Every single click of my mouse felt incredibly precise. Every confirmation screen felt gloriously final.
And the beautiful suburban house itself? It was legally mine. I had painstakingly saved for it and bought it years before I ever even met him. His name had never been on the deed. He wasn’t losing ownership of his home tonight.
He never had it to begin with.
At 3:30 a.m., I dialed the emergency number for a 24-hour locksmith.
“Right now?” the man asked groggily through the phone.
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