The afternoon of our reservation, I found him packing an overnight bag.

“You think we need champagne?” he asked.

I glanced at the bag.

“Probably not.”

He grinned.

“Mysterious.”

I smiled back.

“That’s the idea.”

By the time we arrived at the hotel, Ryan was practically glowing.

The place looked almost exactly as I remembered from our wedding night—soft lighting, white tablecloths, piano music drifting from the lobby.

Ryan reached across the table and took my hand.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. You really do.”

He went on about how good it was to see me “back to myself,” how much happier I seemed, and how much better our marriage had become.

I let him talk.

Eventually, he leaned back and smiled.

“You know, sometimes people need tough motivation.”

I looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You were stuck. I pushed you a little. Maybe I wasn’t gentle about it, but look at you now.”