**Late 2000s – Los Angeles**
It was nearing 10:15 p.m. when Lori's car finally pulled into the driveway, headlights cutting a slow arc across the quiet suburban street. Inside, the house was dim, warm with the glow of a single lamp in the living room. Jessica sat curled up on the couch in sweats, her laptop still open but untouched for the last hour as she waited.
She heard the car door slam softly, then the slow crunch of gravel under weary boots. The front door opened a moment later. Lori stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with a tired sigh, her purse sliding from her shoulder onto the kitchen counter with a soft thunk.
Jessica glanced up and immediately clocked the heaviness in her mother's body—the way her shoulders sloped, the sluggish shuffle of her steps, the exhaustion in her face. Lori's makeup had long since faded; her voice was rasped raw from hours of singing harmony takes, and she was still wearing those same black zip-up boots she always wore to the studio—fashionable, but absolutely the wrong choice for standing thirteen hours straight.
"You look like hell," Jessica said gently.
Lori gave a tired smile, tugging off her jacket. "Thanks, sweetheart. Always a confidence boost coming home to you."
Jessica sat up straighter. "What time did you finish?"
"About forty minutes ago. We were re-tracking that chorus on 'Roses and Dust' for the sixth time. Stevie's in a zone right now—no one wanted to stop the momentum."
Jessica frowned. "That zone is gonna kill you one of these days."
Lori waved a hand. "It's the price you pay for being a backup singer, even when you're pushing fifty."
Jessica patted the couch. "Come here. Sit."
Lori hesitated, clearly aching, but walked slowly over. She collapsed onto the couch, letting her head fall back with a groan. Jessica instinctively reached down and tugged off her mother's boots one at a time.
The moment the boots were gone, she winced. Lori's bare feet were flushed, red at the arches, the skin around her ankles creased and swollen.
"Jesus, Mom," Jess muttered, running her thumbs carefully along the edge of one foot. "These feel like they're screaming."
"They are," Lori murmured. "I've been on them since eight. We had maybe one sit-down break all day."
Jessica pressed harder into the muscles with her knuckles, and Lori exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.
"You're gonna burn yourself out if you keep doing these long days in bad shoes," Jess warned.
"I'm fine," Lori muttered.
"No, you're not. And don't say it is what it is. You need to start setting some limits. Say no sometimes."
"You can't just say no to Stevie when she's on a roll," Lori replied, only half-kidding.
Jessica scoffed. "You can if your legs stop working."
They fell into silence. Jessica continued massaging, slower now—steady, deep circles with her thumbs like she used to when she was little and Lori would come home from tour rehearsals, collapsing onto the couch with her heels kicked off and a diet coke in hand.
"Better?" Jess asked.
"A little."
"Good. Stay here. I'm gonna run you a bath."
"You really don't have to—"
"Yeah, I do," Jess said, already walking toward the bathroom. "You've been doing everything for everyone else. Let me take care of you for a change."
