Initially, moving in together with Jake wasn't as scary as opening a joint bank account. There's something so final and so serious about combining finances. It's like the point of no return.

When Jake moved out, I opened my own account. We all but emptied the joint account, but at Jake's request, we left it open. His credit card bills and such were paid through it, and he wanted it open "for just a few months" so that he could get his finances in order. This seemed fair.

Those few months dragged on. And on. Jake, it turns out, doesn't take care of things that are uncomfortable with much expediency. Every time I logged on to the online banking site, there that account was, looking me right in the eyeball, reminding me that, regardless of how I felt and how I acted, I wasn't single yet.

Like everything else paperwork-related in this process, it took him feeling his integrity was offended before action was taken. A few days ago, I logged in, and the joint account had been closed.

I felt almost embarrassed at my absolutely joyful gut reaction — complete with bouncing and hand clapping. I hadn't realized how much it would mean to see the black and white proof that I was alone, disconnected, unbound.

There are still ends to tie — we still have to file joint taxes this year — but my immediate financial ties have all been severed. Financially, I'm alone. I am single.