The wood of the tree is weirdly comforting under her hand, but she leaves it to get a step closer. Nobody knows she's there – at his camp, spying on him, and she knows she shouldn't, but she has to see.
You ruined his life.
And yet, his son is running in his arms, and she can't help but feel jealousy.
Jealousy, fear, and an endless chain of what ifs.
At least he gets to hug his son. She doesn't.
At least he doesn't know of the pixie dust.
He didn't have to live for four decades with a what if.