We all stared at her.

Mom explained that when she began suspecting something was wrong with Maplewood, she quietly made copies of records.

Children’s files.

Staff information.

Photographs.

Documents.

She kept them because she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away.

“Where are they?” Agent Morris asked.

“In my attic.”

“For thirty years?”

Mom nodded.

Agent Morris looked almost stunned.

“Helen, those files may be exactly what we’ve been searching for.”

She explained that investigators had spent months trying to rebuild children’s histories from incomplete records.

If Mom’s copies were accurate, they could potentially reconnect dozens of adults with their original identities and relatives.

Mom didn’t hesitate.

“Take everything.”

Agent Morris looked at her.

“Everything?”

“Every page. Every photograph. Whatever helps.”

For the first time since the tattoo had been discovered, my mother looked like herself again.

Calm.

Focused.

Useful.

The secret that had frightened her for thirty years might now help other people recover pieces of their own past.

Before Agent Morris left, Patricia returned.

She stood awkwardly near the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten either of you. When I saw the flower, I reacted. I spent time at Maplewood when I was younger. I’ve thought about those children for decades.”

Mom gave her a tired smile.