“He needs marriage,” Rebecca said quietly. “Not love. Marriage gives him access, legitimacy, sympathy, and time. A pregnant woman is at her most vulnerable, and he uses that to trap them.” I felt sick because every word fit too perfectly. Adrian had encouraged me to quit my job during fertility treatment. He’d insisted that stress was bad for the baby. He’d framed dependence as care.
Then Rebecca told me how it had taken her years to track him down under his new alias and get in touch with Dr. Shah. She shared her understanding of him. “He targets women who are kind and trusting,” she said. “Someone grieving. Someone with something to inherit.” Claire looked at me across the table. Neither of us had to say it aloud. My dad had died only a year before I met Adrian. He had chosen me long before I thought I had chosen him.
For the next week, I played along. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Adrian noticed every shift in my mood, every pause before an answer, every time I reached for my phone and stopped. So I smiled more. I thanked him for cooking. I let him discuss stroller brands and school districts and the family future he’d never actually intended to build. Meanwhile, Claire worked with the lawyer to freeze any movement on my remaining separate assets, and Dr. Shah documented everything she legally could. Rebecca provided copies of old emails, timelines, and settlement records that linked Adrian to the previous identity without leaving him room to dismiss it all as coincidence.
