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

self without hesitation.

The first day I adopted him, when he’d climbed into my lap like he already belonged there.

The nights he’d stayed awake when I cried, his nose pressed to my cheek, as if he could lick grief right off my skin.

The mornings he’d limped just to follow me from room to room, stubborn loyalty in a failing body.

The deal.

I understood continue reading …