She kisses me softly, and I taste mint chapstick. “I’m proud of you anyway.”
Inside, her kitchen smells like garlic and herbs. The warmth from the oven makes the whole house feel cozy. She’s made pasta with homemade sauce, a simple salad, and bread that’s still warm from the oven.
“This is amazing,” I say, settling at her kitchen table. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“I wanted to. Besides, you deserve to be celebrated.” She adjusts her glasses and I realize she’s more anxious about the exam results than I am.
“Hey.” I catch her hand. “It’s okay. Whatever happens, it’s okay.”
“I know. I just… I want this for you.”
She cares. She really cares.“I know you do.”
Over dinner, I tell her about the exam, about the questions that stumped me and the ones I felt confident about. Then I tell her about the call from Detective Morrison, about Jennifer Walsh coming forward, about how the investigation is shifting.
“Three women came forward?” Alice looks amazed, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “Really?”
“Sarah Martinez and Rebecca Foster went first. Then Jennifer Walsh followed. Brought recordings, texts, financial records—everything. Tracy can't make this disappear. Not with three victims and a paper trail.”
“So this could actually be over soon.”
“The part about me being under investigation is probably over. They might want to interview you. As a victim, not as someone they suspect of lying.”
She nods slowly, and I watch her process this. She’s scared. But she’s not running. “I can handle that. Especially knowing I won’t be alone this time.”
“You were never alone.”
“I know that now.” She squeezes my hand.
“What does being a sergeant even mean?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Like day-to-day?”
“More responsibility, better pay, a chance to actually influence how things are done instead of just following orders,” I explain. “I’ve been a patrol officer for thirteen years. I’m ready for the next step. Ready to stop just surviving and actually build something.”
Like I’m trying to build something with you.
“You’ll be a good leader.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you lead with your heart. You protect people who need protecting, even when it’s hard. Even when it might cost you something.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Like you protected me.”
“Ali—”
“I’m serious. You could have walked away when things got complicated. Lots of people would have. But you didn’t. I don’t think you realize how much that means to me.”
Because I couldn’t. Because you got under my skin and I couldn’t walk away even if I wanted to.“Because even with everything going on, it was worth it. You are worth it.”
“So are you. So is this.” She gestures between us. “Whatever happens with the exam results, we'll figure it out together.”
Together.My chest tightens in a good way.When did that become a thing we say? And why does it feel so right?
After dinner, we sit on her couch with the rest of the wine, talking about the future. Where we might live if I get promoted, whether she’d consider moving or not, what kind of life we want to build together.
Slow down. It’s been three weeks. Don’t scare her off by planning the next five years.
But she’s the one bringing it up, asking questions about neighborhoods and commute times, talking about her job like it’s flexible, like moving is actually an option she’d consider.
“I never thought I’d have this again,” I admit, the wine loosening my tongue. “Someone to share good news with, someone who actually cares about my career goals. Someone who doesn’t think my career is a dead end street.”
