

I promised myself, the day Lucia moved in with me, that I'd never let Lydia go through this world without someone in her corner. And I mean that. I don't care how hard this sport gets. I don't care who overlooks her. She's not doing it alone.

She glances at me briefly, eyes tired, but holding it together like always.

I nod. Just once. Quietly.

She doesn't need a big speech from me. She never has.

But I hope—God, I hope—she knows I'm not going anywhere.