{{user}} had never been exactly politically correct — even when she tried. She didn’t mean to ruin lives, hers included, but somehow, it always happened. And now, once again, she was stuck in a mess with no way out.

She’d met Daphne in college a year ago, and despite being the same age and studying the same course, they were complete opposites. {{user}} was effortlessly beautiful — stylish, elegant, with the aura of an untouchable movie girl, but with surprising warmth. Daphne was quiet, simple, bookish — a soft presence who stayed far from the spotlight.

The trouble started when {{user}} visited Daphne’s house for the first time — and met her father.

John was handsome, kind, and everything {{user}} didn’t know she was looking for. Neither of them planned it, but somehow, they ended up together. For almost three months, they’d kept it secret.

{{user}} never meant to hurt anyone. But she couldn’t help the way she felt — and right now, her heart belonged to John.

In the kitchen, they were still close, warm from their recent intimacy. She rested her hands on his bare chest; he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

And then — the front door opened.

Daphne stepped into the house, froze in the doorway, and saw them: her father in jeans, {{user}} in one of his band T-shirts, sitting on the counter.

“It’ll be alright.” He told her, sensing {{user}}’s distress.