It was Christmas night, and Lori was staying with Jessica and Alec for the holidays. The three of them had just finished getting ready to head over to Stevie's for their annual Christmas tradition—a cozy dinner filled with laughter, stories, and a house brimming with warmth.
Jessica wore fitted jeans and a soft emerald blouse, her makeup dewy and light, a touch of sparkle on her lids. Alec wore a navy button-down with dark jeans, and Lori had opted for comfort and class—a flowy burgundy blouse tucked into deep-wash jeans, with her favorite zip-up boots.
They arrived just after dark. Stevie's house was aglow with fairy lights and flickering candles in every window, the scent of fresh pine and something cinnamon-sweet drifting through the air.
Dinner was laid out beautifully. Stevie, Lori, Jessica, Alec, and Karen gathered around the table, the conversation light and nostalgic. They laughed over old tour stories, compared favorite Christmas albums, and teased each other like siblings at a holiday reunion.
But Lori hadn't felt right all evening.
It started just before dinner—a dull ache blooming behind her right eye. She'd hoped it was nothing. Maybe tension. Maybe dehydration. But as dinner wore on, the pressure behind her eyes throbbed harder. It was unmistakable now.
A migraine.
She powered through as best she could, smiling through the pain, laughing at Alec's story about the Christmas he accidentally lit the tree skirt on fire. But the pain didn't ease—it gnawed at her temples, pounding with the rhythm of every heartbeat.
When Karen got up to use the restroom, Lori quietly excused herself a minute later. Her plan was simple: ten minutes of quiet on the couch in the front room. That might help.
She didn't see Karen returning from the hallway until they collided gently, a soft bump that broke Lori's haze just enough.
"Oh—Lori?" Karen said immediately, her hands steadying them both. Her voice was gentle, filled with concern. "Hey... are you alright?"
Lori blinked at her, eyes watery from the pain and the brightness around them. "Yeah... I'm fine. Just... just need to sit down for a minute."
Karen's brows drew together, soft but insistent. "You're not fine. You're rubbing your head like you're trying to push the pain out."
Lori hesitated, swallowing the lie that almost escaped her lips. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's a migraine. Since before dinner. I thought it'd go away."
Karen's voice softened even more, warm and maternal, wrapping around Lori like a blanket. "Oh, honey... you should've said something sooner."
"I didn't want to ruin the night," Lori admitted, her voice fragile.
Karen reached out, touching her arm gently, her fingers light but grounding. "You are the night," she said softly. "Come on, love. Go lie down in my room. I'll make you some tea... something gentle to help soothe it. I promise."
Lori blinked again, fatigue pulling at every muscle. She nodded, unable to argue, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little under Karen's quiet, unwavering care.
Upstairs, she sank onto Karen's bed, still fully dressed, boots and all. She curled onto her side, one arm draped over her eyes, letting the pulse in her head take over for a moment. The world around her felt distant, softened by Karen's presence and the quiet promise of care.
For the first time that evening, she let herself just rest.
Down in the kitchen, Karen moved with quiet urgency. She brewed her favorite calming blend—ginger, a touch of chamomile, and peppermint for the migraine. When she passed back through the dining room with the cup in hand, Stevie reached for it playfully.
