In the pit lane, where the smell of burnt rubber mixes with his thoughts, Charles tries to salvage a love slipping away. Natalie, stands with a suitcase, determination in her eyes. "I will make this work. I'll try honey, please" Charles said pleading softly. At last she has spoken, but not the words he wanted to hear. "Love is not a fucking race, Charles. It's not about who reaches the finish line first, and you don't know what means getting to that finish line together. You don't have patience nor effort to make this work and I really don't have the strenght to get to the second 'lap' of yours, where you make the same mistakes." " I can slow down, I can prioritize us. I'll learn, I swear." He said his last words so quietly as she turned around, not letting herself believe him.