Chapter 2: The Digital Purge Before Sunrise
If Ethan wanted excitement, I was about to introduce him to consequences.
At 3:08 in the morning, I logged into every financial platform connected to our household and began removing him systematically from my life with the precision of a surgeon separating damaged tissue from healthy organs.
American Express came first.
Then Chase.
Then Citibank.
Within twenty minutes, Ethan no longer existed as an authorized user on any account connected to me personally or professionally. I froze his Platinum cards while imagining the exact moment they would decline inside whatever luxury resort suite he was currently celebrating in with his new bride.
At 3:31, I changed passwords.
Streaming services. Cloud storage. Shared calendars. Private email servers. The smart-home system controlling the penthouse security network. The biometric garage access. The elevator permissions.
Every digital doorway Ethan once passed through freely disappeared one after another beneath my fingertips.
At 3:57, I contacted an emergency locksmith company operating around the clock throughout Broward County.
The exhausted dispatcher answered on the second ring.
“South Coast Lock and Security. What’s the emergency?”
My voice sounded unnervingly calm even to myself.
“I need every biometric lock in my residence replaced immediately. I’ll pay triple your overnight rate if someone arrives within thirty minutes.”
The technician showed up twenty-two minutes later in cargo pants, carrying enough equipment to secure a federal building.
He studied my face quietly while replacing the entry systems.
Eventually he asked the question nearly every locksmith in America probably asks women standing awake at four in the morning changing locks while absent husbands are nowhere to be found.
“Ex-husband situation?”
I leaned against the kitchen counter holding a mug of black coffee.
“Not yet,” I answered. “Right now he’s simply an accounting discrepancy I intend to remove permanently.”
The locksmith nodded slowly, like a man who understood far more than he intended to say aloud.
By 5:30 in the morning, the penthouse had become completely inaccessible to Ethan.
I sat alone beside the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Atlantic while dawn slowly spread pink and silver across the water, and for the first time in years I experienced something unfamiliar inside my own marriage.
Peace.
Not sadness. Not rage.
Freedom.
