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

like I was going to write a defense.

I didn’t.

Because arguing online is like shouting into a hurricane. All you do is exhaust your lungs.

Instead, I called my father.

He answered on the second ring, like he’d been holding the phone waiting for it to ring.

“Elena,” he said. No hello. Just my name.

“I’m not dead,” I said, attempting humor.

“I know,” he said.continue reading …