Stavanger Bay Last year's wishes are this year's apologies

It was not in her dreams that Reverie's memories returned to her, but in brief waking spurts of horror;

Swiftcurrent Creek. Sleepless nights and endless worry. A quiet misery, a soft shifting that brought with it so much pain. She remembered that first realization of her daughter, the panic, the hurt.
The way she had almost trusted Lestan, and the way he had left her.
Left her — !
Alone and pregnant, sick with misery and the gnawing bone-deep cold of existence purely without hope. She felt it again, all of it, every moment, and something began to chill within her. A part of her had assumed that Lestan had always been there, that he had cared for her through it all the way he had during their journey. But another part of her had always known — and it was this part of her which stepped now to the forefront, shoulders squared and ready for the burden of knowing that she would never trust Lestan again.
She loved him. Nothing could change that, no matter how it hurt. And maybe, maybe one day she would again forget this remembered hurt. Reverie wished for it fiercely. But those soft, wounded places in her heart, the darkest corners that begged for comfort — those would forever be closed to Lestan.
His were the hands stained red by these wounds.