Swiftcurrent Creek It's hard to miss you when you are always on the tip of my tongue

Three weeks — or near enough as to make no difference. That was how long it had been since Lestan left her.
Some days she hardly felt his absence at all, and those were the best days, but they were not quite so numerous as the days when she woke up and keenly felt the lack of his warmth at her side, and tears stung her eyes before she even opened them. She had gone through so many emotions regarding his absence. But the days wore on and many of them fell away, and what filtered through was a mess of feeling that seemed sad and deflated compared to the fullness of what she'd once felt for him. Mostly Reverie felt... wounded. Her self-esteem had taken a hit, her ability to trust, even her pride to some extent — because it was humiliating, truly, to have given herself so fully to someone only to be left in such a way that the whole pack knew about it.
She still loved him, of course. That would never change. But she hated him too — for leading her on the way he had, all the way into the trap of pack life and a child before he'd decided to abandon it all. If only he'd fled a little sooner, things would have been so much different. Maybe she wouldn't have to hate him.
Reverie gathered Blossom up and took her to sit by the creek, eager to shake off these thoughts of Lestan. She wasn't sure if it was a bad thing, having her out of the den like this, but her daughter seemed perfectly healthy and happy in the aftermath of their recent trips. So she would continue on until it seemed otherwise.