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The rain had just started when Sharon’s phone rang.
Heidi lifted her head from her spot on the rug, one ear flicking forward, the old K-9 instincts still sharp despite her retirement. After a moment—no raised voices, no urgency—the German Shepherd huffed softly and settled again, chin resting on her paws, though her eyes stayed on Sharon.
Sharon didn’t answer the phone right away.
Brenda watched her from the other end of the couch—feet tucked beneath herself, the day’s first cup of coffee warm in her hands. Sharon had that look, the one she got when she knew something major was going to happen, even though she didn’t know what.
The phone rang again.
Heidi’s tail thumped once against the rug.
Sharon sighed and picked it up. “Raydor.”
Brenda couldn’t hear the other end, but she saw plenty—the slight lift of Sharon’s eyebrows, the way her shoulders went completely still.
“Yes,” Sharon said quietly. A pause. “Mhmm.”
Another pause, longer this time.
Brenda straightened, stretching in anticipation.
“Yes,” Sharon said again. “I understand.”
She ended the call and sat there for a moment, the phone resting in her palm like it weighed more than it should have. She stared down at it and blinked several times before Heidi rose and padded over, nudging Sharon’s knee with her nose.
“Well?” Brenda prompted.
Sharon exhaled slowly, one hand dropping to scratch behind Heidi’s ears. “That was my attorney. The judge ruled in my favor.”
Brenda blinked. “You…you…”
“Yes. I won,” Sharon said, almost testing the word. “On all counts.”
Brenda’s smile spread slow and fierce. “So the network—the showrunners—they can’t just…leave it like that anymore.”
“No,” Sharon said. “They have to issue a public retraction and a formal apology.”
She leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed somewhere past the window. “After I was awarded the Medal of Valor, Dynamite Network decided my career would make ‘good television,’” she chuckled. “A prestigious TV series. Inspired by real events.” Her mouth tightened. “Apparently inspired meant rewritten.”
“They can’t present the ending the way they did and let people think it was factual,” she went on. “My death. My rewritten partner…” She grimaced. “Oh God—pairing me up with Lieutenant Flynn of all people.”
Brenda barked out a laugh. “Aww, come on, Sharon. Andy’s a great guy. You could have done a lot worse. Think about it—they could have put you with Provenza.”
Both women shuddered in perfect unison.
“Brenda Leigh,” Sharon said dryly, “if they had paired me with Provenza, viewers would have assumed the entire show was a satire.”
Brenda let out a guffaw loud enough to make Heidi’s head pop up again, ears pricked in mild alarm.
“And I adore Andy,” Sharon continued. “But if I were going to start dating men again, do you honestly think I’d begin with him? He’s just not…my type.”
“I dunno,” Brenda muttered, already reaching for the candy bowl. “I’ve always thought he’s kinda cute.”
“Well,” Sharon said, adjusting her glasses, “when they come give you your own show, you can ask them to pair you up with Lieutenant Flynn.”
Brenda unwrapped a Reese’s cup and plopped it straight into her mouth.
“As long as they don’t pair me up with Fritz Howard,” she huffed, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup-flavored grumbles muffling her words. “That’s a chapter of my life I have no desire to revisit—never mind watchin’ it play out on national TV.”
She laughed, sharp and final.
Sharon allowed herself a small, thoughtful smile. “Actually…if I had to switch teams again, hypothetically speaking, Fritz would have checked most of my boxes.”
Brenda froze mid-chew, aghast.
Then she made an exaggerated face of disgust, stuck out her chocolate-stained tongue, and promptly bopped Sharon on the head with a small throw pillow.
Sharon grinned, utterly unrepentant. Heidi sighed and flopped back down, unimpressed.
The laughter that followed felt lighter than anything that had come before it. It felt earned. It felt real. With no black clouds hovering overhead for once.
After a moment, Sharon’s expression softened.
“And to think,” she said quietly, “I consulted on half of that production. Policies. Procedures. Authenticity.” She shook her head. “They erased me from the ending—and couldn’t even be bothered to keep my name in the credits.”
“Classy,” mumbled Brenda through another mouth full of chocolate.
Brenda’s humor faded, replaced by something steadier. “You know, they erased more than that.”
Sharon met her gaze.
“They erased us,” Brenda said gently.
Sharon nodded. “They removed my partner. Changed her gender. Changed her role. Wrote her out of my life. As if that part of it was optional. As if loving you was a footnote they could simply cut for convenience. To make me more…‘marketable’.”
She reached for Brenda’s hand.
“No amount of rewriting was ever going to change the truth,” Sharon said. “It was you. You were my everything. You mattered. Our life mattered.” Her voice was quiet, absolute. “And it still does.”
Brenda smiled, eyes sparkling. “Damn right it does.”
Sharon glanced at her then, the entire world ceasing to exist outside of those big brown eyes.
She leaned in slowly, giving Brenda time to pull away—though of course she didn’t. The kiss was soft at first, familiar and unhurried, Sharon’s hand warm at the back of Brenda’s neck. Heidi shifted closer with a contented little whine, pressing her side against Brenda’s legs.
“Turns out,” Sharon murmured against her lips, “they don’t get to kill me off—or erase the love of my life—and keep the story.”
Brenda kissed her again, deeper this time, laughter and warmth threading through it as the moment threatened to become something more.
Outside, the rain began to taper off. Song birds started up, tentative at first, then louder—welcoming a brand-new day.
More rain was expected later, and a hazy sky full of smog. But it would still be a beautiful day.
Beautiful because for Sharon Raydor, there would be justice, at last.