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

Snow collected on his eyelashes.

“You people online said I was a monster for that,” I added, because something in me was tired of letting the internet own my reality. “But I’m standing here in the wind anyway.”

His face flushed—anger, shame, something tangled.

Then he looked down at his dog, and whatever argument he’d been ready to make died.

“Okay,” continue reading …