She and Harry did not lose Flora. Their kiss had not made Flora disappear. Whisperwood had not taken Flora away in the river’s current. The magical land Hazel had kept hidden away for all these years—the one she’d feared had destroyed her life, her mum’s life, the Aberdeens’ life—had all along been working its magic, bringing them ever closer, until this day when they stood in the pasture land of Bridie and Harry Aberdeen. A heaviness Hazel had been carrying well over half her life lifted from between her shoulder blades, from the crevices of her heart.
