My husband texted me from Vegas to say he’d just married his coworker and called me pathetic. I replied, “Cool,” canceled his cards, changed the house locks, and the next morning the police were at my door…

Every credit card in his wallet—canceled.
Passwords—changed.
The house deed—mine.
The accounts—mine.
His access—cut off.

At 3:30, I called a locksmith.
“I’ll pay double,” I said. “Now.”

By sunrise, the locks were replaced. The house was secured.
Ethan Jensen, newly married, no longer had a place inside it.

At 8 a.m., loud pounding rattled the door.

Two police officers stood outside. Ethan had called them, claiming I’d locked him out of his own home.

I showed them the Vegas message.
The older officer sighed. “He married someone else. This isn’t a police matter.”

They left.

I slept for two hours—deep and empty of dreams.

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