I told him no.

He mentioned a development in Providence, a portfolio sale, and a business award I was apparently expected to admire.

“Are you happy?” I asked him once.

The question caught him off guard.

He examined his watch before answering.

“I’m successful.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

For a moment I saw the younger man I had married, the one who used to draw ridiculous floor plans on restaurant napkins and promise we would grow old someplace with a view of the sea.