Augustine Sycamore seen around the town with a new unidentified girl.

Sycamore's divorce to Eden Bell was finalised almost a year ago, and while she's seemingly still single - it seems everyone's favourite professor is back on the market and enjoying it.

Those words make me want to scream. I'm overcome with an intense jealousy. How could I be so stupid? It took 6 weeks for the man to fall in love with me, I shouldn't be surprised.

I click through the pictures. It's him, alright. His arm is around her. What bothers me is it's the same way his arm would go around me. He often was physical with other people, but you notice what's platonic and what isn't.

The look in his eyes. He's back. And I'm not.

I blink a few times. I feel sick. I'm the one who ended things. I can't be upset now he's found a new person.

I look at this girl. She has enormous eyes; soulful and pained. She's stunningly beautiful. Younger than me, I notice.

The laptop closes, seemingly on it's own accord, until I notice Dawn's orb glowing.

"Oh, Dawn, what have I done?"

She blinks, before sauntering off.

I don't even have Oak now. Oak would have some good advice. All I have is his vaguely smarmy grandson.

Mom enters the kitchen. "Morning, sweetheart, you're up early."

I'm not really; I've just fallen into this horrific habit of oversleeping. Both my mom and I have depression. She sleeps and eats less; for me, it's the opposite. All I seem to do is eat, sleep, and visit the lab.

"Morning." I say.

"Oh, love, there's a letter for you. Here."

She hands me it. I glance over the writing.

Dearest Edie,

I knew a call wouldn't cut it, but if you want to discuss it further, you know where to find me. I wanted to let you know that I have entered a new relationship. No matter what, you'll always have a special place in my heart and life, however, I feel the need to move on, and I promise you she is absolutely lovely. I hope this reached you before whatever bullshit the press makes up does.

Your friend,
Augustine

Somehow, those words hurt more than anything else, each sentences feeling like a punch to the stomach. Part of me wants to pick up the phone and cry and scream at him and tell him we're all wrong and he should get back with me and we should be married again.

But I refrain.

"Who's it from, love?" my mom asks, bringing me back to reality.

"Oh, just an invite to a professor thing."

"Oh, really? You should go. It'd do you good."

I force a smile. "Yeah. Maybe it would."