Lia sat alone in her living room, the late evening light fading through the curtains. The house felt too quiet. Her husband had died that morning from a sudden heart attack. Friends, colleagues, and students had come earlier to pay their respects. They left flowers, soft words, and empty plates of food. Now the house was empty again, and the silence pressed against her chest.She was thirty-three, still young, still beautiful. Slim thick body, soft curves, full breasts that filled her simple black dress, and a round, heavy ass that her husband used to squeeze every night. Tonight there was no one to hold her.A soft knock came at the door.Lia wiped her eyes and opened it. Jace stood there, nineteen years old, tall for his age, with messy dark hair and kind eyes. He was her best student the one who always answered first, the one who stayed after class to talk about books and ideas. He looked nervous and sad.“I’m sorry I’m late, Ms. Lia,” he said quietly. “I had work. I wanted to com
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