The meeting was set for Friday afternoon in a private conference room at the adviser’s office. Adrian seemed relieved after I agreed. Too relieved. That night, after he fell asleep, I lay awake feeling our daughter shift beneath my ribs and tried to calm the racing in my chest. The lawyer had told me not to confront him at home. Claire had told me not to back out. Rebecca had told me men like Adrian never stop on their own; they only stop when the story stops favoring them. By morning, I understood what Friday really was. It wasn’t just a legal appointment. It was the first time I would stop being the woman he believed he could manage.
The conference room smelled of leather chairs and fresh coffee. Adrian arrived early, relaxed and immaculate in a navy suit, one hand resting possessively at the small of my back as if we were the happiest couple in the building. My father’s estate adviser, Mr. Bell, greeted us with unusual formality and invited us to sit. A second man I didn’t know was already at the far end of the table, flipping through a file. Adrian barely looked at him. He was too busy arranging the papers in front of me and sliding a pen into place. “Just a few signatures,” he said with a smile.