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

For a moment, I wondered whether I should say more.

Tell her how Dorothy spent evenings on the telephone.

How she refused to throw away old envelopes.

How I became impatient.

How I told her to stop.

I wanted to confess everything.

But Melissa had asked for a simple visit.

I didn’t want my guilt to become another burden she had to carry.