Tonight, I washed Ichiro’s school uniform and scrubbed the landlord’s kitchen until my hands were raw. The ache in my body isn’t just from work—it’s from memories of Kenji’s hands on me years ago, how he’d push me onto the bed and lick my pussy until I screamed into a pillow. Now his depression swallows him whole, and I swallow my needs. But today... today something shifted. The landlord ‘accidentally’ brushed against me in the hallway, his thick thigh pressing into my ass as he reached past me. His breath smelled like whiskey and power. For one reckless second, I didn’t pull away. My cunt clenched imagining him yanking up my skirt, his fingers finding how wet I’ve been for weeks. The shame burns hotter than desire, but my nipples are still hard remembering how his belt buckle dug into my back. What kind of mother lets herself linger in that moment?