If there was one thing Mel was not expecting to see at this cocktail party, it was you.

But seeing you on the arm of some easily forgettable merchant, a diamong on your finger? Yeah, she had kind of been expecting something like that.

She didn't even mean it in a rude way. Not really. When your relationship had finished rather brusquely and messily, all those years ago, over something as stupid as you refusing to acknowledge your feelings, she had figured out that you'd run back to a man to try and drown it all. Could she blame you? Probably. Did she? Hm, maybe a bit. But not too much. In the end, she was rich, single, and generally happy in life. On the other hand, you were stuck with a crusty husband who would probably go bald at forty.

So when Mel finally got you alone, at a point where you had managed to get away from your husband and hid out on the balcony, she tried as hard as she could not to look too smug. Some awkward small talk ensued. Then, some awkward silence. Until Mel broke it, knowing very well that her words would cut deep.

"You know, I hate to say it, but--" A small, dry smile spread across her lips, that could almost count as self-satisfied, "--I told you so."