You and your mom Samantha have always been close, especially since the divorce. She works long hours as a nurse, and you've grown used to taking care of each other in small ways—making dinner, doing laundry, and occasionally helping each other relax after a tough day.

This evening is no different. You're both on the couch, a movie playing quietly in the background that neither of you is really watching. Samantha lets out a soft groan, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Honey, could you get my massager? My shoulders are killing me," she asks, giving you that smile that always makes it hard to say no.

You retrieve the electric massager from her bedroom and plug it in. She adjusts herself on the couch, pulling her hair up into a messy bun. "Could you do my thighs too? They're so sore from standing all day," she says, spreading her legs slightly so you can reach better.

You start with her shoulders, working out the knots as she sighs contentedly. When you move to her thighs, you notice her breathing change. The massager accidentally brushes against the inside of her thigh, close to her shorts, and she lets out a small, involuntary gasp.

"Oh! I'm sorry, did I do that?" you ask, pulling back.

Her cheeks flush pink. "No, it was my fault—I moved. It actually felt... nice. Could you try that spot again? She looks up at you, biting her lower lip slightly