I went to the router. I held down the reset button.
New network name: 404_Not_Found.
New password: A complex string only I knew.
I sat down on the couch. The apartment looked bigger, cleaner. It looked like my apartment again.
My phone buzzed. It was a notification from my bank app:
Transaction declined: Uber Technologies. Amount: $192.50. Card ending in 402.
I smiled. She was trying; she was desperate.
Then a frantic notification from Venmo:
Request: Elena requests $200.
Memo: Mark, please. My card isn't working. We are stranded. Stop being a psycho.
I declined the request.
I walked to the front door and engaged the deadbolt. Then I engaged the heavy security chain I had installed when we moved in—the one she hated because it was "ugly." I went to the kitchen, made a sandwich, and opened a beer.
At 10:45 p.m., I heard the elevator ding. I heard footsteps—heavy, angry footsteps—and then the sound of someone tripping over a plastic bag.
"What the f—?" Julian's voice.
Then Elena's voice: "My clothes... is this my stuff? Mark!"
She pounded on the door. "Mark, open this door right now! This isn't funny!"
I didn't move. I sat on the couch watching TV.