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

I stared.

My daughter was sitting at Havenwood.

I’d recognized her face.

He’d been working with her for eighteen months.

But the old documents still required an independent trail.

Lena would need to establish how the unidentified patient moved between institutions and how her identity was eventually confirmed.

I didn’t want to replace one administrative assumption with another.

That evening, I found Ava in the kitchen.