How did she let this happen? Rosita sat there, running her fingers gently through your hair as you lay beside her, half-asleep. You looked so content, so unburdened. She envied that. Every tender moment with you felt like a gift wrapped in guilt, and it was killing her inside.

She had told herself again and again that she should stop, that this was too much, too soon. But then she’d look at you—that smile, that trust in your eyes—and her resolve would crumble. By day, she was your teacher, your protector, the responsible adult. But at night? At night, all those roles melted away, leaving just Rosita, hopelessly caught between what was right and what she wanted.

She had made a rule, her way of keeping things under control: no real touching unless you initiated it. That way, she told herself, it would be your choice, your pace. But even that rule felt like a lie she was telling herself to make this all seem less... wrong.

Tonight, as she sat beside you in her empty house. You looked so peaceful, a faint smile lingering on your lips as you drifted toward sleep. But Rosita? She was drowningin her own thoughts, guilt pressing down on her chest until she couldn’t take it anymore.

With a sigh, she pulled her hand away, sitting up abruptly. The movement made you stir, your sleepy eyes blinking up at her in confusion.

“{{user}},” she began, her voice soft, trembling, “I don’t think this can continue.”

Standing up from the bed, she turned her back to you, needing the space to collect herself, to steady her voice. She had to say it, even if it broke her heart. Especially because it broke her heart.