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I check on Sophie briefly and find her door ajar. She’s playing some sort of karaoke game. She sees me watching, flushes beet red and shrieks for me to close the door. Not the best reaction to her embarrassment, but I don’t address it now.

The discovery of the German letter—almost certainly an intelligence report from the network that used to meet here—has inspired me to read more of Laura’s journal and see if I can learn more. The children clearly learned something from the journal, so there must be something there that can shed light on what’s going on here. Really, I should just give the journal to Claudia, but I also want to know for sure if this Laura could be Annie.

So ask Claudia .

I dismiss the thought irritably. I also want to know the answer to this mystery, and Claudia might not be willing or able to give me that answer.

So I head to my room and start reading. The next few entries are unrelated to the Museum and the Nazi messages. I start skimming through them, but an entry catches my eye, and I stop and read that one instead.

December 25,

Mary Christmas!

I can’t believe it’s Christmas already! I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. I can’t believe that I’ve been here for over a year already.

Carl’s going to surprise me with a trip to the Alps. He left the reservation number for our hotel sitting on the counter underneath the phone. He’s such a ditz sometimes. No, he’s not a ditz. Just honest. It’s really refreshing to be with someone and not have to wonder if they’re lying to you. When he says he loves me, I don’t have to wonder if he really loves me or if he’s just trying to get me to open my legs. When he says anything, really, I can know it’s the truth. There aren’t hidden thoughts somewhere to try to figure out. He's not just being polite but secretly judging me.

Boy, pregnancy brain has my emotions all over the place today. I never really believed all the hormonal crap before. I mean, my periods aren’t too hard to deal with, and I figured pregnancy was just like a long period. I know, I know, TMI. Also, I was wrong. It’s very different.

I haven’t told Carl yet. That’ll be his Christmas present. I’ll take a picture of myself in that cute little outfit I bought the other day, and I’ll hold a sign over my belly that says, Boy or Girl?

God, that’s so silly. I used to scoff at all of that cutesy stuff, but now…

I can’t wait. I mean, I can’t wait to be a mom. I’m going to raise that kid to be so loved that it’s going to feel stifled and end up running away to avoid love instead of to find it.

I can’t believe I’m so different in only a year. I feel like I don’t recognize myself anymore, but in a good way. It’s like I shed all of the hate and anger and misery and woke up the best version of myself. A lot of that is because I met Carl, but a lot is because… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I showed up here, and I just felt right. Maybe that’s all I needed was to find my place. Maybe I just needed to grow up.

Who knows? And who cares? I’m going to the Alps, and I’m pregnant! Yippee!

Oops, I hear Carl walking inside. Gotta go! Ttyl.

Laura

There are several clues in this entry that suggest that this really is my sister. She talks about the change she sees in herself, and she talks about running away because she didn’t feel loved and how she wants her child to feel the opposite of that. She also mentions having been there over a year, which fits with the timeline suggested by the letter I find in the Bellamy residence.

But the clue that stands out is, of course, the one in the first line.

Mary Christmas.

I read that line several times to make sure I’m not misreading it. But there’s no doubt. There’s even the little hook at the bottom that shows up every other time the vowel is used.

Mary Christmas.

She clearly doesn’t notice the typo. She’s written Mary instead of Merry, and she’s left it there.

I know it’s foolish. I know it’s wishful thinking, but could she have written my name there on purpose? Could she have been thinking of me?

A drop of water falls onto the paper over my name. I cry out and quickly blot it with my sleeve. The word is blurred a little but still readable. I sigh with relief, and more water falls on the page. I blot that away and set the journal safely away, and it’s only then that I realize that the water is falling from my eyes.

I bury my head in my hands and let the tears come. I can't describe how much it means to see my name written in my sister's journal. Thirty-one years of wondering if my sister was alive and if she was alive, did she ever think of me? More than half my life, and now I find this. Oh, I know it's not proof. It was a typo in a journal, and it might not even be Annie.

But it’s her handwriting and composed in her voice, and her daughter would have been born around the same time Claudia was born, and Claudia looks almost exactly like her, and…

I reach for my phone and dial Sean’s number before I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. I just need to talk to someone. I just need to tell someone else. Not just anyone, though. The only person alive who understands how important this is to me. I need to share this with him so someone else can shoulder part of the burden of these emotions before they overwhelm me.

He answers on the first ring. He always answers on the first ring. If I am unfortunate enough to lose him before I die, I’ll write that on his gravestone. It’s by far my favorite quality of his.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary, what’s crack-a-lackin?”

In my current fragile emotional state, that seems hilarious to me. I start giggling and can’t reply. Eventually, Seans says, “Wow. I expected you to scold me for that. I guess I’ll have to use that one again.”

“No, don’t,” I say. “It won’t work the next time. But… God, Sean, I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”

My voice cracks at the end of that, and Sean becomes immediately protective. “What’s wrong, Mary? Do you need me?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I assure him. “And I do need you, but… not yet. Not right now.”

There’s a brief pause before he asks his next question. “Have you found some news, then?”

I nod, then remember that he can’t see me over the phone. “Yes. I… I think I found her .”

I don’t need to tell him who “her” is. “Oh my God,” he says. “Really? Alive?”

I take a deep breath. “No. I don’t think so. Possibly, but I don’t think so.”

There’s another pause, and then he says, “Mary, I love you more than life, and I know you’re dealing with a lot of emotion right now, but will you please just tell me exactly what you found so I don’t accidentally say something stupid?”

I laugh again. I’m not pregnant, but I understand Laura or Annie or whoever she is when she talks about her emotions being all over the place. “I found a journal.”

“Annie’s journal?”

“I think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I’m also pretty sure I found her daughter.”

The pause is longer this time. “Annie’s daughter?”

“Yes. She’s an Interpol detective, and she’s here investigating stolen Nazi clocks, but she looks exactly like her.”

“Wait, what? Nazi clocks? You haven’t mentioned any of this.”

“Yes, that’s a whole other mystery. And in any other circumstance, it would be the more important mystery, but… Sean, I think this might be it. I think I might finally be able to learn exactly what happened to her. I might… This might be the end.”

Tears threaten again, and I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from bursting into tears. Sean keeps his voice gentle when he replies. It’s infuriating sometimes the way he treats me with kid gloves, but also I love it. It’s so nice to be cared for, even when it’s too much.

“I’m going to caution you not to get your hopes up too much. I really hope you’re right, Mary, but I don’t want you to collapse if you’re wrong. That being said, I’m sure you have good reason to feel the way you do. I also know that you know that you need to talk to this Interpol detective and find out if she really is Annie’s daughter. That’s hard to do, but that’s really the only way you’ll know for sure. Or, if you’d like, I can find out for you. I don’t mind doing that.”

“No,” I say quickly. “No. I want to do this myself. I want… I think I should be the one to do it.”

“I figured that’s what you’d say. Well, I’m here for you if you need me. The last bit of advice I’ll give you before I promise I’ll shut up for good is that you shouldn’t wait too long. Interpol detectives don’t stay in one place for very long. We can find her again pretty easily if—what’s her name, by the way?”

“Claudia. Claudia Becker.”

“Becker. Got it. Well, now that we know her name, we can find her again pretty easily if we need to, but I think you’ll be happier with yourself if you don’t let her get away.”

I nod and wipe tears from my eyes. “Yes. You’re right. I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” He pauses a final time, then says, “I love you, Mary. I’m so proud of you.”

If there are any words in the English language stronger than I love you, I’m proud of you has to be those words. I smile and say, “I love you too, Sean.”

“Talk to you soon.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up, and I take a deep, cleansing breath.

I’m still anxious. I’m still a little afraid. But I’m no longer overwhelmed. If this is the summit or only another ledge, I’m ready for what comes next.