When I first got engaged I had an older woman ask me: “Why do you think this is it? How do you know he’s the one?”

At the time, I felt offended by the question. What do you mean? He just is. He’s the one I chose and I don’t have to justify that to you or anyone. I didn’t say this, of course. I think I fumbled through a surprised answer about how we make each other happy.

Now looking back, I am far less offended by the question because I realize that in her eyes I was so young to be making that choice. She was cross-examining what could have been the greatest mistake of my life (it wasn’t).

I couldn’t have backed up my answer then the way I can now. I had faith and hope that he was the right one then, but now, 15 years into this marriage, I know that he is.

He’s the one because he encourages me to order the new summer margarita flight.

He is the one because he takes care of me when I get sick.

He’s the one because we both like beef bacon, olives, and expensive latte machines.

He is the one because he’s repeatedly seen me in my moodiest luteal phase, and he still puts up with me.

He’s the one who keeps my car running, who has taken care of every oil change of my adult life.

He’s the one who was there when my whole life seemed to tumble into pieces, the one who never left.

He is the one who still wants to go on dates with me for sushi and tacos, even 18 years later.

He’s the one who shares the inside phrases and jokes that make up a marriage language (“you like it” and “sorry for being a dick” two of our most-repeated catchphrases).

He is the one because I still don’t sleep well if he’s out of town.

He’s the one because we found this house, this life, together.

He’s the one because every hobby we each have right now, the other one has encouraged and/or funded in some way.

He’s the one because when I am in full introvert mode, he’s the only one I still want around.

How lucky am I, that he was the one.