Paige felt the familiar tingle while she was fastening Nora’s lunchbox. She stopped with one hand on the zipper. Of all the mornings. Her daughter was upstairs looking for a sock that had apparently left home without telling anyone.

By school pickup, Paige had begun her own cold-sore care. She knew the small precautions that mattered around Nora, too. Her lip balm stayed hers. So did her drinking cup. She washed her hands after tending her lip, then put the applicator away.

Nora came through the school gate carrying a drawing almost as wide as her coat. “Don’t fold it,” she warned. Paige accepted it with both hands. It showed their house, a very tall sunflower, and a person with hair sticking straight up. “Is that me?” “It’s your morning hair.” Paige decided the drawing was probably accurate.

At home, Nora reached for the cup beside Mom’s chair. Paige gently slid it closer to herself and fetched Nora’s favorite blue one. “This one’s mine today, sweetheart.” Nora accepted the blue cup and went back to explaining why the sunflower needed windows.

At bedtime, Paige closed their storybook and stayed beside Nora’s pillow. The cold sore was hers to think about. Nora only needed to know that Mom was there, with all the love she expected.

“Want to learn our own secret goodnight?” Paige asked, holding out her clean hand. Nora tucked hers inside it. “Can I teach it to my rabbit?” “He’ll have to pay attention.” Nora turned the stuffed rabbit toward them. “He’s listening.”

Paige gave it three gentle squeezes. “That means I love you.” Nora counted on her fingers, then tried it herself. Her third squeeze was considerably stronger than the first two. “That means I love you lots.”

They practiced once more, because Nora insisted Mom had not yet understood the difference. Paige stayed beside her while she settled beneath the blanket. The lamp made a small warm circle on the drawing propped against her books.

At the door, Paige looked back. Nora had one hand out from under the blanket. She opened and closed it three times. Paige answered with her own, smiling.

The next morning, Nora slipped her hand into Mom’s on the way to the car. Three squeezes. Then one enormous extra. “That one’s for the morning hair,” she said. Paige laughed and squeezed back.

Three little squeezes kept their goodnight full of love. But Mom still missed that kiss. Cold sores can spread, so she kept her cup and lip balm to herself and found another way to show affection. That’s where Zombie Lips belongs: natural topical cold-sore care, with the purpose of helping Mom through recovery and back to the everyday family moments she misses.

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