Before Adrian, I dated one man who lied about being divorced.
Another had an entire second social-media account dedicated to a life that apparently did not include me.
By twenty-six, I had become the kind of woman who believed calm men were probably hiding things more efficiently.
Then Adrian arrived.
He was steady.
Annoyingly steady.
If he was running late, he texted.
If he made a financial decision that affected us both, we discussed it.
He hated surprises.
He once told me he considered surprise birthday parties “social ambushes.”
We knew each other’s passwords, not because either of us demanded them but because our phones constantly ended up in the wrong hands.
We shared a calendar.
We knew each other’s financial accounts.
When we got engaged, Adrian said:
“I want one rule.”
“What?”
“No hidden problems.”
I laughed.
“That sounds deeply romantic.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
