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

Then asked:

“Did she look for me?”

I stared.

For years, I’d told myself Dorothy’s searching was unhealthy.

Now I looked at the woman in the photograph.

My wife.

The person who’d refused to accept a missing comparison sheet as sufficient proof.

“Yes,” I said.