Sarah read the archived letter a second time and then a third, hardly able to believe her eyes. It was all starting to come into focus. At last.

“She knew Dr. Karda and publicly defended him,” she recapped, wondering if Finch was leaning toward the same conclusion. “Why?”

Her partner shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you think maybe she had something to do with all the dead babies and didn’t want him to take the fall for it?”

“Or they could’ve been working together. She told us your grandmother was stolen from the hospital. Do you think…?” She let the question trail away, believing and not believing at the same time.

“Do I think that the deaths were covers for a series of kidnappings?” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “Possibly,” he added at last.

“But we only know for sure she took one baby,” Sarah insisted. Eleanor was a rude and angry woman, but could she have really done something this unimaginable?

“Not Eleanor,” Finch pointed out. “Eleanor didn’t take my grandma. At least that’s what she said. My great-grandma did. That was her sister.”

“Do you think she took more babies?” Sarah asked with a tremble. Those poor mothers. Everything about this situation made her stomach twist into terrible knots. It all happened so long ago, and yet…

Finch sighed, sitting back in his chair with closed eyes as he were now picturing the scene unfold before him. “I don’t know,” he answered at last. “Only one person knows the answer to that.”

“Are you going to go see her?” Sarah had wanted so badly to solve this mystery, and now that the pieces were starting to click together, she wanted nothing more than to take it all back. To let this horrible thing die with Eleanor.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Finch said, seeming far less upset than she did in that moment. “Perhaps if we confront her with this, she’ll finally speak.” He leaned toward the computer again and clicked on the print icon for the letter. “Do you know where this comes out?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” Sarah stalked over to the printer and waited until their letter popped out before returning to Finch, who’d stayed behind to log off both computers. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to him.

Finch folded it over twice and shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks. Are you ready for this? This could be it, you know. The big resolution to our case.” His smile unnerved her. How could he not be torn in two? This was his family’s past, his story.

And now her one-thing-at-a-time rule would be put to the test. If this was truly the end of their investigation into Eleanor’s big secret, then that meant the next mystery they’d have to solve would be what they meant to each other.

Was she ready for that? Was he?

“I’m not coming to the hospital,” she told him. “You’ll have to confront her yourself.”

“But why not? You are just as much as part of this as I am. Maybe more, since accessing the archives here was your idea.”

Sarah shook her head, her words shaking on their way out. “She doesn’t want to see me, Finch. You’ve got a better shot at getting to the truth than I do. Plus, I don’t even know if I’m allowed in. I’m not family, but you are.”

Finch surprised her by grabbing her hand and kissing the tops of her fingers. “Will you wait for me?”

“Wait for what? Outside the hospital? I mean, I guess, but…”

“Sure, let’s start with that.” His superhero smile flashed across his face, and for a moment she let herself believe that he could save her, that she wouldn’t have to discover any of these answers for herself.

“But why? You don’t need me to—”

He grabbed her hand again, kissed it again. “Yes, I do. Don’t ever doubt that I need you. Because, one, I want you to know what happens at the first possible second. Two, I may need backup. And three, whether or not we get anything out of her today, I’m taking you out to dinner to celebrate.”

Sarah wished that time could stand still—that they could stay here with the thrill of what they’d learned, together yet still apart, not needing to confront the difficult choices that lay ahead. Time, however, marched on, and so would she.

“But the case isn’t solved yet,” Sarah argued. “We still don’t know what the rest of the numbers mean. The list.”

“Then I better get it out of her, huh?” Finch let go of her hand and offered her a reassuring nod. “If that’s what it takes, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll get the answers, Sarah. For both of us.”

Finch darted through the halls of the hospital, a homing missile zeroing in on its target more than ready for the explosion that would inevitably follow. Never had he been so eager to see his miserly aunt than in this very moment. Did they finally have enough to force a confession from her, or were there still twists and turns in this case that he couldn’t even begin to fathom?

Predictably, Eleanor turned away when he entered the room. “Leave me be,” she said in a strained whisper. The dark circles beneath her eyes had grown even more prominent. As much as they didn’t get along, he hated to see her like this, to know she was so near her end.

“We’ve finally done it,” he said, coming deeper into the room, needing to see the look on her face as he made his big revelation. “We figured out your mystery.”

“Oh?” Eleanor looked unimpressed as she arranged the thin hospital blanket on her lap. “Well, c’mon then, let’s hear it.”

She doesn’t believe me. She didn’t think I could do it, but she wasn’t counting on Sarah adding herself to the equation.

Facing the old woman now, he wanted more than anything to impress her with his knowledge, for her to know once and for all that she’d been found out, that her crimes would not be laid to rest beside her in the casket.

“The babies weren’t stillborn,” he said, standing at the end of her bed and waiting, waiting, waiting for her to look at him. “They were stolen. Just like my grandma. But they were reported as dead. You said your sister took her, but you were involved somehow, too.”

The words tumbled out quickly, unable to be contained for even a fraction of a second longer than needed. “We found your letter to the editor. You defended him because you knew it wasn’t all his fault. You were working together—the three of you and maybe more.”

Eleanor finally brought her gaze to meet his. “Close, but not quite there.” She smiled then. It was the first time Finch had ever seen such an expression cross her face, and it terrified him. Happy? Why now? Was it that she was finally free from carrying the guilt alone? Or had he fallen into something far more sinister than he’d once feared?

“Dr. Karda—may he rest—never had anything to do with it,” Eleanor continued, her voice soft, almost pleasant. “He was as innocent as the babies we stole right out from under his nose.”

It still didn’t make sense. He needed to understand, needed her to tell him. “But why?” he asked, finally seeing that she may have once been a kind and good person before guilt twisted her into something unrecognizable.

“Because it was easy at the time, and very needed,” Eleanor explained with another wistful smile. Everything about her had softened. Finally, she was free. He’d done this for her, along with Sarah. He hadn’t wanted to help, but she’d made sure he did. And that felt like an incredible way to say both hello and goodnight to the aunt he’d never really had a chance to know.

“The baby boom that followed the war really shone a light on the couples who couldn’t conceive,” Eleanor said, keeping her eyes on him as she spoke. “It wasn’t talked about back then like it is now. They desperately wanted children and would pay very handsomely to get them.”

Finch’s face crumpled into a frown, and Eleanor’s followed suit. The nobleness of his effort felt tainted now. This had all been for money? All this only to save her from the guilt of her own greed?

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, turning away. “We always chose our marks carefully. The couples paying us, they had posh lifestyles. They could afford to give the babies everything. We took them from the families who had next to nothing. It was a charity, really, giving those children a better life than they otherwise would have had.”

“How could you possibly say that? You literally stole from the poor. You say they had nothing, and then you took what was left?” And he’d helped. He’d helped to absolve the crimes of a monster. Had he known…

I still would have gone through with it, he realized. To make Sarah happy, to spend time with her.

Eleanor’s eyes became unfocused as she stared vacantly into the corner of the room. Finch wondered if she was seeing the past unfold again before her. Instead of answering any of his questions, she continued with her tale.

“We only took one more after the doctor’s death. It became too risky after that, so we stopped. My sister wanted to keep going, but I refused. Said we’d done enough damage.” Back and forth she went, one minute appearing as the benevolent savior of these lost babies and in the next, the cruel puppet master who’d pulled one too many strings.

Finch couldn’t judge the past, but he desperately wanted to know how Eleanor interpreted her own role in all these events. “But you said you were doing those babies a favor, giving them a better life. Now you say you did damage. Which was it?”

A shiver ran through her, leaving the old woman wilted as it left. They’d figured this out just in time. Maybe Eleanor had been holding on for the sole purpose of passing on her tale.

“Neither,” she said in answer to his question, and then, “Both. It’s impossible to say. I had to believe we were helping. It was the only way to keep the guilt from suffocating me.”

The pieces still weren’t lining up. “So why confess now?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think, sitting here waiting to die. I remember your grandma’s reaction to finding out the truth, and she only ever knew a small part of it. I followed you on the news. I saw what a failure you’d become, and I wondered how different your life might have turned out if we’d never taken her.”

She did this for me? It made no sense. She never even knew him before now, yet she’d voluntarily faced the weight of her crimes to help him? He still didn’t understand. One very big part of the puzzle remained out of reach.

“What does the list you gave Sarah mean?” he asked. “We saw that part of one of the numbers matched up to the date of the editorial, but we can’t figure out the rest.” Finch shoved his phone at her, the picture of Eleanor’s list enlarged on the screen.

She studied it, shaking her head. A tear rolled down her smooth cheek and plopped onto the shiny surface below. “I hardly remember myself. I kept those records so long ago. Markers of what was in the room where the baby was born, dates, info about the birth parents and the adoptive parents. So that we could find them again if ever we needed to.”

“How can I find my missing family?” he said, taking the phone back, knowing the conversation had come to its end.

“I don’t know, but now that you know they’re out there, perhaps you can figure it out. And, Finch…” She smiled sweetly, the smile of someone who had loved and lost and perhaps found again. “I really hope you do.”