Seven Years After My Daughter’s Funeral, I Followed Her Husband to a Rehabilitation Center—And Saw a Woman I Thought Was Dead

She put down the telephone.

“Someone will come speak with you.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Elaine Foster.”

I knew the name.

Calvin had mentioned Havenwood before, but he had never explained why he had been coming here.

I took a seat near the window.

There was a wooden table beside me with a bowl of wrapped peppermints.