Eight months later… I eye Gwen’s contact in my phone as I sit at the Calgary airport. It’s been eight months since that freak November snowstorm. Thirty-two weeks since I sent the first text to her. Thirty weeks since I sent that follow-up. And I still come back to our very one-sided chat. I look over the messages for what feels like the millionth time. All marked as delivered. Since she didn’t respond to either, sending another now just seems pathetic. The answer is probably to read between the lines. And with the way my life has been turned upside down in the last year, I’m not sure I need
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