At 3:10 a.m., I pulled up my online banking portal on my laptop.
I permanently canceled the additional grocery store credit card, the gas card, the travel card, and the one he told me he used only for emergencies.
I proceeded to change the passwords for my bank accounts, my personal email, the security cameras, the electronic gate, and even the smart home application that controlled the lighting in the living room.
At 3:45 a.m., I picked up the phone and dialed a local locksmith.
“Are you sure you need me to come out there right now, ma’am?” the man asked, his voice thick with sleep.
“I will pay you double your standard rate if you can arrive before the sun comes up.”
At 4:30 a.m., Donovan was standing at my front door, diligently changing the lock on the heavy entrance.
He glanced at my face, glanced at the text message still glowing on my phone, and simply nodded in understanding.
“I am going to put a heavy duty security lock on this for you, so you can sleep in peace.”
At 5:20 a.m., my house finally felt like mine again.
I managed to catch two hours of fitful sleep before the morning light filtered through the blinds.
At 8:05 a.m., there was a sharp, aggressive knock at the front door.
I peered at the screen and saw two local police officers standing on my porch.
“Are you Jessica Miller?” one of them asked, looking at me with concern.
“Your husband called us to report that you have locked him out of his own home.”
I opened the door just a few inches to look at them.
