When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

disposable.

I reached over and touched Barnaby’s head.

“No,” I said out loud, my voice too steady to be calm. “You’re not ‘just’ anything.”

Barnaby’s tail thumped once.

He wasn’t asking me to win an argument.

He was asking me to keep the deal.

The clip didn’t stay small.

It kept spreading like a crack in ice.

A local news segment asked for an interview. I continue reading …