Later, back at our apartment, I felt depressed and vaguely guilty, as often happens when I drink wine too early in the day, or make a number of purchases that are out of proportion with what could be deemed necessary. I felt again the absence of responsibility that I knew the having of children would have brought into my life, and I yielded to nostalgia, regret, and misgivings about my past, though I didn’t articulate these things, but sat beside A. on the couch, with the TV on, and looked at my phone, not because I wanted to be silent and incommunicative but because I didn’t want to introduce my sadness into our day, which had been very nice, and for which I felt I owed A. some modicum of cheer, even if she wouldn’t have begrudged me the lack of it, or the inability to maintain it.