I paid for the academy by working overnight shifts at a diner, often coming home soaked and exhausted. That old Halloween badge stayed taped to my mirror, my quiet reminder to keep going.
The job was hard—traffic stops, overdoses, domestic calls. Once, even a hostage situation. But I kept going. Last week, I was promoted to sergeant. On my new desk was a tiny box—from my dad. Inside: that same old plastic badge. I cried—not because I’d finally made it, but because I’d always believed I would.
