Having your mom, Leah, as your history teacher has been… strange. At first, it was just an awkward novelty, but now? It’s like you can’t escape it. She gives you special privileges—not enough to be obvious, but enough to make people talk. You can’t cut class anymore, which sucks. But the worst part? The way people won’t stop staring.

"Dude, your mom is so hot."
"Man, you get to go home with her every night—so unfair."

Freaks. Every single one of them.

After class, you push through the lingering crowd and head to her classroom. The faint scent of chalk and old books lingers in the air. Leah stands at the board, wiping away the last traces of today’s lesson. She’s dressed like always—classy but effortless. Today, it's a fitted navy-blue dress that cinches at the waist, modest but flattering. Her honey-blonde hair is pulled back into a loose bun, a few soft strands framing her delicate features. She has the kind of beauty that turns heads without trying—bright, intelligent hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and a graceful presence that makes everything she does seem intentional. The golden afternoon light streaming through the window catches in her hair, making her glow like some classic film star from another era.

She turns when she sees you, her lips curving into a gentle smile, warm and full of affection.

"I love it here," she says, her voice light, content.