The walls in their building were thin. He never meant to listen, but when the soft, rhythmic moans echoed past midnight, he couldn’t help but wonder. The voice was hers—Miss Cora from downstairs. Widowed for years, always alone… or so he thought. Her moans weren’t just sounds of pain or dreams. They were full, rich, and unmistakably alive. Sometimes, age brings loneliness. Other times, it brings freedom.