I watched him walk away.
He had not been perfect.
Neither had I.
But he had chosen to tell the truth even though doing so threatened his career.
And he had accepted responsibility for the moments when he failed to act.
That was the kind of change I hoped would continue after the cameras were gone.
Ruth remained part of my life.
We had become friends in a way neither of us could have predicted.
She visited my father.
He invited her to family dinners.
My aunt declared that Ruth had become an honorary relative whether she agreed or not.
Ruth accepted the arrangement with considerable amusement.
She also began speaking at community meetings about witness safety, responsible recording, and the importance of preserving evidence without interfering with emergency situations.
She never described herself as a hero.
Whenever somebody praised her for standing up to Garrett, she shook her head.
"I just didn't put my phone down."
But I knew that simple decision had required courage.
And she knew it too.
One afternoon, nearly two years after the stop, she called me.
"Renata?"
"Yes?"
"You busy?"
I looked toward my desk.
"Not terribly."
"Good. Because I have a question."
I smiled.
"Go ahead."
"Have you driven that fancy car again?"
I hesitated.
The Phantom had been restored and returned months earlier.
The work was beautiful.
The windshield was flawless.
The damaged door had been repaired.
The paint once again reflected the sky like polished black glass.
But I hadn't driven it much.
Not because I feared the car.
Because every time I sat behind the wheel, I remembered Garrett pulling the door open.
The seat belt tightening against my shoulder.
The pavement.
The handcuffs.
Ruth waited.
"Well?"
I sighed.
"A few times."
"By yourself?"
"Mostly."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she asked, "Want some company?"
I laughed softly.
"Ruth."
"Don't Ruth me. I'm serious."
I looked toward the car keys on my desk.
For a long moment, I considered the question.
Then I smiled.
"All right."
We went for a drive the following Sunday.
I wore another turquoise dress.
Not identical to the one from the traffic stop, but close enough that the color reminded me of the woman I'd been before everything happened.
My hair was styled in long waves.
I wore the metallic bracelet my mother had given me.
And when I walked into the garage, the Rolls-Royce Phantom stood beneath the lights looking exactly as it had before Garrett destroyed its windows.
I stopped beside the driver's door.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
Ruth stood quietly beside me.
Then she asked, "You okay?"
I took a breath.
"Yes."
I reached for the handle.
My fingers trembled.
I noticed.
Ruth noticed too.