In week three, I dip again. Monday and Tuesday, I think I’m feeling better. Good, even. But just when I think I’ve moved on, the person who wrote the mini-essay insisting Rose and I were a thing updates their post to say they stand corrected, and Rose is obviously in a relationship with Alfie, and I break. So, I do the only thing I can do. I call Rachel in tears.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asks, and her voice is so comforting it makes me cry even harder.

“I can’t tell you everything,” I say, climbing under the covers of my bed fully clothed. “But I can’t just sit on it anymore. I was dating someone, and I had to keep it secret because she’s closeted. But we broke up, and now I can’t talk about it with anyone, because no one knows it happened.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I choke. “No. It won’t stop hurting. I thought it would’ve stopped hurting by now.”

“You really liked her, huh?”

I nod, like Rachel can hear me, and then let out a sob.

“Breakups are the worst. They’re horrible. I get it.”

“But we weren’t even together that long,” I say, pulling the blanket over my head.

“Sweetie, it doesn’t matter. I’ve had my heart broken by guys who never liked me back at all. The only thing that matters is how much you liked them, and that can grow fast.”

Oh, god. I screwed up, didn’t I? I thought if I ended things with Rose early enough, this wouldn’t happen. I thought I was saving us both a bucket of hurt. And now look.

“Tell me it’s gonna stop hurting soon,” I beg.

“I can’t. The timeline’s different for everyone. But it’ll stop eventually. One day, you’ll look back on this and wonder what you ever saw in her in the first place.”

I latch on to her words for reassurance. But, at the same time, I doubt them. Because I can’t imagine ever wondering that about Rose.

The answer’s too obvious.

TWENTY-SIX ROSE

I am absolutely fine.

In the three weeks since Danni ended our relationship, I have adjusted to yet another new normal with relative ease. I wake, I attend class and language tutoring, I eat meals, and I go to bed. Easy, predictable, steady. The good thing about Molly, I suppose, is she taught me rather effectively not to trust in the stability of even the most wonderful relationships. A useful lesson in a world like this.

On the topic of Molly, I have been finding that I struggle to mind her absence, too, lately. So, when Florence finds me in the dining hall and invites me to smoke in the woods after curfew like we used to, I say yes without hesitation.