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

she wanted to soften it.

“I mean it in a good way,” she said. “My sister saw it and she’s making one now.”

“Good,” I said, because that was the only word that mattered.

Then she hesitated. “Some people are being… pretty brutal.”

I shrugged like it didn’t matter.

But that night, alone in my apartment, it mattered.

Not because strangers were mean. Strangers continue reading …