She was left staring at the door when he left. Her fists were bunched, nails cutting half moons into the heels of her palms, and then a minute later she was kicking the door and cursing up a storm about Neptune, about the gods, about how fucking ridiculous they all were.
If Lydia felt hopeless before about her prospects of ever finding someone to settle down with, now she felt those prospects were desolate. It was never, ever, going to happen.