Six months later, Miller stood before a judge, his uniform replaced by a drab orange jumpsuit. Evelyn and I sat in the front row, not out of malice, but to see the final chapter of a night that started with an insult and ended with the truth.
The sentencing was harsh, a clear message that a badge is a responsibility, not a weapon for personal hatred. Miller was led away, finally understanding that respect is something you earn, not something you demand through fear.
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We walked out of the courthouse hand-in-hand, the sun bright against the steps. I realized that while I lost my appetite that night at the restaurant, I gained something much more valuable—the knowledge that no one is above the law.
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