Swiftcurrent Creek the difficulty of Sundays

She rises to a sitting position in the moment between her words and Ruenna's next, and as she glances to her she can't help but notice the woman's tension, guessing at the source of her discomfort and missing the mark only slightly. Her gaze drops for a beat, shame heating her face. Normally she might feel affronted — but this is the woman who'd just helped her in one of her most vulnerable moments. She can't help but feel the sting of her (presumed) judgment.
Please try not to judge us too harshly, She says quietly after a moment, gaze returning to Ruenna's. I was confident in my self-control — I told myself when I left my home that I would never make the mistake my mother did. I never wanted to be stuck raising the children of a man I hardly know in a strange place — I didn't even want to be with a man. The admission comes with a quiet, humorless laugh. I've lived my entire life by that vow — to have broken it... She lets out a disbelieving breath, gaze dropping for a beat as she shakes her head slightly. I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. I'm certain Kavik must feel the same, in some way — neither of us wanted this.
She sucks in a breath, fighting the urge to look away again. You are entitled to your feelings, though. Regardless, I — I appreciate your help. Greatly. Now a different kind of heat crawls up her face, though it's muted by the current situation; confessing her accidental pregnancy hadn't exactly set the mood. So... thank you. She finishes, feeling more awkward than anything. She rises to her feet, then, suddenly eager to go with Ruenna's suggestion.