I still remember the feel of that cheap plastic badge on my chest and how my Halloween cop costume drooped to my knees. I was five—and absolutely certain I’d grow up to be a police officer.

No one took me seriously. My Aunt Cici laughed, saying I’d want to be a princess next year. But I didn’t budge. While other girls swapped handcuffs for tiaras, I stayed the course—even when people said I wasn’t tough enough.

To pay for the academy, I worked overnight shifts at a rundown diner. I’d come home exhausted, soaked from the slush, and stare at that old Halloween badge taped to my mirror. It reminded me why I kept going.

My first solo traffic stop terrified me. Then came harder calls—overdoses, violence, even a hostage situation that still haunts my dreams. But I never backed down.

Last week, I was promoted to sergeant. On my new desk? That same worn plastic badge—saved by my dad. I cried. Not because I made it, but because five-year-old me always believed I would.

But I almost gave up once—right before my final academy test. After a brutal diner shift and bleeding feet, I stood in front of my mirror and nearly quit. I texted my high school friend in desperation. She replied: “You didn’t come this far to quit before it matters.” That got me through.

Even after graduating, doubts lingered. Two years in, I helped find a missing ten-year-old boy named Rami. His undocumented mom was afraid to call for help, so hours passed before we got the alert. We found him in an old greenhouse, scared and shaking. He ran into my arms and wouldn’t let go.

But my name never made the press release. The department gave credit to someone higher up. That night, I went home and took the badge off my mirror.

Still, I stayed.

And now, when little girls stop me for photos in uniform, I see the same fire I once had. And I remember: I didn’t come this far to quit.