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

I wanted to build a routine around the loss.

Dorothy wanted the records checked again.

I began fearing that every new inquiry would reopen the worst day of our lives.

One evening, I found her at the kitchen table with the telephone pressed against her ear.

She was asking about a transfer number.

I stood in the doorway until she finished.

“Dorothy, please.”

She looked up.