Several years later, she left sworn law enforcement and began working in civilian records quality review.
She spent the remainder of her career helping agencies identify errors in reports and complaint documentation.
It was useful work.
But she had never pretended it erased the morning at Common Grounds.
Mariah noticed her sitting alone.
She approached.
"Officer Sullivan?"
Brenda looked up.
"Former officer."
Mariah smiled gently.
"I'm Mariah Cole. Aaron was my uncle."
Brenda stood with some difficulty.
"I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
They shook hands.
Brenda glanced toward the photograph.
"He was a remarkable man."
Mariah sat in the chair beside her.
"Did you know him well afterward?"
"Not particularly. We spoke a few times."
Brenda looked down at her hands.
"He was always courteous to me."
Mariah waited.
Brenda continued.
"That made it harder sometimes."
"Harder?"
"To remember that I still had to take responsibility for what I failed to do."
She exhaled.
"Your uncle never tried to make me feel better about that morning. He also never used it as a reason to humiliate me."
Mariah considered the words.
"That sounds like him."
Brenda nodded.
"During one training session years later, he told a room full of officers that remorse mattered only if it changed what people were willing to do."
She looked toward the memorial photograph.
"I've thought about that almost every day."
Mariah rested her hands in her lap.
"Did it change what you did?"
"I hope so."
Brenda's expression remained serious.
"But that's not really for me to declare."
For a long moment, the women sat together without speaking.
Then Brenda reached into her handbag.
She withdrew a small envelope.
"I brought something."
She handed it to Mariah.
Inside was an old photograph of Aaron speaking to a classroom of police recruits.
He stood in front of a whiteboard, one hand holding a marker.