'I was right, you know,' I defended to a mentor. 

I'd been carrying on about how wrong my boss or wife or kids or some combination of the three was on a particular issue.  The embarrassing reality is I don't remember with whom I was arguing or what the topic was, but I can recall the feeling of needing to be right.

'I know,' replied by mentor.  'Your wife knows it too.'

I breathed deeply, satisfied to be on the side of 'right.'

'What did it cost you to be right?' he asked with a mixture of genuine curiosity and obvious clarity.

'I don't know,' I said sheepishly. I honestly did not think there was a cost.  We were arguing about right and wrong, weren't we?

'Rightness' matters in engineering and mathematics, in crossword puzzles and roofing installations, but not in relationships. The reality is that I was right and it cost me.  My admiration with 'right' put my wife on the side of 'wrong' when we disagreed.  I was right. She was wrong. I won. She lost. She became an idea to beat rather than a woman to love. 

There are times when being right is worth the cost. But for the relationships worth keeping, 'rightness' at her expense isn't right.