"Man, we gotta celebrate. Drinks tonight." "Absolutely," I said. "I'm buying with my own card this time."
We met later at a rooftop bar, the kind of place with overpriced cocktails and string lights designed to make regret look romantic. Tar raised his glass. "To new beginnings." I clinked mine against his.
"And better endings." We laughed for the first time in months. It wasn't bitter. It was pure, stupid joy.
Halfway through the night, my phone buzzed. A message from Belinda: "You ruined me." I stared at it for a second, then typed back, "No, you did that yourself. I just submitted the paperwork."
Send. I turned my phone face down and kept drinking. Tar leaned over. "Was that her?"
"Yep." "What'd she say?" "Nothing new. Just confirming she's still allergic to accountability."
He snorted beer through his nose. "You're savage." "I'm honest," I said. "There's a difference."
Later that night, I walked home alone, city lights bouncing off the pavement. The kind of quiet hum that only exists when something heavy finally lifts off your shoulders. I passed a bakery that used to be our Saturday-morning spot. The smell hit me.
Warm bread, sugar, nostalgia. But this time it didn't hurt. It just was. I stopped outside, watched a couple laughing inside, and smiled.
Not the bitter kind. The real kind. Because despite everything, I'd survived it. Back home, I changed into sweats, grabbed Milo's leash, and took him for a late-night walk.
He sniffed every bush like it owed him money, tail wagging like life was simple. Maybe he was on to something. "Buddy," I said, "we did it. Court's over. Freedom reinstated."
He barked once approvingly. When we got back, I poured myself one last drink, sat on the couch, and turned on some background jazz, the same kind Tar had used in the video. Fitting soundtrack for the credits. I stared at the ceiling, replaying the moment the judge said the words, "Mr. Carver retains ownership."
That phrase was going to live on rent-free in my head forever, unlike Belinda. I raised my glass in a mock toast to the empty room. "Here's to honesty, loyalty, and knowing when to lawyer up." Milo jumped on the couch beside me, resting his head on my leg.
I ruffled his fur. "We're going to be fine, kid. Turns out justice has good taste." Before turning in for the night, I texted Mrs. Delgado one last time.
"Thank you for everything. You made the process painless." She replied within minutes. "It's never painless, Mr. Carver, but it's always worth it."