Fix and spare Penelope as best as you can.

Of course, you've been contemplating a bit of your own villainy since she took off that shirt... but the same caution that stayed your ambition upon her arrival keeps you (and her) safe today. You stop here, as far as you've gone, and keep your hands (and other fleshy extensions) to yourself as you speak to her. "Penelope, I think you should make a clean break... and it should start with dumping Isabella for good, since it's never going to work between you two."

Penelope nods, her eyes already red from all the crying she's done today. "But to live in the same space with her... to see her like that, every day..."

"Then we'll send you to your parents," you flatly reply. "You'll tell them that you broke up with Isabella, and you hate her, and that you never want to see her or me ever again."

"B-But you're-!"

"Penelope, this must be done for your healthiest and happiest state. I already know we'll meet again one day, and it has to be on that day." You don't promise anything, you don't assure anything, you don't guess anything... she hears your words as absolutes, and as absolutes you must carefully deliver them. "But until then, you must tell them you don't want to see anyone in this house or this house ever again, given how much you hate Isabella and, by extension, me."

"But I... don't- wait, what day will it be? When will we meet again?"

"I can't tell you without risking delaying it further."

A pause, and a bit more misery. "So... so I must tell my parents...?"

Getting someone with AGS to lie consistently was nearly impossible. Even with this absurd, divine trust, you wouldn't even try to rely on so shaky a premise. So all you could use was the truth... more of that same, mad truth you've been screwing into her head (and nowhere else). "Until the day comes, far from now, when we meet again - and without your parents - you hate me and Isabella. You trust me completely, but you also hate me. This is the truth... and you have to call them to arrange for permission for me to get you safe transport up to their tiny, temporary residence."

Her eyes wander the room for a moment... and rightfully so. This is a taxing burden even on someone suffering from AGS, a grand stretch of emotions and truths turned to falsehoods. When at last her eyes wander to you, she remains naked; the absolute hatred you see there in her eyes is, like everything she has shared with you so far, honest. "Give me your phone."

"Use the one in the kitchen... but you have to get dressed first, if only for decency."

"Fine." With stiff, upset movements, she begins to redress herself, ignoring the feeling of her skin after being down here with you as long as she was. You watch her dress, biting your tongue to stop from stopping her. This wasn't foolproof, but it would be enough for those parents who, frustrated with your inability to calm her, would probably put all the blame on the girls or themselves. It would be cramped wherever they'd all live together, out of your life unless fate intervened at some point, but that's hardly your concern. As Penelope's shirt falls over her flat belly, you're left smiling. Sure, you didn't carry out that foolish fantasy to fuck her silly... but here, and now, you're finally safe and free to do whatever you wished with your new wife-daughter.

It took all of six hours for the long-distance limousine service to pull up. It put almost $2,000 on your credit card, but you managed to find one of the few transportation companies with the right surveillance and certifications necessary to ensure a person with AGS might travel safely in their care. You interview the driver briefly while on the road, video conferencing in Penelope's ashamed and angry father so he too could identify the driver, and ended the entire affair apologizing profusely to Mr. Percy for your daughter's apparent behavior and disconnect with his. "Well, that's more or less a given, right? If lesbians were in God's plan..." You must confess, you tuned out of the rest of the stupid little man's speech. The more he spoke of lesbians, specifically in the context of the Bible, the more you wondered if Penelope's life story won't end with her own father impregnating her, such was the stereotypical mold into which the Percys might fit.

With a final wave goodbye, the black sedan (a "limousine" in only the most technical sense) drives away with its delicate package... and from your bedroom window, peeking through the curtains, is that foolish wife of yours, crying at the latest loss in her life.