After the pandemic, the band had started doing one-off gigs here and there in between Stevie's solo shows. One evening, after a particularly energetic performance, Christine walked backstage, her eyes scanning the room for her assistant, Jenn. The backstage area was filled with crew members and musicians, but Christine was focused on finding some relief for her back pain.
"Jenn," Christine called, spotting her assistant. "I need some pain relief. Standing at the keyboard all night wasn't the best idea with my back issues. It's flaring up again."
Jenn hurried over with a bottle of pain relief medication. She whispered, "We can head back to the hotel in a minute so you can relax and rest."
Christine took the medication gratefully.
Stevie stormed over, her heels clicking like thunder, eyes locked on Christine's strained posture. "Chris, you look awful. What's going on?"
Christine gave a weary sigh. "My back's been flaring up. I just need to get to the hotel and rest."
Stevie's response was immediate, commanding. "Then that's it—we're leaving. I'll get you back, run a hot bath, stay with you until—"
Jenn shot to her feet, cutting in. "No. Stevie, wait—"
Stevie's head snapped toward her, fury sparking. "Don't you dare interrupt me. She's my best friend, my family—I've been caring for her long before you were even in the picture."
Jenn's voice rose, sharp as glass. "And I've been caring for her every single day she's on the road! I know what this pain does to her—what makes it worse, what gives her even the smallest relief. You think a bath will help? It'll make her seize up even more!"
Stevie's nostrils flared, her voice nearly a shout. "You don't get to tell me how to look after her. I've seen her through hell—you wouldn't even recognize the things she's survived! And you think you, what, taking notes and holding her schedule, makes you the authority here?"
Christine rubbed her temples, her body stiff with tension, but the two were locked on each other.
Jenn's hands shook as she pointed at Christine. "This isn't about authority—it's about her. I'm not guessing, Stevie—I've sat beside her through every spasm, every sleepless night, every time she could barely breathe from the pain. I've earned the right to be heard!"
"Earned the right?" Stevie exploded, her voice booming like a cannon. "You don't earn the right to care for Christine! You love her, or you don't. And don't you dare stand there and act like you love her more than I do!"
Jenn's eyes flashed with fury, her words like fire. "This isn't about who loves her more—it's about who's actually listening to her body! And right now, that sure as hell isn't you!"
Christine's chest rose and fell faster, the tension almost unbearable.
Stevie stepped closer, trembling with rage. "Watch yourself, Jenn. You're still new to this, and you don't know what lines you're crossing."
Jenn stepped forward too, nose-to-nose with her. "The only line I see is the one where you put your pride before her health. And I'm not letting you cross it."
The air was electric, one word away from an explosion—until Christine's voice, sharp and trembling, cut through like a blade.
"Enough!"
Both women froze, their anger crashing against the sheer force of her tone. Christine rarely raised her voice—but when she did, it carried weight.
She struggled to stand a little straighter, her face pale, her voice ragged but unshakable. "I can't do this. I can't sit here in pain while the two of you tear each other apart over who cares more. I know you both love me—but right now, your fighting is making this worse."
