Forbidden Lesson in Mother’s Bed

The house was quiet except for the creak of the front door—Mom was home, and she wasn't alone. Again.

The muffled sounds from her room dragged me out of sleep. I shoved a pillow over my head, waiting for it to end.

Then my door groaned open.

A rough hand slid up my thigh.

"Will she wake up?"

"Relax, I slipped her an Ambien. She won't."

My blood turned to ice.

I knew that voice.

Mr. Roland. My math teacher.

My name is Vivian Laurent. Eighteen, stuck in this apartment with my mother since the divorce.

Mom's job kept her away for days. At first, I didn't question it. Then the men started showing up—first for "work meetings," then for drinks, then for the night.

By sixteen, I knew what she really did. Shame burned through me. Disgust twisted in my gut.

But when the noises started—moans, gasps, the rhythmic thud of the headboard—my body betrayed me. Heat pooled between my thighs, curiosity clawing at me no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

Tonight was no different.

I couldn't take it. I needed air.

But when I stepped into the living room, I froze.

Mom was curled on the couch beside a man, her fingers tracing his forearm. She looked seconds away from melting into him.

"Vivian! Come say hello!"

She introduced him like I hadn't already recognized him.

Ethan Roland.

My math teacher.

Different from the others. Older, refined, with an easy confidence that made my stomach flip.

And the worst part?

I'd imagined him before.

On those restless nights, when my fingers slipped under the sheets—his was the face I pictured.

His eyes flickered with surprise, but his smile never wavered. "Your daughter is lovely."

"Hello, Mr. Roland." I barely choked out the words before fleeing to my room.