I’m 38 and I watched my parents retire with everything they worked for — a paid-off house, savings, good health — and then slowly, year by year, become two people who sit in separate rooms scrolling their phones because they forgot how to be interesting to each other

By every measure my parents were supposed to care about, they won. Mortgage: gone. 401(k): healthy. Bodies: still working, still walking the dog, still capable of long-haul flights. They crossed the retirement finish line that an entire generation was told to sprint toward, holding hands, medals around their necks. That was six years ago. Last