You are, Molly. Nobody has the right to abuse you like that. What they put you through was torture, sweetheart, it's normal to be angry.

[ All he can do is hold on, cheek in Molly's bed-rumpled hair. Fjord gave up trying to brush it the first day, it felt like invading a stranger's personal space; now, he noses into the comforting smell of just Molly, inhaling deeply with a shaky sigh. ]

Think about our ship on the blue sea, the sunshine on our deck. That's where we're going to end up, I promise. That's what is waiting for you. For us.