Then, during an undercover operation against a
drug cartel, things went sideways. We raided
one of their stash houses, and they retaliated.
They torched a police cruiser, ambushed
officers. One of my colleagues, surveilling their
operation, was spotted and stabbed multiple
times. He died at the scene. He had a five-
year–old daughter. The precinct was
devastated.
Intel suggested this cartel was ruthless,
operating across the border, heavily armed. I
lost ten pounds in three days.
Captain Thompson put a hand on my shoulder.
“Sarah,” he said, “don’t beat yourself up. We’ll
get these guys.”
I nodded, but I’d already made up my mind. I
had to bring these animals down myself.
“Here’s your transfer order,” he said. “You’re
reassigned to archives, effective tomorrow.
Pack your things and report in.”
<
I froze. “Captain,” I said, “I’m not going back.
I’m staying on the street.”
“Don’t be stubborn. Women don’t belong on
the front lines.”
I hesitated. “Captain, honestly, if you hadn’t just
mentioned it, I’d forgotten I was even a
woman.” I never bothered with feminine things,
and since joining narcotics, I’d kept my hair
cropped short for practicality.
“Don’t be like this, Sarah. Mike’s death wasn’t
your fault. Don’t shoulder the blame.”
I was silent for a long time. That was the thing that haunted me. “If I hadn’t taken the day off,”
I said, “he wouldn’t have been covering for me. He wouldn’t be dead. He died because of me.”
It had been my shift that day, watching the drop house. But John had called, demanding I meet
him. Chloe was due any day. He threatened to
come to the stakeout if I didn’t agree. The
thought of someone seeing me undercover
terrified me. So, I called in sick and Mike took
my shift. Mike had been on the force for years. He’d worked on a lot of cases, and the cartel
<
recognized him. That night, they ambushed him
in an alley.
- 6.
A week later, we got a tip: the cartel was crossing the border in three days. The order came down from HQ. We had to intercept them. After the briefing, we were each handed a piece
of paper. The operational agreement. The
waiver. I signed it.
I called my family. Then I called John.
“I’ve thought about it,” I said. “I agree to a
divorce. Meet me at the courthouse in an hour.”
He sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m already on my way. You’d better
hurry.”
My drive was longer. He got there first, which figured, given how eager he was to end our
marriage.
“Mrs. Miller,” his lawyer said, “here’s the stock
division agreement. Mr. Miller insists you
receive ten percent.”
“No, thanks. I just want the eighty thousand
back. Now. Transfer it to my account. The
<
money from the condo.”
The lawyer and John both stared at me. But
they did as I asked. John made a call, and the
money appeared in my account.
The courthouse was empty. Our turn came
quickly.
“Is this a mutual decision?” the clerk asked.
“Yes.”
The stamp came down. We were divorced. I had
to get back to the team. I grabbed my
paperwork and left.
“Sarah,” John called after me. He rarely used
my name anymore.
“Yes?”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“If that’s all, I have to go.”
“Something big going down at the precinct?” “Sorry. I can’t discuss it.”
I got in a cab and left. Glancing back, I saw
John still standing there, watching me drive
away.
