 So she left. She'd moved to the gray steel and glass heights of Toronto, a city that sprawled upwards rather than out. Out like the long, low prairies, like loneliness lapping at the edges, like empty fields of wheat. She'd hoped that a different place would make her different, that she could remake herself into someone new, half believing in that old promise that in a big city you can be anyone you want to be. But she didn't become someone new. She didn't become anybody she wanted to be. She remained herself, still carrying around the same aching heart.