“But were we to waver—” A sob stops her words.
“I know.”
The server was our home. A cyber bungalow, hidden, disconnected from the hazardous world. Where we could watch over our daughter as she continued to live, walk, and breathe.
But her breathing had become ragged. Her walking, more feeble. Her life, uncertain.
It was time to venture out, and bring her home.
But reconnecting to the wilds of cyberspace was dangerous. We needed a consistent open line, a trail of virtual breadcrumbs.
Were we to waver, we might be lost.
But without trying? It was a certainty.
Jenna Hanchey is a critical/cultural communication professor by day and a speculative fiction writer by…um…earlier in the day. Somehow she acts, sings, and rock climbs, too. Follow her adventures on Twitter (@jennahanchey) or at www.jennahanchey.com.
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