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

“Mom should have this when she wants it.”

“She will.”

She placed the bakery photograph between the pages.

Then pushed the drawer halfway closed.

For a moment, I looked at the old handwriting.

My wife’s final questions hadn’t brought Melissa home while Dorothy was alive.

They hadn’t prevented the years we lost.

But they had left a trail.