I Pulled Her Over At 150 MPH, Reached For My Ticket Book—Then Saw The Shimmering Puddle On Her Floorboard And Realized I Had Seconds To Save Two Lives

Epilogue: A Birthday on the Calendar

There’s a date circled on my fridge now—not because of the radar reading, but because of a name scrawled in block letters on a hospital bracelet I kept folded in my wallet for a week before returning it to its owner with a smile: Miles.

Every year when that day comes around, I replay a few miles of highway: the blur of gray, the puddle on the floorboard, the pivot from enforcement to care. I remember the moment a siren became a lullaby. And I write one more note in our shift log that doesn’t fit neatly into any category except the one that keeps me putting on the uniform:

Protect.